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wildemaven · 1 year ago

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Sweet Creature: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 4643

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Talks of failed relationships, Bi!Dieter, Fingering (public, F receiving), food and drinks, fluff fluff fluff, handy in the car, praise kink if you squint, oral (semi-ish public; F receiving), reader’s nickname is Poppy- zero physical description, these two hot dogs are just trying to make up for lost time, if I missed something let me know

A/N: Uhh, this chapter ran away from me. But it worked out cause now these two get some lovin’ and we get an extra chapter! Thanks so much @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being the sweetest beta reader as always— I appreciate you and your eyes so much!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

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“You don’t think she’ll be mad?”

“No Dieter, I don’t think she’ll be mad. Poppy’s totally going to understand, she loves you and will support whatever you do.”

Diem had always been able to reassure him when he needed it most, especially when it came to you— the one good thing in his life he refused to mess up.

“Please don’t mention anything, I want to be able to do it in person— I’ll probably just tell her tonight.”

“Oh, shoot— I was just going to text her right now, ‘Hey Poppy! I wanted to tell you before Dieter did…’” Diem’s voice dripping in sarcasm, acting like she’s typing out a message on her phone. “Of course I won’t tell her— My lips are sealed!” Pretending to lock her lips and tossing an invisible key over her shoulder, laughing at his annoyance with her.

“I can’t with you.” He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Dieter paces around the kitchen, not really sure what to do with himself, ready far sooner than he anticipated— nerves buzzing with excitement knowing he would be seeing you in 30 minutes— to pick you up for your date.

First official date.

You had both laughed at how backwards it felt. Your first kiss. Your first time together. Your first ‘I love you’.— all done before you had even managed to go on an actual date.

Finding a Friday that worked with your busy schedule, but that also led into a weekend where you could spend it together uninterrupted— no plans, just together.

Dieter wanted to, as he put it, wine and dine you. He made reservations for 7 at a somewhat fancy Italian restaurant, only telling you to get dressed up in your favorite dress and that he’d pick you up at 6:30.

He can’t remember the last time he had put this much effort into a date, probably due to the fact he hadn’t really ever been on one in years.

Sure, there were a handful of women and men on his arm at many times in his life, accompanying him to five star restaurants across the greater Los Angeles area, pictures of them stumbling into the streets plastered across the tabloids the next day.

‘Dieter Bravo & Mystery Woman Dining at Hollywood Hot Spot: Is She the One to Tame this Bad Boy?’

‘Dieter Bravo Seen Dancing with New Beau at Packed Nightclub’

Many were a lame attempt at a PR stunt, to draw attention to his upcoming movies he’d be starring in— but most of them were also meant to keep his name in the positive spotlight, distract from the shit show of his life behind the scenes.

There were a few that felt like a little more than weekend arm candy, only to find out he was the one catching feelings, while they were looking to catch a free ride to stardom.

There was the model he met on the set of a cologne campaign, also a sweet bubbly aspiring actress. The whirlwind fling seemed to move at lightning speed, and against his better judgment and the concerns of his people, she moved in after only a few short months of them seeing each other. Their relationship had been one of his many attempts at getting sober, wanting to give his best to her, but things became increasingly tempestuous as Dieter pulled away from the wild parties and she went out with friends, only to come home as the sun was coming up— leaving Dieter bored and alone. When Dieter caught word of her affair with his closest friend and fellow actor, he kicked her out of his house and began to spiral back into his old ways.

Then there was the time with ‘what’s his face’, Dieter vaguely recalls what he looked like— let alone what his name was, gallivanting around Europe taking in its beautiful countryside, experiencing the food and the touristy atmosphere. When time came for them to head home, Dieter needing to prepare for a new role, he found himself flying back alone— leaving ‘what’s his face’ in Mallorca to continue on his soul-searching journey, which included some business opportunities with someone by the name of Lucas Gutierrez.

The last relationship, if you could even call it that, was a drugged out daze where he almost married the receptionist of a high end hotel, Dieter had been convinced her hospitality meant she was in love with him. A weeks stay turned into a hazy mess of pleading for her to have sex with him while he was high as a kite, and by the end of the week she was saving his life and he was even more sure she was his forever— until his publicist and crisis manager had to step in and tell him he was not of sound mind to make such life altering decisions.

Dieter had written off relationships or anything that resembled some sort of courtship, especially while in treatment— wanting to get himself right before even thinking about getting involved with someone.

And then a year later, you came out of left field and had him seeing what love could feel like.

A knock at the front door pulls him from his head, glancing over to where Diem is eating dinner with Wren and getting a shrug of ‘I’m not expecting anyone’, he goes to answer it.

Opening the door, he wasn’t expecting to see you, stunned into silence as his eyes slowly roamed over your body— completely done up, no semblance of your innocent teacher-look in sight.

You take his reserved demeanor, no real expression except for wide eyes and a slack jaw, as if there was something wrong with how you looked.

“What is it? Is the dress too much?” You say looking downward, smoothing out the fabric of your silky black dress and matching heels. You had given yourself a once over in the mirror before heading over, thinking everything was in place and really feeling the look— but maybe you had missed something.

“N-no— No! You look fine— I mean you look beautiful.” Dieter stammers over his words, the way your dress hugs every inch of you has his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “Wow!”

“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself there, handsome.” Biting your bottom lip as you adjust the wonky lapel on his navy suit, giggling at how you both can’t seem to stop staring at each other.

“You’re early!” The realization hit him, looking over the clock on the oven to see he still had another 25 minutes before he even needed to leave.

“I know. But I’ve been ready for the last hour and I was getting bored sitting on my couch waiting— plus there’s only so many songs on one side of a record and I got tired of getting up to flip it. So, I figured I’d walk here, kill some time.”

“Poppy, it’s like a five minute walk from your house.” He laughs, but his chest swells at the thought of you being so excited for the evening.

“Actually, it’s a good 8, maybe 10 minutes in these heels— which by the way, are made for sitting not walking, so the sooner I can sit the better.” You mention as you shift your body from side to side, trying to relieve the tension that’s already settling into the balls of your feet.

“Let’s go then.”

He runs back to the counter to grab his phone and his keys, stopping to give Wren a kiss on her head and a good night to both her and Diem.

“You kids behave yourselves!” Diem quips with a smirk.

“Uncle Dieter and Poppy aren’t kids mama! You adults behave!! Are they going to get in trouble?!” Wren confused, trying to wrap her head around the whole thought of her uncle and Poppy not behaving.

Thankfully it’s a short walk, his hand securely on the small of your back as he guides you from the front door to his car, mindful of your slow calculated steps.

A machine-like beep echoes out into the night as he unlocks the door, you start to bend down slightly to reach for the door handle, but Dieter grabs your wrist, carefully pulling you to him— your chest colliding with his.

“You look beautiful, Poppy.” He breathes against your mouth, his nose gently nudging at yours before his lips seal over your awaiting lips.

You can’t help the small whine that escapes your throat the moment his tongue slowly invades your mouth, eliciting a lustful moan of his own as he deepens the kiss.

With his hands firmly grabbing onto the globes of your ass, pulling your lower half as close to him as possible, he shuffles your bodies around before pressing your back into the side of his car, the cold metal hitting your bare back sends a shiver down your spine, his feet tapping against yours signaling you to widen your stance as much as your dress will allow.

The way his lips continue to move over yours paired with the slight grind of his hips, a prominent bulge rutting up against the ache that has begun to settle between your legs, your appetite grows for something a little stronger and involving less clothes— is it too late to cancel reservations?

Goosebumps scatter across your skin as the sensation of his fingers gliding over your thigh, breaching the slit in your dress and settling at your unclothed and heated core— no panties were a risky move with how high the slit of your dress went, but the choice was paying off earlier than you had expected.

Your fingers digging into the back of his arms to help keep you upright, fearing your legs might give out at any moment.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He asks against your swollen lips— grateful you opted for a gloss over a stain of color, knowing this might have been on the menu for the evening.

You can only manage a nod as a jolt of pleasure hits you the minute his fingers push into your dripping pussy.

Dieter covers your mouth with his other hand, quieting the tiny sounds that you can’t help making with how his fingers move so intently against your velvety walls, tripping the tiny live wires that have you electrified and pulsing around his digits.

“Fuck Poppy, I can feel you’re already there. What’s got you so worked up already?” Dieter’s words muffled against your warm ear, his husky voice aiding in the chase for your release.

He moves his hand from your mouth, your lips parting as you take a few quick breaths, your mind actively trying to string together a few coherent words.

“Y-you.” Your response is airy, as you start to feel the building pressure of your climax.

“Me?” He asks, removing himself from where he had settled against your neck, giving you a mocking puzzled look, playing stupid—he wants to hear you say it.

“Yes— ah! You! Y-you look s-so— oh fuck! So fucking pretty! Oh god, Dieter— don’t stop please!”

His hand moves to rest behind your neck, holding your head up so he can watch the way your face looks the second he sends you into a euphoric state.

It’s a subtle swipe of his thumb over your throbbing clit, that has you catapulting into a blinding nirvana.

Dieter presses his lips in a leisurely haphazard manner to your fiery skin as you come down from your peak, slowly removing his fingers from your spent cunt.

You manage to catch his hand the moment it leaves the underside of your dress, locking your eyes with his as you bring the two fingers, now glistening under the moonlight, that worked earnestly to satisfy you up to your watery mouth. You wrap your lips around them, tasting your tangy sweet arousal, releasing his hand and wiping the corners of your mouth— Dieter practically coming in his suit pants at the sight

“Fuck, Poppy! You teach kids with that mouth of yours?” Eyebrows raised in question as he jokes at the lewd, yet arousing, gesture.

“I knew you’d be a dessert before dinner kinda guy—” You reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek then whispering into his ear, “Hmm, plus, that’s not the only thing it can do.”

You lightly push him off of you, giving him a sultry smile and a wink, adjusting your dress before opening the door to the car and getting in.

“Fuck me!” He breathes out into the crisp evening air.

The restaurant was the perfect backdrop for the evening— an outside table tucked in the corner of their patio with dim overhead lighting, candles glowing between table settings, a heavy card-stock menu listing their elaborate dishes and expensive wines.

You had told Dieter on the ride over that you would have been more than fine with the local pizzeria or even stayed in and cooked together— he said the latter would be added on to the list of options for next time.

Dieter had opted to sit next to you as opposed to sitting across the table— you didn’t argue, agreeing that it felt more intimate having him closer. It also allowed Dieter to rest his hand on your exposed thigh the entire evening, running his fingers along the seam where your leg crossed over the other— at times your hand resting over his, lighting caressing the top of his or changing it up and interlocking your fingers together.

The conversation flowed nicely once you were both satisfied with the order for the evening, sharing of childhood stories and funny life moments kept you both engaged and connected throughout the night.

“What made you want to be a teacher?” Dieter asks, munching on a crunchy piece of garlic bread, his hand still resting on your leg while his thumb caresses over your knee.

You finish your bite, wiping the pasta sauce from your mouth.

“Actually, my mom is a teacher— she was my sixth grade teacher too. When I was in college trying to figure out my path, I remembered the joy she got out of being with her students and how much she had helped kids in my class. I knew it was something I wanted to do too. I guess we’re kind of alike in a way, following our parent’s footsteps.” Giving his hand a brief squeeze at the realization, your eyes beaming as you look at him.

He smiles at the coincidence, he likes listening to you share these parts of your life with him.

“What did you want to be as a kid?” He asks before taking a sip of his ice water.

“Oh no!” Laughing softly at his question. “You’re going to laugh at me!”

“Well, now I need to know!” Trying to picture what a younger version of you would have dreamed of being in your adult life.

“I don’t want to hear a single thing when I tell you, you understand me Bravo!” Jokingly point a finger at him as you prepare to reveal your childhood dream.

He draws an X over his chest as a promise, encouraging you to continue.

“I wanted to be an actress.” You reveal in a low hushed tone.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He’s fighting back his laugh, tilting an ear in your direction as if he didn’t hear what you said.

“I wanted to be an actress!” Your face scrunches up with embarrassment as you repeat yourself.

“Would have never guessed!” It’s the smallest laugh that escapes, shaking his head in amusement. “What made you change your mind?”

“Fifth grade— I was the female lead in our class play, it was a musical. I was sure this was going to be the thing that proved how much I wanted to act, convince my mom to put me in acting classes— I secretly hoped that maybe I could make it big, then move to be with my Dad and I don’t know, prove to that I could be something to him.”

You take a sip of your white wine. When ordering earlier, you had told Dieter you would be fine with just water since he wasn’t drinking, but he had insisted it was fine— and you had to admit it paired well with your dish.

“I practiced nonstop, to the point I think mother was counting down the days until opening night so she didn’t have to hear me belting out my solo song in my room. Opening night came, and my part was about half through the play— I was so excited. Once it was my scene, I walked out on stage, saw all the faces staring back at me and I just froze. I couldn’t even say my lines, let alone sing.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran out of there so fast. Begged my mom to switch schools so I wouldn’t have to face my class again. My dreams of becoming a big star faded instantly and I realized also that wasn’t going to fix anything with my Dad. Could you imagine though? Me, an actress— that would be a fucking sight.”

You both laugh uncontrollably at the thought of you being a Hollywood star and how different your life had become, agreeing that you ended up where you were meant to be.

“When do I get to meet her?”

“My mom?”

“Yeah, I feel like I should meet the mother of my girlfriend— hopefully sooner than later.”

Girlfriend.

You both hadn’t really discussed labels, and you were perfectly fine with letting things happen organically being this was all still new for you both. But also acknowledging this was something more than just casually dating someone you didn’t know.

“Well, she’ll fly in next Thursday and will be at the gallery for my exhibit on Friday, so you can meet her then.” You’re giddy at the thought of your Mom meeting Dieter, having spent so many hours on the phone with her talking about him.

His face morphs into a look of panic at the mention of your gallery showing, deciding that now would be the perfect time to tell you the thing that’s been weighing on him the last few days.

“What?”

“Poppy, about your showing. I got a call the other morning— they bumped up pre-production and I’ll be leaving sooner than originally planned.”

“When do you leave?”

“This Monday. I’ve been trying to figure things out, find some way to still be able to make it, but they aren’t really working with me— as of now, it’s looking like I’m going to miss it.” Now that it’s out in the open, he doesn’t feel any better now that you know, he knows how much this means to you and wants to be there for you.

“Dieter— hey, it’s okay!”

You can see the anguish looming over him, hating that he was nervous to tell you.

“You’re not upset with me?”

“No! Why would I be upset? I mean, sure I’m a little bummed out, but this job is important to you.”

“But your art is just as important.”

“I appreciate you thinking that, but there will be others I’m sure. Maybe not at that gallery, but I’m sure I’ll find another place and I’ll convince them to let me show off my work there too.”

“Thank you, for being understanding.”

“Of course, Dieter… You’ll just have to make it up to me in other ways I guess.”

As the date progressed, you’re both completely satiated, barely able to take a single taste of the dessert you had ordered.

Dieter shared more about his love for acting growing up, fun stories from movie sets and his favorite roles to date— you didn’t want him to stop sharing, the way his eyes lit up you could tell how passionate he was about his work, it made you fall for him even more.

“Does it still make you happy?” You ask him, your elbow propped up on the table, hand under your chin, the answer seemed so obvious to you but you wanted to hear him say it.

He laughs at your question, leaning against the chair back, taking a minute to collect his thoughts.

“What’s so funny?”

“Driving Birdie to school one morning, she asked me the same question. Just funny I’m being asked again after being here for a few months now.” He explains, rolling the edge of his napkin between his fingers, knowing you’re going to want him to answer it truthfully.

“Is your answer still the same?”

“Well, Birdie said I need to listen to my heart.”

“And what does your heart say now?” You ask as you lean forward, pressing your palm over his chest, feeling the steady strum of his heart as he looks at you with the most loving gaze.

Adjusting himself forward in his seat, angling his body closer to you, wrapping his large hand over yours and pressing them both close to his chest, the up turn of his lopsided grin slowly growing.

“It says that I am happy. Happy to be alive and sober. Happy to be home— making up for lost time with Diem and Wren. Happy to have this opportunity to discover the joy I have for a simpler life. And more importantly, it says I am happy to have you.”

Tears began to shimmer in your eyes, hearing him say how happy he was, was an indescribable feeling— he was so deserving of not only happiness, but love and you were so grateful he was feeling it.

“I love you, Dieter.” Trying to sniffle back your tears, your hand cradles the back of his head, closing the gap between you as his lips settle against yours.

He can taste the few tears that do manage to escape, their wet briney sweetness coating the ardent kiss.

“I love you so much, Poppy.”

The ride home was a comfortable silence, no real need for conversation, just being in the presence of each was enough for the drive back to your place.

It was peaceful— your hand resting on his leg, your gaze focused on the way the houses and trees blurred together in passing.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Catching the slight grin on your face as you look out the window, wanting to know what thoughts were the cause for it.

You hum in response, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as your mind replays a loop of the entire evening thus far.

“I had fun tonight— thank you.” Your head still resting against the seat, watching the way Dieter’s hands grip around the steering wheel, the muscles of his neck taut and flexed as he checks the mirrors.

Acutely aware of the dampness that’s been lingering between your legs all evening, watching him right now you can feel your arousal beginning to pool and slowly drip down your thighs— grateful for your dress acting as a barrier between you and the car’s leather seats.

The car jerks slightly as Dieter pulls it into your driveway, shifting into park and killing the engine, turning his attention to you, mirroring your position.

“I had a great time too. Pretty sure I earned myself a second date, maybe even a little kiss goodnight.”

His enthusiasm and lack of humbleness about his odds have you reeling, but it's his signature wink that hits you like a freight train that has you moving before your brain can register what’s happening.

“I think you earned yourself a little more than that.” Your words are honeyed and laced in a seductive sugariness.

A dual clicking, triggers the release of your seat-buckles, the snap back of the retracting belts reverberates through the car.

A soft sliding of fabric against an oiled leather seat merely tickles your ears, trying to shift your body upward, your knee finally finding purchase to hold steady.

A myriad of soft sounds expelled from Dieter’s side of the car. The rigid unzipping of his pants. The shuffling and pulling of excessive fabrics. A string of mumbled fuckshitohgodpoppyplease tumble from Dieter’s mouth as he watches the way your hand works itself over his hard cock.

He’s putty in your hands, breathing ragged and tight with each swipe of your thumb over the head of his shaft. Gathering every glassy drop of pre-cum to help your hand slide effortlessly, pausing at the base of his cock for a moment— your firm grip producing another string of sounds from Dieter, mostly heady opaque moans.

“Pop-Poppy! fuckfuckfuck! I-hnnnngh!! I’m gonna come if you— shit! If you keep that up!”

“That’s the point Babe, I want you to feel good. Show my boyfriend how much he means to me.”

You can feel the way he tenses in pleasure at you calling him your boyfriend, the way he throbs in your hand as you resume your movements.

“I’m going to miss you so much Dieter. Miss your stupid handsome face while you’re out doing what you love most. Letting everyone see how amazing and perfect you are.“ Your soft voice fanning across his ear.

“N-no Poppy— You- fuck! I love you, the most.” His jaw is tight as he grits out his words.

“I love you Dieter. It’s okay, let go— for me.”

And he does.

Warm spurts of cum coat the top of your hand and his dark navy button down shirt— a painting of white Rorschach blots of arousal.

“I’m going to miss you too, Poppy.” He manages to say, his throat raspy and dry.

You find yourself flush against your front door, purse dangling from your arm, intoxicated by the way Dieter is kissing you fervently.

“Dieter, babe! My feet are killin’ me! I’ve got to get these shoes off asap!” Taking a moment to catch your breath and search for your keys.

Sifting through the mess of your purse, you miss Dieter kneeling down, his hand cupping the back of your calf as he attempts to undo the strap of your heels with the other, it doesn’t take long for you to feel your shoe being removed, the pressure instantly dissipating. His hands begin to work at your other shoe when you find your ring of keys, relief again as he removes the shoe and gently places your bare foot on your tiled porch.

“God, that feels so much better! Thank— ah! Dieter!”

Your skin feels soft under his touch, dropping a few kisses up the length of your exposed leg, stopping when he gets to the peak of your dress's slit, looking up at you to see nothing but want swimming in your eyes.

He presses his hands on your hips, shifting the fabric of your dress just enough so the slit allows him access to your cunt.

A few bold licks through your wet folds has your knees buckling, his grip on you tightening to keep you from slipping, you’re so keyed up already that you know this is going to be a quick completion.

But Dieter takes his time with you, and it’s worth it the minute your orgasm hits— a mixture of tingling excitement and hot lips between your legs.

Your head lulls back against the door, as you wait for the sensation to come back to your legs.

Dieter standing to his full height, shifting your dress back to its proper position.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a dessert anytime kinda guy.” Devilishly smirking, his lips damp with your arousal as he presses them to yours.

“Stay. I’m not ready for you to leave me yet. Stay the weekend with me, please.”

You’re practically begging him, and he finds it incredibly hard to tell you no— but sees no reason why he should.

“I’m yours, Poppy. Show me where the bedroom is.”

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter x poppy #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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inthesleepydunes · 3 months ago

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ppcu fic recs submitted by the community ♥️

hi everyone! thank you so much for the love on my initial post! i had so much fun putting this list together! i’ll be making more rec posts so my asks/dm’s are always open if you have anything you’d like to submit ♥️

Three’s Company by @pennyserenade - submitted by @whatsnewalycat

what aly said: Listen. I think about ex-husband dieter bravo all of the fucking time. This work especially is just… ugh. Amazing. Miranda’s prose is out of this world. It’s inspired and unique and idk I love her writing style so much. Also, obviously, this pairing is 😮‍💨🔥

Destiny and Deliverance by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings - submitted by @bitchwitch1981

what zelly said: It is so well written and detailed. Mysty put so much effort into research for the story and it 100% paid off. I have become so emotionally attached to the characters that I don't think I will ever let them go.

Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband by @netherfeildren - submitted by @peeta-is-useless and @futuraa-free

what peeta-is-useless said: “Someone’s wife in the boat with someone’s husband” is such a beautiful fic that literally feels like you’re reading a novel. It completely draws you in and connects you with the characters. Basically, you come for spice and stay for a gorgeous plot😭

what bella said: This is probably one of the first Joel fics I ever read when i joined the fandom, it’s everything you want it to be: it will make you cry, it will make your heart melt and it will make you wish this version of Joel Miller was real. Plus Vic is an incredible writer all around.

Someone to be thankful for by @joelsgreys - submitted by @peeta-is-useless

what they said: Someone to be thankful for” is really a cute little one shot for Thanksgiving that captures family trauma and throws in a side of finding love and healing. Again, gorgeous story by an amazing writer.

Good to Me by @tonysopranosrobe/swiftispunk13 on ao3 - submitted by @peeta-is-useless

what they said: “Good to me” is one I found quite a while ago and I thought that I wouldn’t be into the plot but then I started reading just because and swiftispunk trapped me into this alt universe, porn with feelings goodness. I’ve been so in love with many of their fics though.

Red Light by @kiwisbell on ao3 - submitted by @peeta-is-useless

what they said: Red Light” is not something I would normally read at all. I’m not usually here for the dark stuff… however this was so good and you really get into the head of someone who thinks he’s doing the right thing- also it’s really fucking hot.

Soft & Sweet + Sugar & Spice by @cavillscurls - submitted by @peeta-is-useless

Soft & Sweet” and “Sugar & Spice” are so lovely. I don’t even have that much to say- they really are the definition of what I look for when I want Jackson Joel🖤 fluff, spice, a little angst and it’s tied up in a little bow.

A Lover’s Pinch by @hier--soir - submitted by @peeta-is-useless

what they said: “A lover’s pinch” is one I can never stray far from. I always find myself coming back because it also reads like the most beautiful novel. Just the progression and spice to feelings ratio- aghhhh. Like the perfect fic.

Gravity by @insomniamamma - submitted by @fromthedeskoftheraven

what raven said: She's a lovely person, brilliant wordsmith, and master of writing Ezra and the Prospect universe, and I think everyone needs to read her work (and whatever you do, do not miss her Prickle'verse fics, because they are sublime) 💖

Dark Shades of Innocence Lost by @mermaidgirl30 - self submission

what jamie said: it’s just my favorite that I’ve written and would love to spread the love to others who might not have gotten the chance to read or see it ☺️

#pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #fic recs #pedro pascal fanfiction

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psychedelic-ink · 11 months ago

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We Fall Like Snow ║ Part VI

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: You and Dieter return home.

word count: 3.2k

chapter warnings: male masturbation, phone sex (not with amina)

a/n: here we go the first official newly written chapter dfvfdv thank you to all those who reread and to those who has been following the series for the first time, we only have two chapters left to the end!

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

Dieter strokes himself faster, harder. His eyes are glued to the scene playing out on his tiny phone screen, he tries not to think about anything else. Just focuses on Eduardo sucking on Isabel’s sweet puffy clit. She moans loudly, a luxury Dieter doesn’t currently have. He hates the way the wires of his earphones keep accidentally swaying in front of the phone. Through gritted teeth, he lets out a hiss. He swipes the head of his cock with his palm, slicking himself up with precome.

“Finger her,” he says with a hushed tone. “Make her beg for it, Eduardo. Bite the inside of her thigh.”

Isabel's red hair drapes over the pillow as she lets out a sharp cry, thrusting against Eduardo’s fingers. They’re both way too pretty. He’s still clueless as to how he managed to get them to sleep with him. A mess of a man.

His balls tighten and his thoughts momentarily drift to you, to the masked ball. How it looked like you wanted to say more but he fucked the words right out of your throat instead. He remembers the way your cunt squeezed him tight, pulsing around his cock. Dieter shudders. Why the hell didn’t he bring one of his dildos? He desperately needs to fuck himself with something thick right about now. Something that would make him forget. And cry a little bit.

Isabel comes with a shudder, her thick thighs pressing against both sides of Eduardo’s face, his moan becomes louder as he continues to devour her, working her toward another orgasm. Dieter nears the edge himself. He starts thrusting into his fist, the slick sounds echoing within his room. He licks his lips, desperate to taste something—anything. He so desperately wants to please someone right now, to be someone’s good boy.

“You going to come for us baby?”

Isabel’s soft voice draws him away from his thoughts, his eyes find her’s on the screen, his cock pulses heavily between his legs, “Yeah sweetheart. Want me to make a mess?”

She nods eagerly, her lips parting as Eduardo parts away from her pretty pussy. He latches on to one of her nipples, sucking hard, grinding into the soft covers. Dieter’s gaze drops to Eduardo’s ass. He looks good like that. If he was there he would give him the prettiest teeth marks—

His chest heaves, cock throbbing heavily in his hand, he slows down the jerks of his hand. He loves teasing himself. Loves that warmth spreading throughout his stomach, loves the way precome just oozes out of the tip, going down his knuckles. The more he impedes his nearing orgasm, the more likely he’ll make a mess, just like Isabel asked.

Vaguely Dieter can hear both his lovers moaning his name, kissing, stroking each other. He doesn’t focus on the screen. His eyes flutter closed. Your body appears within his closed eyelids, he thinks about how good your fingers would feel in his tight little asshole, how you would call him yours—

“Fuck—!”

Thick ropes of come splatters over his chest, stomach, some of it even manages to land on his neck, heavily sliding down the thick column. He shudders and opens his eyes. He stares at the small image of himself. He’s still coming, still fucking his first. More and more and more. Thick come rolls down his knuckles, forming a decent puddle at the base of his cock. Both Eduardo and Isabel are staring with heavy-lidded eyes.

He drags his hand away from his sensitive cock and palms the mess over his chest. Dieter gatherers himself on his fingers, slipping the wet digits into his mouth. He moans at the taste spreading across his tongue.

He’s still not satisfied. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be again.

You feel like an asshole.

You are an asshole.

You were hoping to stay in your room until the car picked you and Dieter up and took you to the airport. But of course, Adaline had other plans for your last day together. A spa day. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been to anywhere so fancy alone.

You didn’t enjoy leaving things with Dieter on such a sour note. And it was your fault it ended up so complicated. You knew one of you had to be the responsible one—which, evidently, meant you. You panicked when Dieter started talking about a relationship, no matter how hard it tried it wouldn’t have worked out. This was the right call. Sooner or later he would accept that. The headache from the press wasn’t worth it.

You weren’t worth it.

“Are you ready dear?”

You jerk at the sound of Adaline’s cheery voice. Quickly you wrap yourself with a bathrobe and tighten the belt. The fabric feels like heaven on your skin. “Coming,” you call out, opening the door.

Adaline leads the way down a corridor adorned with soothing artwork and dimmed lights, creating an ambiance of tranquility. The air is filled with a delicate fragrance, a blend of lavender and eucalyptus that immediately relaxes your tense shoulders. The plush carpet beneath your feet absorbs your steps, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

As you pass by intricately designed wooden doors, you catch glimpses of serene rooms with plush massage tables. Soft music plays in the background.

Adaline smiles at you, “It’s a shame you two are leaving early.”

The sincerity in her voice tugs at your heartstrings.

“I do too but you have a famous son who has his movie premiere soon,” you answer with mirth. “He can’t miss it.” Was that harsh? Maybe it was harsh?

“Well, regardless I’m happy we’re able to do this just you and I—without the boys,” her laughter bounces off the walls, her joy infectious as your lips curl upwards. “They’re always so chaotic.”

“I would say.” Just as you’re about to enter the room designated for you, she delicately takes hold of your shoulder. Worry knots in your stomach and you quickly turn, thinking of the worst, however, she’s still smiling. Looking a bit teary.

“I do hope we see more of you. I can see the effect you have on him. I’ve never seen him lit up as much before since he was a little boy.”

You don’t know what to say—what can you say? You end up nodding with a smile that you hope comes across as kind. She squeezes your shoulder twice before letting go, “See you in a bit.”

Adaline chooses a room adjacent to yours, and you both settle in for a well-deserved escape from reality.

The massage rooms are the embodiment of comfort, each one softly lit with scented candles. The air carries a hint of essential oils, and as you enter your designated room, a wave of relaxation washes over you. The massage table beckons, adorned with crisp, clean linens.

The masseuses enter, quietly getting to work. You feel a bit awkward as you peel off your robe; this pampering thing is not exactly your usual scene. The room is calm, though, and the lighting is soft enough to make you forget about the nerves.

They give you a nod, a silent assurance, and you lie down on the massage table. They cover your hips with a cozy blanket. The whole room smells like a mix of fancy oils.

Their hands start working, and at first, it's a bit odd. You're not used to people kneading your muscles like dough. But slowly, the tension in your shoulders starts to give way. The knots are stubborn, but they seem to know what they're doing.

The masseuses focus on your upper back, their thumbs pressing along both sides of your spine with just the right amount of pressure. It's a peculiar sensation—fingers dancing over muscles that have been tense for longer than you'd care to admit. But as they work their way down, it's like they're unraveling the stress, one knot at a time.

There's a moment when their skilled hands find a particularly tight spot, and a small involuntary moan escapes your lips. It surprises you, but it also feels strangely liberating. You let out another quiet sigh as their thumbs continue to trace the contours of your back, coaxing the tension away.

You find yourself sinking deeper into the massage table. And your thoughts.

Of course, you’re thinking about him. How could you not? You wonder about what he might be doing this very second. Is he in his room? On the phone? Packing?

Probably not the latter—if you’re being completely honest.

As the masseuse's fingers dig into your flesh, you imagine how it would be like if it was Dieter instead. His hands stroking your sweat-soaked body after he worked his cock into you so thoroughly. Making you shudder against him god knows how many times. His hands would feel like heaven on you. He’d have a teasing lilt to his tone, his voice nothing but gravel—the sound would make you want to take him into your mouth. Licking him clean.

Fuck. This is not the time nor the place for thoughts like this. You feel yourself tensing again, wetness gathering between your folds. You take a breath and close your eyes. You can’t think about that. Forget the fact that you’re getting a massage, you can’t think about it because it’s never going to happen again.

Anxiety claws its way into your heart. You don’t have it in you to regret what had happened but you’re also not sure if it was worth the damage it caused. You don’t know what to do with yourself if you lose Dieter as a friend.

Hopefully, he’ll be in a better mood when you return home.

Everything will be normal then. It has to be.

You’re practically glowing when you enter the cabin with Adaline right behind you. Both of you are. You feel soft and gooey from being molded and exfoliated. Your body is humming, tingling, and the smell of the spa is still tickling your nose. All you want to do is sleep, but sadly you have packing to do.

“Thank you for the amazing day Adaline,” you say, watching her as she heads to the kitchen where Claus is preparing sandwiches for you and Dieter. You told him he didn’t have to but he insisted. She gives him a tender kiss, the gesture waking something like longing deep in your gut. “I feel like a cat under a sunbeam.”

“It was my pleasure dear—”

It seems like she’s about to say something else but Claus cuts in, “Before you leave I want to talk to you, sweetheart. Don’t take too long packing.”

“Oh. . . okay.”

He lets out an endearing chıckle, “Nothing bad. I promise.”

“Alright then,” you say, lips cracking into a smile. You head to your room, but at the last second, you decide to go to Dieter's room. The door is closed. He probably doesn’t want to see you, or anyone else for that matter. You press your lips together, knuckles hovering an inch away from the door as you try to decide on what to do.

You start tracing letters into the corner of your palm with the edge of your thumb. Faint music comes from the other side. That should mean he’s in a better mood right? God, you hate this. You hate not knowing how to act around him anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you knock softly.

"Come in."

The door creaks open, revealing him in the midst of packing. He looks up, and his face is motionless. Frightening, considering it’s Dieter.

“Hey,” you mumble, suddenly unsure of why you decided to come to his room.

Dieter sets aside a pair of folded jeans, his eyes meeting yours. "Hey yourself," he replies.

“So…how’s packing?”

How’s packing? What kind of question was that? What the hell is wrong with you?

He almost looks pained. He fully turns. Broad chest facing yours. Your mouth goes dry and you’re suddenly very aware of the thoughts you had during your massage.

“Look, Amina,” he says, slowly and exasperated. “We don’t need to talk about anything. You made your intentions completely clear. You don’t need to come and check in on me. I’m not that big of an idiot, I fucking know how to pack a suitcase.”

Normally you would make a joke about how he actually doesn’t know how to pack a suitcase but you bite your tongue. “I just wanted to make sure if we’re okay.”

“Describe okay?”

“The…same as before.”

“So friends?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs and you don’t like what that implies. Your stomach clenches, all the knots the masseuses worked so hard to melt forming again.

“Sure,” he answers blandly. “We’re friends. I just need some time.”

“Time for what?” You hate how high and patchy you sound but you can’t help it. You need things to return to normal. And you need them to return to normal now. You can’t take it. Every time you look at him a part of you breaks.

Dieter starts towards you until he’s an inch away. You feel his warm breath on your skin. Your chest heaves. He’s close. Close enough to kiss.

However, when you lift your gaze and meet his, you know whatever is about to come out of his mouth won’t be tender.

It’ll be cruel.

“Time to forget that you’re a friend that I fucked,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Things aren’t the same anymore. You told me you didn’t want me. You told me you’d rather have my dick than have to deal with me. So yeah, I’m gonna need a bit of fucking time if that’s okay with you.”

Yeah, you deserve that. Even though that’s not something that you said. On the contrary, you care too much. But him being angry is probably the better outcome with everything that is going on.

“Yeah okay,” you take a swift breath. “For what it’s worth it wasn’t about not wanting to deal with you. I— I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you. I do.”

He scoffs, “Just not enough to want to be with me.”

“You know it’s a complicated situation. Don’t pretend that it isn’t. I work for you. You’re my client.”

Dieter doesn’t reply so you take that as your cue to leave. You’re hoping what you said registers in his head. This isn’t about not wanting him, because you do, it’s about the press, his reputation—your reputation. It’s too complicated.

You close the door behind you and immediately you regret it. Some part of you wants to go back, rip the door from its hinges, and fall to your knees. You want to cry until you’re dried out, beg him for a hug, for a touch. . . but you know that’s not in the cards for you two. Dieter isn’t the type to think things through. Sadly, that’s your job, literally.

With a deep sigh that makes your chest ache, you head to your room to pack.

It’s snowing again. The air crisp and rejuvenating. You grip the wooden railing, watching as the soft flakes hover down from the sky. The horizon is buried in white. A sight that makes your heart flutter and heart grow three sizes. It’s a shame you’re leaving in about an hour. You’ve gotten used to the homeyness.

Claus stands next to you, gloved hands curling around the fencing. He’s staring at the horizon as well.

“I bet you’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”

When you turn to face him, you see the older man smiling. His profile is the same as Dieter. So much so that you don’t need to imagine how the actor would look like in his old age. “A bit, yeah,” you answer softly. Not wanting to seem rude. “I’m just hoping you’re not about to tell me I’m forbidden to ever step foot into your house again.”

He snorts, “Of course not. How could I say that to the person who makes my son so happy.”

Oh god.

You’ve seen enough movies to know where this conversation is going.

Your heart already begins to crumble.

They don’t know how hurt their son is because of you.

“I wanted to thank you,” he continues. “I know things might not be squeaky clean because of. . . everything in both your careers but love finds a way. I’m sure you noticed but he cares about things more than he lets on. He thinks no one wants him. But they do—don’t they?”

You were a fool to think that his parent had no clue about what was going on. They know. Claus knows. His lips curl a little bit higher as he turns to you, fixing his gaze, he shoots you a knowing look. The silence grows and you realize he’s expecting—no demanding, an answer.

“They do,” you answer, mouth going dry. “I do.”

“Good. Now—” You’re taken aback when he suddenly throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. “I’m going to let you on a little secret our surname isn’t actually Bravo.”

You choke, “Excuse me?”

He’s very pleased by himself as he pulls back, a huge grin plastered across his face. Claus winks at you as he mouths, “It’s Lobpreis, I changed it to Bravo before Dieter was born. I wanted it to be something catchy, something memorable.”

“Does—Does he know?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a secret if he did,” he guides you inside. “Now let’s send you guys off. I can feel my adorable son glaring holes into my head.”

You notice him when the heat of the inside engulfs you. Dieter is at the door, brows pinched together, his dark eyes gleaming with both curiosity and annoyance. Before you acknowledge him, you turn back to Claus. “Why did you tell me?”

Claus chuckles, giving you a playful nudge. "Why not? I figured it's time you knew a little bit more about the family you're getting involved with. Plus, it's always fun to keep things interesting."

You don’t get a chance to ask him how this makes things interesting, or why he assumes you’d be getting involved with the family—you’re too busy trying to conceal the fact that your body is burning from being called out so thoroughly. You clear your throat and with a curt nod, you take your place next to Dieter. You see the car waiting for you outside. You also notice Everett chugging one of your suitcases into the trunk, Adaline is with him, chatting about god knows what.

The three of you hurry down the steps, snow crunching under your boots, you hug Adaline first, then head towards Everett who is smiling big. “Don’t be a stranger now,” he says wrapping his arms around you.

“I won’t,” you answer, voice muffled against his chest.

“Call us when you get to the airport,” Adaline warns Dieter. “Don’t make me worry like last time.”

“I won’t Mom.”

You want to ask what happened last time but you don’t get the chance as Claus comes in for a hug. “Take good care of him,” he whispers. “Or else.”

“Or else?” you chuckle, eyebrows raising. “You do know what I do for a living right?”

“I have to say it. It’s in the dad rulebook.”

You nod and laugh, trying very hard to ignore the knots in your stomach as the dreaded moment of getting in the car with Dieter approaches. The trunk is shut tight and before you can stall you’re being rushed into the vehicle.

“Have a safe trip now,” Adaline says one more time.

And just like that the cozy winter wonderland slowly becomes small, fading behind a curtain of falling snow. You turn to look at Dieter but he’s looking out the window.

Your hands curl into fists on your lap. The small Kit Kat bar feeling heavy in your pocket. You were hoping to give it to him, to try and smooth things over—to prove that you still care.

But by his tense shoulders and the way he has his face pressed against the icy cold window, you know fixing things won’t be as easy as throwing a Kit Kat bar at shards of glass.

Only time can heal those types of wounds.

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x f!oc #the bubble fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #christmas fic

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nerdieforpedro · 6 months ago

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Weekend Update 05/12/2024

I’m back! Two weeks in a row!

Very good Nerdie. We appreciate this. We’ve been keeping tabs and you’ve been busy this week.

I did dabble in a few things this week.

A new discord server started by myself and my friend fhatbhabie for Latinx/Black/POC Pedro stans. It’s one of those things where I shouldn't have been as surprised by the overwhelming support for it as I was. It’s actually been pretty awesome and I’ve had very thoughtful DMs. The name of the server is Unhinged Clubhouse.

I wrote my first mostly smut fic in a while with Dave York. Trule wasn’t expecting him of all Pedro characters but, the smut fairy does what she wants, when she wants and I just gotta roll with it. It was another entry for Jett’s Flora & Fauna Challenge.

Going through my inbox - mostly caught up but still a few outstanding replied to be made. Sorry about that.

Lastly, working on WIPs and deciding in addition to working more on Weddings 101 with Dieter, which other series I’ve been working on did I want to pop out there? Frankie and Ezra’s series are finished and I think I might wrap up the on Din series in the next part or two. The other Din series I have to workshop a bit. I have ideas of who I want to pop up next from Star Wars, I just need to work it in.

Also Weddings Dieter: Sesame Street, Reading Rainbow and cheese? How do we feel about this? I also could use some help in deciding between the following for my next series: Marcus Pike vs. hot dogs + therapy, me finally writing nice things for Javi P, Dieter + brick house + you and a baby, and Pero Tovar + Dragon for revenge?

Lastly, does anyone have some prompts for nipples? It sounds weird, but consider, this is me. Also with @mysterious-moonstruck-musings influence, I have a weird bullet point list and made a horrible drawing. I just need to write something so it will leave my mind. I hope.

Side note: Nerdie now has reblogs queued up to July 21st. The queue shall know no rest! 😎

Nerdie, like are you sure there’s no recreational use of anything? Like really sure?

Nah, these ideas are all from a sober mind. And I shudder to think what I would be like if I did, so I don’t partake. Mainly because I’m a scaredy cat and also my alcohol tolerance is low. Plus I like mixed drinks. 🤭

Now it’s time for everyone’s favorite part:

Fic recommendations! I read a lot this week!

1. Worth A Thousand Words by @intoanotherworld23 (Joel Miller x f reader)

2. Chapter 1 - Howdy Neighbor! by @inept-the-magnificent (Frankie Morales x Plus sized OFC)

3. A Rugged Kindness by @pedropascalsx (Pero Tovar x F reader)

4. Just the Lilac by @djarinmuse (Dieter Bravo x F reader/OC)

5. Torment Part 2 - Terror by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

6. Torment Part 3 - Horror by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

7. Torment Part 4 - Wounded by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

8. Torment Part 5 - Victims by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

9. Torment Part 6 - Trauma by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

10. Torment Part 7 - Healing by @djarinmuse (Din Djarin x Fem OFC)

11. Fall Into You by @megamindsecretlair (Kevin Atwater x black fem/plus size reader)

12. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 1: Meat Cute by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

13. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 2: One Bed by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

14. For lifetimes of missing each other - chapter 3: Happily Ever After by @tinytinymenace (Demon Pero Tovar x OFC)

15. So Much Goddamn Talkin’ by @stargirlfics (Joel Miller x Black fem reader)

16. To the Flame chapter fourteen by @pedroshotwifey (Dark Javier Peña x fem reader) DDDE

17. Scattered Promises chapter 1 by @soft-persephone (Din Djarin x AFAB OFC)

18. Waffles and Cigarettes by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Javier Peña x fem reader)

This week I hope to have a new series up, maybe chapter six of Weddings 101 and my entry for the Dieter Bravo Brainrot Serve club challenge (it’s slightly over the word count - I’m going to see if it will still make sense on another edit). I dunno if all of those will happen, but at least one of them should.

Stay safe and hydrated everyone!

Love Nerdie! 🥰 💜💜💜

#weekend update #Nerdie update #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #random thots #discord server #unhinged clubhouse #latinx writers #poc writers #black writers

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trashlie · 1 year ago

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ILY FP 233

God I CANNOT believe we are 233 episodes in already. It feels like we were JUST at 151 watching Nol walk away from everything and everyone and here we are? 70-some episodes later? SOOOOO close to the fabled time skip? NUTS!!!! Even though at the time I’d always hoped Nol would make his return at the Christmas party, that we wouldn’t go into the time skip without resolution, I didn’t image how any of this would have played out, or what would have come of it.

I’ve probably said it before, but I’m just.... so amazed at what we’ve gotten out of Nol since the Christmas party arc began. He’s such a difficult character for me to predict and he’s so swaddled in all of the ramifications of his experience, his trauma wraps itself around his neck like some kind of boa constrictor, so frankly, everything that’s been happening the last couple (few?!) months is INSANE to me!

Let’s dig in!

Honestly this conversation between Nana and Nol is much needed. Don’t get me wrong - Nol very well knows and understands the ramifications of not only developing, but acting on these feelings. It’s not that he is acting on them that is the problem as much as the fact that Shinae is unaware, the fact that he needs to have a talk with Dieter. It’s such a mess no matter how you look at it with no real easy way out, and that’s without even considering the circumstances right now. Acting on these feelings when he’s about to disappear from her life again (serving time). Did he even intend to talk to her about it? Did he even intend to try suss out her feelings, if it’s reciprocal or not?

On the one hand he isn’t entirely wrong - there ISN’T a lot he can do at this stage. Like, yeah he can confess his feelings to Shinae, spell it out for her why Dieter is so hurt why he’s acting like that, but tit would unfairly influence her own feelings that she’s yet to have time to process. It would put her in an uncomfortable position she’s not ready to face. He could have tried to talk to Dieter before he found out that he saw it all, but what would that do in the moment? Like Shinae, Dieter needs his own time to process, to try to grapple with and sort out his feelings. He’s bound to be much more volatile if pushed right now.

That said, I find it interesting that Nol’s eyes were closed when he said he doesn’t know where his phone is and that it’s not easy when he’s stuck in the hospital - which isn’t entirely a lie, but I wonder if it’s more that he knows he’s avoiding the inevitable, the painful and the awkward? That he’s let opportunities slip through his fingers rather than face them? idk.

I love Nana’s tough love, though. She’s not unnecessarily harsh on Nol, even if the comparison to Rand felt like a low blow, because we know that seems to be a motivator for him. He DOESN’T want to be anything like his father and he certainly doesn’t want to treat Shinae like Rand did Nessa.

When I first read this episode, initially I was really wary of that frame with Nol’s eyes hidden from us when he says “I would never” because man all Nol DOES is push people away. All he does is decide that he doesn’t deserve what he wants and then deny them any say in their relationship, and it feels so very much like that’s the thought in his mind. That he would never so he’ll never act on it again so he’ll shove it deep down inside so he’ll learn to be platonic.

But listen Nol, is that even possible? He had to kick her out of his room because he could not be alone with her - because he knew she isn’t drawing boundaries and every time he toes the line she lets him because he knows he loses composure he stops thinking that she’d just look at him like *that* and he’d crumble in front of her. The problem is, he’s already started this conversation. He can’t go back on it. At some point, Shinae is going to figure out what he meant by what he didn’t say - why Dieter would feel hurt, what that moment meant for them, just like he told her to. And then what? Is he gonna play the “I have a girlfriend” card? She knows it means nothing! Is he gonna play the “Dieter likes you” card? But doesn’t Shinae get say in her feelings?

He still needs a conversation with Dieter, of course. Nol is so unpredictable to me, but I feel like there’s no way he could move forward knowing his feelings without talking to Dieter at some point. I have no doubt Nol feels like he owes him an apology and I have no doubt that Dieter doesn’t actually think Nol betrayed him or anything. But Dieter was the one picking up the pieces of Shinae when Nol made a mess of her. He was the one who found her crying in the rain where Nol left her. He was the one trying to talk her through it - even said out loud that she loves him, knowing he sensed it was a different kind of love than how he loves Nol. He’s the one who knows how hard she’s been trying to reach Nol, how much she is afraid to lose him CANNOT lose him, how much it tore her up.

I really want to see Nol and Dieter have that conversation. I don’t think Dieter is the type of person who would feel like he has “dibs” on Shinae because he respects her as a person and, y’know, isn’t territorial of her like she’s some kind of possession. But what he CAN lay into Nol about is the way he’s treating her. Nana is right, too - you can’t just push her away and hope all of this will go away. And Nol moreso knows better because he knows about Alyssa now, he knows about Shinae’s trauma, about being cast aside by someone you care about. Even the way she responded to him when he first touched her scar, first brought it up; Shinae has not healed completely from that wound, even if it’s a scar.

To do what he’s done this night - to return to her and be so honest, to share those moments together when he thought everyone was asleep and then push her away, close her out, box her out again - would be devastating and hugely unfair to her. If his plan is to really leave forever and never come back then whatever, but we know better.

I will say, though. I really enjoy seeing Nol be really pathetic about this. I am taking GREAT pleasure out of it, sorry not sorry. Especially because Shinae has already suffered tremendously over his ghosting, over the realization that someone who is so precious to her could just throw her away like that. I want this man to AGONIZE. I know he’s trying to tell himself to walk away that he can’t do this to Dieter that Shinae deserves better but I always want him to know he CAN’T that he’s in too deep that he can’t walk away from someone who care about him, someone who worries about him, someone who grants him those moments of serenity and brings him calm in an otherwise tumultuous life.

I think that’s the thing that’s so wonderful about seeing him this miserable, too - we are so very often locked out of Nol’s mind, it’s often so difficult to understand what he’s thinking about, what’s going on in there, but we can at least tell how torn up he is. How there’s a miserable part of him that doesn’t want Shinae to figure it out, how much he loathes that he resembles his father in this way. It’s not like he set out to fall for Shinae, it just happened, it’s something that has been blooming all along in the background, the seeds were planted and tended to in all of their moments together - all of those times she disarmed him and he let her in, gave her a little taste of who he really is. Falling for her was the last thing he wanted. And yet.

And yet.

Even though Nol is denying it at every opportunity, it’s still an indirect admission. His concern when asking Nana if she told her - we know what he means. He tells her there’s nothing going on but also states he’s trying. His attempts to deny it are futile when he keeps betraying his lies with the truth lol.

But look, I can’t help but love how sulky and miserable he is. He made this bed now he’s gotta lie in it.

But really, Nana is much needed at this time, because Nol’s typical moves won’t make anything better. She knows him better than that, and knows that both Shinae and Dieter deserve better. He’s not allowed to play with her feelings and then run away; he owes her a conversation, the truth, an apology. Ignoring it won’t solve anything, and pushing her away won’t fix anything, Nana gets it. Nana speaks on behalf of us.

But Nana is also right. Shinae and Dieter aren’t the only ones affected by what’s happening here.

What a fantastic segue to Alyssa lol

Alyssa, my messy problematic fave ;~; Alyssa my misguided lost little lamb ;~;

I know most people hate Alyssa but I am not most people and listen, I am BIG TIME worried and scared for her.

BIG. TIME.

We’ve known the connection between Yui and Gun Kim is close and we even know that Gun has contacts with several media conglomerates but I don’t think we really knew just HOW close he was, holy shit!!!! I cannot even begin to describe the DREAD and fear that filled me to see him show up like this. Especially like this ;~;

Seeing Alyssa hiding in the bathroom on the toilet gave me immediate worry but fortunately it doesn’t seem like anything had happened; she’s just taken refuge in the bathroom, her shirt was thrown up on by her boyfriend who seems to have sent her a cryptic message and hasn’t responded to her since. My guess is that maybe when Kousuke punched him and he fell, a message got sent...? Maybe while people were gathering his barely conscious bloodied body and moving him into Yujing’s car? Idk! The point is: she’s worried.

The way she’s sat on the toilet resembles the way she hid herself in her blanket at home that day Shinae visited her, a day where she was also very worried that someone was upset with her. I’m not saying I don’t think Alyssa is genuinely worried about Nol, but she does get very anxious when she thinks people are mad at her, and she knows Nol has every right to be mad at her. What she said was cruel, even if she meant it in the moment, and Alyssa absolutely cannNOT lose Nol - she needs him, not just for her career, but probably also for her protection. He’s one of the only friends she has at this time, even if she doesn’t treat him that way. And I think knowing that Rand left the party gave her some kind of indication that something is afoot, even if she doesn’t know what.

Let’s not forget that Alyssa witnessed him jumping off a balcony into the pool below. And now this weird message? Now all these messages he’s not responding to? Rand has left? What’s going on?

And she doesn’t even time to worry about him because Gun Kim is at the bathroom door, ushering her along, they have another schedule to make. What time is it? Are we aligned with Nol’s time? Did they stay the night at that hotel? They’re still there, at the setting of the Christmas party, not at their dorm or anything like that. They still have last night’s costumes, off to their next schedule. How long has it been? Did she sleep at all?!

Something that really stands out is the expression on Alyssa’s face when Gun is calling in, asking if she needs any help. Maybe that expression is just because she can hear her groupmates talking about her, perfectly willing to leave her behind, but with what we know about Gun.... you can’t blame me for thinking that she, too, knows a thing or two about that man and would prefer anything but.

One of the girls says something about how she’s always doing weird shit back at the dorm. How weird are we talking? Are we talking curling up in a ball and hiding in her blanket when she feels like things are falling apart? Are we talking coping methods for trying to deal with the plaguing feeling of knowing she’s so disliked, that nothing she does can make up for it? Or are we talking.... even weirder? Is it connected to whoever Alyssa is always on the phone with?

The more I think about her, the more I worry for Alyssa. Truly, fearfully worry.

Alyssa’s group is called GL4SS and the panels of her getting ready are glass shards - really on the nose there. It harkens back to that moment Shinae visited her house, where she so quickly pulled herself together like she wasn’t really moping at all, back at her violin as if nothing was amiss, nothing to see. Shinae thought it was so weird but look at how practiced it is. In a matter of minutes she pulls herself together, puts her face on - her mask, her facade, her persona - and steps back out like a good girl.

One of my friends pointed out how very much Alyssa donning her make up was so much like Nol doing Shinae’s make up at the formal. Nol was directly helping and protecting Shinae both in putting the make up on her and taking care of her throughout the evening, and he wasn’t the only one. When she was in danger, Nol, Kousuke, and Meg came together to search for her.

But no one is doing Alyssa’s make up.

No one is there to protect her, to defend her.

She’s alone when she comes out of the bathroom and finds Gun Kim waiting for her, her groupmates having already left to go to their next schedule alone.

Thinking about it from that perspective makes it feel so much worse. There is no one to protect Alyssa, to keep her safe. It is just her and an actual shark, an actual literal monster, who is to take her - alone - to her next schedule. Everything about her body language has me SCREAMING - she looks so uncomfortable, trying to shrink in on herself, arms tightly at her sides, everything about her posture screaming uncomfortable.

But it’s the things he SAYS. That weird “joke” that isn’t funny. That pointed dig about not wanting to give them another reason to dislike her. Danger alarms are going off, this man should NOT be anywhere in her vicinity, let alone be alone with her.

Here’s something to consider about Alyssa.

No matter what she does, her groupmates are never going to like her - no matter how skilled she is, no matter how hard she works, because they know how she got here. They know she’s got connections to the group’s sponsors! They know Yui handed her this. They probably trained for years, worked so hard to beat out other trainees, sacrificed so much for this and Alyssa just came prancing in.

No matter what she does, what she contributes, it will always be invalidated by how she got here.

And despite this, she seems to be the face of the group. She’s so popular that people are already calling her overrated. She’s already been doing CFs/endorsements. She has been granted things the other girls haven’t. Not only was she invited to the ultra exclusive Kim formal, but Yui pulled strings so that she (and only she) could attend. She’s chummy with Kousuke and Nol - and we know Sumin knows/assumes she’s dating him because she pointedly mentioned how Alyssa is always on the phone.

Her groupmates are (rightfully) jealous and she has no friends in them. The one thing she’s wanted is to belong. To be a part of something. But even in something like this, where you would expect to belong, where you work 24/7 with your groupmates, live with them, spend all of your time with them, she still doesn’t belong because of how she got there.

Fans will never be her friend and will only ever conditionally love her.

Who does she have? Who can she turn to?

Yeah she has Meg, but is she going to open up about her loneliness, about what she struggles with? What if Meg takes it as a slap to the face? Alyssa isn’t dumb and she isn’t blind - I think she must know that Meg feels some kind of inadequacy measured against Alyssa, the successful daughter, the famous daughter, the one who will be bringing home money while she tries to finally finish university for once.

And Yui and Gun Kim know this. By circumstances alone Alyssa was already isolated, has no one in her corner, no friends outside of the group, no friend in her group. And what can she do to combat that? Who can she turn to?

I wonder if those dating rumors are going to come up soon. If everything that transpired this night/day are to set us up for the coming time skip - will Nol and Alyssa still be together? If we’re setting up for the timeskip, I think we’re about to see a major shift.

Remember when I said that dating Nol affords Alyssa some kind of protection? While she can’t publicly say she is dating, she can at least thwart some advances privately, those who know of her relationship - like the Kims. (Though, let’s be real, has that ever stopped them? Ugh.) I think that while yes Alyssa has hung on to her relationship with Nol because she wants to keep Yui’s favor.... I think Alyssa benefits in a way Nol is very unaware of right now, and that’s why she is so desperate to keep in with him.

But if those dating rumors come up? If she has to publicly renounce their relationship, because she’s being forced to, because not doing so will ruin her career, because not doing so will find an awful punishment for her? Then what?

I think it sets up a couple things. Firstly, I think that could be the final blow for Nol. Much like he’s wiped his hands of Kousuke, perhaps he would do so of Alyssa, because who wants to continue to play pretend that they’re dating when she has to publicly renounce their relationship? He’s tried to help her, he tried to save her, and from his perspective, it never did anything, so why waste his energy on something futile? Just like he realized reaching Kousuke was futile, maybe he’ll feel the same of Alyssa, wipe his hands of her once and for all.

But if that comes to pass, then it means Alyssa is so truly alone, so isolated, caught completely in a trap that it’s too late to turn back from, and I don’t think she’s going to be given the opportunity to escape. I’m really worried that we’re about to see Alyssa realize how very trapped she is and that this is what’s going to carry us into the future.

;___________________;

I am so SO terrified for her. ;__________;

#I Love Yoo #ILY FP #ILY Spoilers #ILY Brainrot #I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT!!!!!!#idk how but I DID IT AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #i foguht off a nap to do this and i barely won lemme tell ya #i am SO sleeby #but it is SOOOOO miserably hot and humid here hhhhhhhhhhh #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Nana #Eleanor Lochlain #Shinae Yoo #Dieter Becker-Wulff #Alyssa Cho #Gun Kim #sob sob sob this episode made my heart stop it made my blood run cold in my veins #i'm SOOOOOOOOOOOO nervous to see how it continues and where it goes ;~;#yes i've seen FP teasers but HONESTLY? I'M CHILLED OKAY I'M AFKLJAKFJJAFJKfkajfkaflakfjkafjakfkafkjafafj

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templetogavage · 2 years ago

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Weekly Weighing (12/04 to 12/10)

As usual, here are seven gaining and encouraging things I enjoyed from my dash this week (plus one instance of self-promotion).

1. https://oac47.tumblr.com/post/702641168680435712/2022-dec-post-1-iii-sdonnell42-growing-guy

There's more pictures in the post itself, but here's a brief selection of a cute chub/bear who loves showing off on Instagram. I love when fat guys (even civilians) are this confident in how they look, and I appreciate @oac47 for sharing.

2. https://www.tumblr.com/fatmen-xxl/702606124678004736

@d0ughb0i is doing a good job of filling out these clothes. These shots are a perfect depiction of the fat man at rest. The lighting, too, adds to the effect.

3. https://www.tumblr.com/reluctantloser/702587125395259392

Midjourney's art is getting very good. Many thanks to @hugeredbear for submitting prompts that result in stuff like this. I'll probably continue to include these as Christmas approaches, just because I want to feature more santa posts. There are two more in the post linked above, but this was my favorite of the three.

4. https://www.tumblr.com/creator/templetogavage/703195291530280960

Shameless self-promotion! This is a recent audio I posted. Quite short, as these things go, but I like the combination of humiliation and admiration I struck here. It's about the idea of being big meaning that you take up a lot more space, dominating it at the expense of the people around you.

5. https://nycfann.tumblr.com/post/701925281312686080/fatboys-thanksgiving

Post-Thanksgiving belly play? Don't mind if I do. This video by @nycfann really hearkens back to the best of belly play videos of old- it keeps it short and sweet, showing off a couple angles and giving us just enough time to enjoy it. A good choice for a preview video- if you're interested in checking out his Patreon, let me know how it goes. I was a patron for a time in the past, when I had more disposable income, and I recall enjoying some of the roleplay videos there.

6. https://www.tumblr.com/blobinprogress/703108199482556416/ate-him-and-left-no-crumbs?source=share

The gainer world needs more comparison pics the like of which @blobinprogress posts. This is incredible- between the contrast in expression, the huge contrast in the body, and the way the streamer lighting highlights every inch of his belly, I can't imagine a better way to draw the eye. Excellent eye for what encouragers want to see (or at least what this one wants to see).

7. https://www.tumblr.com/ilikeithairy/702720570172817408

A picture of a bear. While this isn't perhaps what I'm most known for, I do admire a solid bear, even if he's a bit lacking in the body fat department. Gotta take some eye protein bars with your eye candy, you know?

8. https://www.tumblr.com/bigboycenter/702871680455950336

There was a time when I didn't quite appreciate the @thic-as-thieves boys. I tend not to like the first-thirty-pounds/bloated look too much. But lately they've really been chubbing up. This costume does wonders for his figure. He's definitely looking like my friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

And that's this week's Weekly Weighing! Thanks to @oac47, @fatmen-xxl, @reluctantloser, @nycfann, @blobinprogress, @ilikeithairy, and @bigboycenter for gracing my dash with these posts.

#satiating slop #weekly weighing

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javier-pena · 3 years ago

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blush

Part 4 of Hubris

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're finally ready to make the next move - but are you bold enough to tell Dieter what you want?

Notes: It's finally here, the answer to the question who will give in first. As always, huge thanks to Dani @adricnchase for telling me she "really loved that part of Hubris" because I put a bit of character development into this and wasn't sure if it would work. Still, I feel a tiny bit nervous about posting this and I hope you guys enjoy it! Also apologies in advance if it takes me a while to reply to any feedback because I'm gonna be traveling for a week, but I will also be working on Part 5 ...

***

His house sits dark in front of you. A tall tree to the left of the front door sways softly in the warm evening breeze. You watch the living room windows, the only ones that are lit brightly, watch his shadow pass the drawn curtains every few minutes.

Dieter Bravo.

You clutch the steering wheel and try to breathe, but it doesn’t work, you still feel like you’re suffocating. No matter how slowly you draw breath, how long you hold it, how forcefully you release it, your hammering heart is three sizes too big to let any oxygen reach your lungs. Your body is painfully stiff against the driver’s seat of your car, while you wait for your nerves to calm down. They won’t.

You’re not asking for much. You’re just asking for your body to move, to get up, out of the car, walk up to Dieter’s front door, ring the doorbell, and say it. By now, the grooves and dents of the steering wheel must be imprinted on your palms, you’re probably doing permanent damage to the muscles in your neck and jaw, and your heart will explode if you take any longer. But you can’t move, you can’t, you can’t. You’re dizzy with longing, dizzy with fear.

It's no use pretending anymore – you want him, you want him so much, it’s all-consuming, you want him any way he wants to give himself to you. That thought alone makes your head spin with all the endless possibilities of how this could go wrong – that it could go right hasn’t entered your mind much. Still, Dieter is all you’ve been able to think about for the past week. And as long as you don’t let your mind wander off to him rejecting you, laughing at you because you entertained the possibility he’s not toying with you, you can wallow in the feeling of wanting him. You’d be embarrassed by how much you touched yourself during the last seven days to the memory of him eating you out if you weren’t well past the point of feeling shame when it comes to Dieter. Even now, with your body on high alert, with your brain drunk on adrenaline, you have to shift in your seat when you think about his tongue between your legs.

It's so unfair of him to expect you to make the next move. Especially after he treated you like this the last time, after he used you, but showed you so much affection afterwards. It was a glimpse of what you tell your heart not to expect anymore, and now you’re hooked, hooked on the way it made you feel, hooked on how much you want to give yourself to him only to get to experience this care again, this … No, it’s too early to use that word! You’re not even entirely sure if your attraction to him goes past the physical, you can’t let your mind race ahead and create feelings that aren’t there. Him not hating you must be enough for now.

And why should Dieter be different anyway? You’ve been wrong about men in the past; this might just be another lesson life is sending your way. But something is different this time, he’s different. It’s been a whole week now since you refused to tell him you don’t hate him, since he told you to make up your mind. And he gave you space all week, he didn’t press you for an answer. He stayed away from you, didn’t come to you at the end of the day while you were finishing up, like he had done in the past. Once or twice, you caught him staring at you, not with the fire you’d come to expect but with something different – his look was hopeful yet heartbroken. It was enough for you to almost make a rash decision.

Yes, you’re here now, at eight in the evening, outside his house, because you want him. You need him. It took you a week to be brave enough to admit that to yourself, a whole week of using your fingers as a poor substitute for what you could have. That need is not the only thing that finally brought you here this evening – it’s also hope, hope that there truly is a connection between the two of you. You felt it, even stronger than before while he was keeping his distance. Maybe it’s true what they say – absence does make the heart grow fonder. And the only thing keeping you tied to your car is the crippling fear it’s not true in his case. Maybe you took too much time – maybe you’re too late and he doesn’t want you anymore.

No … you’re also scared of what will happen if it is true, and he feels the same way about you. Because then you’re putting your heart on the line again, and then you might be rewarded with something you’ve been taught again and again not to expect.

When a car horn sounds somewhere behind you, it pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts and forces you to act. You let go of the steering wheel, your fingers stiff and painful, and finally get out of your car. Everything has to happen fast now because if you stop and think about what you’re about to do, you won’t go through with it. With brisk steps, you walk toward the front door, whispering the sentence you want to tell him under your breath, letting your tongue get used to the feeling of those words.

“I guess I don’t hate you either, just in case you want to have sex in future.”

Then it will be up to him to make the next move. And you don’t show your hand, you don’t admit how much you care for him.

You reach the front door and knock twice, rapidly, business-like. It doesn’t take long for him to answer, at least not long enough for you to change your mind. Not long enough for you to prepare yourself either.

He’s wearing wide pajama pants, dark red, and a wide, gray shirt. His hair, free from any products they used on set to keep his curls under control, sticks up in all directions, like he keeps running his hand through it. He’s holding tomorrow’s script pages, crumpled sheets of paper, and a tumbler of whiskey. His eyes behind his reading glasses grow wide when he realizes it’s you.

“I …,” you start and then all the strength you mustered leaves you. You can’t go through with it, you can’t act nonchalant like you thought you would.

“Yes?” he asks carefully.

His voice is deep from the alcohol, from practicing his lines for tomorrow, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. You’re completely alone with him, and this time there is no chance anyone can interrupt you.

“You …,” you try again, and a shudder runs through you, nerves, adrenaline, fear, embarrassment.

He opens the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

Do you? Once you’re inside with the door closed behind you, it will be harder for you to leave if things should go south. But you accept and step past him into a hallway decorated with posters of some of the movies he’s done. You can’t help but smile at that.

“Is everything okay on set?” he asks while he points you to the living room.

“What?” you mumble, too overwhelmed to really listen.

His living room is not the grand hall you were expecting. Instead, it’s comfortable, lined with bookcases. At the center is a dark green couch covered in cushions that faces the tall windows. He’s leading you toward it, his hand hovering above the small of your back. Once you’re seated, he offers you a glass of water, which you decline.

He sits down next to you, but keeps his distance, hands folded on his lap. “Is there something wrong?” he tries again. “Is there anything you need?”

Everything is wrong. You’re hot and cold at the same time, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. And he’s wrong, too. He’s never acted like this, like having sex with you is the last thing on his mind right now, like he cares about your wellbeing. You don’t know how to respond to that, what to say to him that is not a snide remark.

All you know is that you want him so much it’s killing you, but you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how to open up and trust him.

He moves away from you, gives you space, waits patiently for your answer. If you don’t say something soon, he’s going to kick you out, maybe chide you for wasting his time. This is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You lower your eyes to the ground, to the ochre rug beneath his coffee table and take a deep breath. “I don’t think I hate you either.”

Please let my voice be loud enough because I don’t think I can repeat it.

He’s quiet for the longest time. You feel your palms grow sweaty, you feel tears sting behind your eyes. You wish you could take it back, wish he hadn’t heard you after all. This is not how you expected this to go at all – you don’t have the upper hand, you’re the one opening up, and with every second that passes he makes you regret it.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. “You don’t think?”

Is that impatience you hear in his voice? “No,” you say quickly. “I know I don’t.” The sigh you let out after sounds close to a sob. “Why is this so hard?” You should probably just stop talking because there is nothing you could say that wouldn’t make this worse.

“Well,” he says, his voice softer. He moves closer to you again, puts his hand down on the couch between you. “What do you want?”

You don’t know how to answer that. It has never occurred to you that this could be about what you want. You shrug.

“What do you need then?” he asks.

He’s not helping. You feel so utterly lost and vulnerable. All your strength goes towards holding back tears, goes towards stopping yourself from storming out. It doesn’t matter what you want and need, you’d be asking for too much anyway. Still, you look up at him, look at him properly for the first time since he opened the door for you, and find yourself face to face with his smirk.

“Well, I’m busy, actually,” he says, leaning back like a man who’s not busy at all. “If you want to have sex right now, I maybe have five minutes. Is that enough time for you to come?”

It’s the lifeline you’ve been waiting for. This is familiar ground for you. You know how to respond to this, know that things between you can still be the same if you follow his lead. The relief that washes over you almost brings tears to your eyes.

“Depends on how good you are,” you respond, not trying to hide the broad smile, the happiness you suddenly feel. A week ago, you’d have said it with malice in your voice, maybe even with hatred, in an attempt to hurt him and push him away, but you don’t feel any of those hard and cruel feelings right now. You just want to tease him.

The way his eyes sparkle tells you you’re on the right track. “Oh, a challenge,” he says, glee in his voice. “You’re making this very interesting.”

And then his hands hover over your pants, right over the button, while his eyes are on you, watching you carefully. You try not to overthink the look he gives you, searching your face for any discomfort, for any sign this isn’t what you want, because the care you find there makes you shake. This is the first time this thing between you isn’t a battle, and you don’t quite know what he expects of you.

His fingers flick open the button on your pants with ease, then pull down the zipper, his knuckles softly brushing against your underwear. Your breath catches in your throat when you see his gaze flicker down, when you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. This is all happening so fast, yet not fast enough. He makes you want to slow things down, yet shout at him to hurry up. You’re trapped in a delicious limbo, ensnared between lust and uncertainty.

“I hope for your sake this isn’t part of the five minutes,” you say when you can’t bear the silence any longer.

He lifts your hips with one hand and pulls down your pants with the other, quick and sure, gliding down to the floor in the process. You watch both the garment and your sandals tumble to the floor where they come to rest in an unorderly heap next to his thighs.

“Oh, you underestimate me.” He mumbles it against your naked thigh, imprinting the words on your skin, following the invisible mark with a brush of his thumb. Then his lips are there, his teeth, and he bites and kisses, making you squirm. His breath is so hot, his thumb against your clothed clit makes all the blood rush from your brain. You need to be able to think though, you need to analyze this sudden change in him, need to find an answer to the question why he is so soft and careful with you, why this intimacy makes you panic again.

Before you can overthink this, before you can change your mind and push him away, he yanks down your underwear and tosses it behind him. His gaze only lingers for a second before he pushes himself back onto the couch and pulls you on top of him. Your surprised squeal is followed by a throaty gasp as he pushes two fingers into you and you clench around them, immediately pulling him deeper. This is not what you expected at all, but it’s exactly what you need to get out of your head.

“I love how wet you always are,” he mumbles against your neck, picking up a steady rhythm that’s just fast enough to make you squirm.

You don’t know how to respond to that without giving too much away. Instead, you let him kiss up your neck, along your jawline, rolling your hips to get more of him inside of you. Then he leans back into the couch, his eyes bright and shiny as he watches you carefully move on top of him, not sure you can trust him fully yet.

“You’re doing so well,” he encourages you, his voice hoarse.

It loosens something inside of you, something you hadn’t even realized was holding you back. With a sure grip, you take his free hand and push it under your shirt. His fingers immediately close around your right breast and he squeezes just so to make a moan spill from your mouth, eager for more. He finds your hardened nipple through your bra and rolls it under his thumb, watching your face for any signs of encouragement or discomfort.

“More,” you whisper, trusting him enough to voice your desire.

He tears at your shirt, eager to pull it up, and you hear the fabric rip. The smile on your lips at his eagerness turns into a surprised O-shape when he pops your right breast out of your bra and latches onto it, sucking on your nipple, squeezing it, holding it in place, taking what he needs, yet giving back to you at the same time. Your eyes fall shut and you hear yourself moan, deep and trembling, while he does his best to coax more sounds from you with his fingers and his tongue. Despite yourself, you begin to roll your hips faster, panting from the strain of spreading your legs, of having his mouth on your nipple – it’s too much yet not enough at the same time.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he mumbles, then pinches your nipple with his teeth.

It makes you gasp, and when he does it again you can’t resist the urge to look down at him. You’re met with flushed cheeks, eyes glazed over with lust, wild hair, a furrowed brow. His lips around your nipple are red, slightly swollen, shiny with his own saliva. A whimper escapes you when you think about kissing those lips, biting them, moving on to exploring his mouth. The urge becomes so great you want to pull him off you and find out what he tastes like; your hands are shaking, anticipating your next move.

He pulls back then, falls against the backrest of the couch. You’re expecting him to smirk at you, but instead he stares, in wonder, captivated by the sight in front of him. It makes you miss his cockiness because you can’t handle so much adoration directed your way – you don’t know how to respond to it, you can’t even tell what you did to deserve it.

“You’re so desperate,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “You’d do anything to keep me inside of you, wouldn’t you?”

It’s only then that you realize how your cunt is fighting to keep his fingers inside of you, how it needs more. This isn’t enough, not with his gaze on you, looking like that, not when you already know what you could have if you’d only get over yourself and ask for it. And what better time to bring this up than right now, when you’re so close a few more strokes of his fingers would do the job but leave you unsatisfied? What better time to bring this up than now, when all you want is to finish this together with him, joined by the desire to give and take at the same time?

“Please.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own and you clear your throat in an attempt to find it again. “I need you inside of me.”

You steel yourself for a teasing remark, for a comment about how you should be begging for his cock, but instead you watch how his mouth falls open and he stares at you, unable to come up with any reply at all.

This is your chance to get back at him for all the times he teased you. “Oh, you like hearing me say that?” You try to mirror his smirk, even though you know it’s a futile attempt, especially when he pushes his fingers deep, deep into you, pulling a grunt from a hidden place within your chest.

“Shut up,” he growls, and does it again, making you fall forward and grip the back of the couch. “Yes,” he adds, making pride surge through your body.

His free hand finds its way to the small of your back and he leans forward, making sure you don’t fall off him as you lean back, trying to accommodate his movements. There’s a box on the coffee table behind you, one you expected to hold cigarettes or maybe snacks. When he flips open the lid you find out it’s filled with condoms. Before you can ponder too much on what this means, his hand is on your back again, guiding you into a more secure position.

“Would you …?” he asks, holding the wrapper up.

He won’t even stop fingering you to roll a condom onto himself.

You take the wrapper from him, then signal for him to lift his hips. While he does, focused on keeping you in place, he hits something deep inside of you that makes you whine, makes you want to beg him for more, makes you shiver in anticipation. He doesn’t seem to notice though, and you forget about it as soon as you’ve pulled down his pants enough to free his cock. You knew what you were about to see, you’ve seen it before, held it, had it inside of you, but you’re still surprised by how thick and full it is, by the glistening tip, by how you can see it twitch – you’re still surprised by how much he wants you.

You can’t resist. Carefully, you take it in your hand, stroke it, relish the feeling of it in your palm, the feeling of how much power he’s giving you. You speed up, lost in the moment, captivated by the grunts he’s making, the desperate rolls of his hips as he pushes himself into your grip.

And then he hisses in warning.

“Looks like you’re the one who’s going to come in under five minutes,” you observe, well aware that neither of you has paid attention to the time at all.

“Please,” he says, swallowing around something stuck in his throat.

It’s enough.

It shatters something inside of you.

You tear open the wrapper and roll the condom onto him, keeping your hand at the base once you’re done. He helps you move so you’re above him and only then removes his fingers. Before you can feel the loss too greatly, he grips your thigh where it meets your hip, and you realize his hand is drenched. Your face heats up – you must be soaking wet.

That pinch of embarrassment isn’t important though once he guides himself into you. Once you feel yourself stretched around him, once he pushes past any resistance until you’re joined, none of it matters. You groan, your eyes falling shut, and he responds with a groan of his own, deeper, more desperate. At the same time, you both start to move – you roll your hips, trying to get him to go as deep as possible, he pushes up into you with quick, powerful thrusts. It feels so good your ears are ringing and you can’t hear anything else except the sound of his thighs connecting with yours, a steady slapping that encourages you to let go of anything still holding you back.

In the spur of the moment, your raise your hand and tangle your fingers in his curls. Your grip isn’t hard, but steady, aimed at keeping you in place. But when his eyes widen at your touch and he lets out an encouraging groan, you pull, careful at first, then harder, so he’s forced to let his head fall back against the couch, exposing his throat. It’s not so much the sounds he makes in response that get to you, the loud, frantic moans, it’s also not the way his Adam’s apple bobs – it’s feeling him pulse inside of you, feeling his hips stutter at your careful use of force.

This is all you need to let go completely. His reaction makes you feel so good and wanted, you stop to hold back. You show him exactly how much you’re enjoying yourself. You roll your hips faster until he stops moving, until he’s sitting there, pressed against the soft cushions, taking what you’re giving him. It had never occurred to you that anyone could make you feel like this, that he could make you feel like this.

You lean forward until your foreheads are almost touching, until you’re so close you feel his exhales tickle your skin. This comes with a slight change to the angle of him inside of you, and suddenly you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge, toward release and unspeakable pleasure. But then you remember the last time you were this close to him, when he said you weren’t allowed to come without his permission. It rekindles a flame in the pit of your stomach, a wicked one that urges you to push him a tiny bit further.

“I’m so close,” you tell him, barely able to get the words out between sighs of pleasure. “Can I come?”

“Fuck.” He drops his head back against the cushion, your nails are scraping against his scalp. “You don’t need my permission, baby, just take whatever you want.”

Your body’s reaction is a sharp pang of pleasure deep in your core. With a shaking hand, you fumble for his and intertwine your fingers before guiding him to your clit, exactly where you want him. It doesn’t take much, just a careful press of his thumb, and you’re coming. With a desperate twitch of your hips, your whole body collapses against his. Forehead to forehead, you ride it out, trembling, panting, too weak to stop any of this, even if you wanted to. When it’s almost over, you feel him pulse inside of you and realize he’s joining you, spilling into the condom. You wish there wasn’t anything separating you and he would leave a part of himself in you.

With a gulp, you try to catch your breath. A small smile makes its way onto your face, one you see mirrored on his. And then, with a simple gesture, everything is ruined.

He leans forward, intent on capturing your lips with his, and you freeze. You panic, and the only thing that keeps you going is the urge to run. So you do. You glide off him and fumble for your clothes on the floor, ignoring his protesting, “Hey”. A dangerous cocktail of hormones and feelings makes it impossible for you to make a sound decision right now, and for some reason kissing him feels like making a promise you can’t keep. All you want is to drive home and lock yourself in your house, where no one can see you.

So you do just that.

[<< Part 3] [Part 5 >>]

***

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #the bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the last time i updated this fic we hadn't seen the movie yet omg

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wardenparker · 2 years ago

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You’re So Vain - Chapter 13

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15.7k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, food/alcohol consumption, family reunion. Biting, fingering, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, so much goddamn fluff and love you could just explode. Summary: On your last day in Switzerland before returning home, you have a very big surprise for Dieter. Notes: We’re approaching the end now (just two more chapters and the epilogue 💗✨) and this journey has just been absolutely amazing. Don’t worry though, there’s more drama to come before the end!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12

If the two of you have been a touch mopier (and even touchier) for the last few days, it’s because the fast-approaching end of your time with him overseas has definitely cast a pall over things. This morning you lazed in bed drawing sighs and moans from each other until one of your stomachs rumbled for attention, then shared a shower and grabbed an espresso before getting in the car. The special request you had asked of him sounded very small, but the truth is that it is so much bigger than he could possibly know.

Last night you asked him if you could drive out to Satigny Village about a half hour from Geneva toward the French border because you had read about a place called Boulangerie Fabienne – a bakery with stellar reviews and a nearly cult-like following known for their growing patisserie. The place had recently added a few counter stools and started serving at tables inside and you gave him wide, pleading eye until he agreed. Though that didn’t take long.

What you hadn’t told him is that you have been in touch with the Merz family that owns the bakery. Three solid days of sitting in Dieter’s dressing room with your laptop had been spent with your head buried in his family tree until you finally found his mother’s family - so close that you could almost throw something and hit the side of their home. How many times had he been in Geneva and never known how near to his mother’s hometown he was? It would have been so easy to see them any time he had wanted, but now that chance would finally be had.

The car ride is easy, even if you’re fiddling with your phone a little, texting his cousin Arya who is your main point of contact for the family. His aunt and uncle aren’t very tech savvy, but Arya happily played messenger between all of you and had put a huge effort into planning out a family dinner for tonight in the home she lives in with her parents, husband, and two kids. The home Dieter’s aunt and mother grew up in. The home that has belonged to his family for more than a century.

The drive to the little town is beautiful, a windows-open kind of day and he is thankful that you don’t mind that. The radio plays in the background and it’s sappy, but he just doesn’t want to let go of your hand while the other is on the steering wheel of the little car that has zipped you to places all over Geneva over the past few weeks. “So what made you find this place? Reviews?” He asks, knowing you love trying new experiences but curious as to where you are finding this stuff.

“I found it on a list of hidden gems.” That much is true, although you found that particular list well after your first email to Arya. “Because they’re so close to the border, they do a lot of French specialties as well as Swiss. The place is family-owned. The original owner in 1876 named it after his young daughter. Hence, Boulanger Fabienne.”

Dieter nods, just thinking it’s the random facts that you love to learn about, and he glances over to give you a quick smile. “Admit it, you want to take a box home to Steph.” He teases lightly.

“Their website says they’ll ship internationally,” you grin, loving how well he’s learned you over the last few weeks. “If it’s as good as I hope it will be, I definitely want to ship a box of things home.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I’m starving.” Dieter grunts, squeezing your hand lightly. “You’ve worn me out, couldn’t get something to eat earlier since someone was needing to cum again.” Both of you have been insatiable since the day after admitting that you love each other, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to get enough. He thought he liked sex before, but now…

“You weren’t complaining at the time.” Sending him a wink when he glances over at you, the warmth in your cheeks is both teasing and excitement as he pulls onto the village’s main thoroughfare. “It’s supposed to be about halfway into the village.” Swiss addresses are still a little touch and go for you, but the picturesque little village is someplace you would willingly get lost forever. It looks like a fairy tale. “I think that’s it there. The blue building at the end of the block. On the right.”

“Okay.” Dieter pulls into an empty parking spot and puts the car into park. The hours are listed on the glass windows, and he winces. “We better hurry.” He tells you. “They are about to close.”

“That’s what we get for spending the morning and a little of the afternoon in bed.” In actuality, you had timed everything nearly perfectly. “Come on baby, I owe you a good lunch.” And hopefully so much more.

Dutifully, he’s climbing out of the car and walking around the hood to meet you, his fingers tangling with yours with practiced ease. “You know, it’s Tuesday and we aren’t having tacos.” He jokes. “I know you will eat some for me when you get home, right?”

“I promise.” Grinning, you press a kiss to his cheek and nudge him towards the door. “But first, I need to have one more laugen cheese roll before I leave the country.” Going home tomorrow morning is going to be heartbreaking, but you smile anyway. The joy of today will hopefully make it worth it.

“I’ll be bringing you some home.” He promises, dropping a kiss on your nose and laughing when it scrunches. “I’m gonna find a recipe for Rico. I can see cheese rolls split open and filled with Birria.”

“Fuck.” You groan happily, pulling the door open. “I’m so hungry.”

The smell hits him and he groans, his own stomach growling at the amazing scents. The tell-tale smells of a bakery are there, but there are also notes of spice and meat, and he wonders if they are cooking a family meal in the kitchen. It would make sense since it’s family owned. “Whatever they are making, I want it.” He moans, mouthwatering.

“Bienvenue!” A cheery, bright-eyed woman in a pair of neat jeans, a soft green blouse, and an apron embroidered with the bakery’s logo is out in front of the counter tidying up.

“Hello.” Arya Bachmann looks exactly like her photograph, and you have to stop yourself from jumping forward and giving her a giant hug for being so helpful and accepting of the idea of meeting her long-lost cousin. “I’m sorry, my French is terrible.”

“That is fine.” She answers in English, setting her cleaning cloth down on the other side of the counter and wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I do for you today?” She knows you. She is practically vibrating with it. The picture you sent of you and Dieter was only a few days old when you attached it to the email. But seeing you in person is more exciting than she imagined.

Dieter looks around and grins, knowing this place will be emptying a few of their pastries for you to take back to the hotel for midnight snacks. “My soulmate insisted we try this place.” He tells her. “So I’m sure a lot of boxes of one of everything at least. And whatever that amazing smell is.”

"I'll be happy to box whatever you wish." She smiles, rocking a little on the balls of her feet so as not to startle the man she knows is her family by wrapping him up in a hug immediately. "But I am afraid that some of what you smell is preparation for a family dinner tonight. We have a special guest joining us tonight. It is a very important occasion."

“Oh,” he nudges you with waggled eyebrows, slightly smug at his correct guess that they would be closing down soon. “We won’t keep you long then.” He promises, looking over at the counter to browse.

"Actually, Dee..." You squeeze his hand gently, glancing between him and Arya with a growing smile. "We're invited. Um..." For just a split second you're terrified that he's going to freak out, but you brush it off. Dieter's family is so excited to meet him that you can't possibly let him pass this up. "This is Arya. She's...she's your cousin, honey."

Dieter blinks, shocked silent for a moment and he looks back and forth between you and the woman behind the counter. “Cousin?” He shakes his head and wonders how that can be. “My mother was an only child.”

"She has a sister." Shaking your head reluctantly, you swallow a sigh of hurt on his part. "An older sister. I don't know why she never told you, but...all that time on my laptop in your dressing room over the last few days? I was trying to see if I could track down your family before I had to leave."

"Your soulmate sent an e-mail here, to the bakery, when she found us." Arya explains, gently wringing her hands with obvious nerves. "My mother is your Aunt Luisa. Your mother's older sister. They...they never knew where she went or what happened to her. Maman said her sister ran away when they were young and she never returned any of Mémé's letters." She shrugs sadly, not wanting to give Dieter the impression that his family does not care about him, for that is completely the opposite of the truth. "We are so grateful for the chance to meet you, if you would like to meet us."

“I—I didn’t know.” Dieter swallows, suddenly nervous – like he is auditioning for the role of a lifetime. Perhaps because he feels like he is. “I thought maybe I would find my grandparents’ grave or something.” He admits quietly, even though he had done nothing to actually look for them. “My sister was the one who—” he breaks off and gives a small shrug. “She wanted to find family years ago.”

"Mémé and Pépé are both very much alive." Arya chuckles softly and dares to take a step forward toward her cousin. "I think they are likely to outlive us all out of stubbornness."

His eyes widen dramatically and he looks at you, eyes watering. “I— they’re alive?” He asks softly, clinging to your hand and squeezing your fingers. “I— do they know? Did you, uh, know that I was— that I am—”

“I told them a little.” You admit, reaching to brush the tears from his eyes. Addiction is often a hereditary issue and you had wondered if there might be anyone else in the family tree that struggled, but it looks like that must have been his father’s side, if at all. “Arya’s soulmate is a fan, actually.”

“We’ve seen almost everything you’ve ever made,” she admits sheepishly. Her sons love his movies as well, and knowing the truth now gives her such a feeling of guilt somehow. Like she should have known, even though that is impossible. “But that is not why we are excited to know you, Dieter. You are family, and that is everything to us.”

He blows out a breath, overwhelmed and honestly nervous. He’s had no family for years and not suddenly he has cousins and grandparents? “Wow.” He gives a shy chuckle. “This is not what I was expecting.”

“If it’s too much, we’ll all understand.” That is something that you and Arya had discussed at length, and that his family understood. This is a surprise, and it might be overwhelming for him. “But if you’re up for it, how about we spend the rest of the day getting to know your family a little bit?”

“No, I want to.” Dieter promises, looking over at Arya and tries to see if he can see anything of his mother in his cousin. “I just— I wish Danica was here.”

"We wish she was, too." Arya nods. You had mentioned the loss of his sister and it grieved her to know that he had been alone through all of that. "But perhaps we can light a candle to remember her tonight? That is...that is something we do. When all of us get together, we light candles for those of us who are missing."

Feeling choked up again, all he can do is nod, squeezing your hand again. He can’t believe that this is happening, all because of you. “Yeah. That would work.” He sighs.

"Have a seat." Arya motions to the nearby set of small tables. "I will get us some coffees and some things to eat, and we can talk a little?" She has a feeling that he'll feel a little less uneasy if he knows even one more person going into supper tonight and she doesn't blame him.

“I can’t believe you did this.” Dieter murmurs as the two of you walk towards the table. “It’s— I can’t believe it. You are amazing, you know that?”

"I love you." Even though you've said it countless times since the first, it still makes your heart soar, and you hug him quickly before the two of you sit down. "And I want you to be happy. You've wanted to know them for years, baby. I just...I didn't know if you would ever do this on your own. And I didn't want you to miss out again."

“I don’t deserve you.” What you’ve done deserves a kiss and he doesn’t hesitate, pulling you into his arms and giving you a very appreciative kiss that might not be appropriate for public, but he doesn’t care.

The tray that Arya reappears with is laden with bowls of gorgeous looking soup sporting veggies, beef, and barley, and three of the delicious, cheesy rolls that you had named before – along with espressos, glasses of water, and a plate of the Linzer cookies that the bakery is so famous for. You have no idea how she's managing to balance it all so well, but she does it with the effortlessness of a prima ballerina. "So," she begins setting things out and fully empties the tray out in front of the three of you before sitting down with you and Dieter. "What can I tell you about our family, cousin?"

“I don’t know what to ask, honestly.” Dieter admits, biting his lip and giving a small shrug. “Who all is going to be there tonight?”

"There are four generations of us still living." Arya explains, passing out the rolls before digging into her apron pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. "I—I made you a little family tree...I hope it will help, even a little." The handwritten chart includes Dieter and Danica, and their father. "Maman – my mother, your aunt – she knew your father's name, but nothing else about him," she admits.

Dieter bites his lip and frowns, trying to align what she is telling him with what he knows of his parents meeting. “They supposedly met while he was backpacking across Europe.” He tells her, pointing at his father’s name. “He died in 2002. I do know that.”

"I didn't know that. I'm sorry, honey." Gently squeezing his hand on the table, you pick up your water glass with your other hand and take a sip.

"Hopefully the idea of gaining some family outweighs the hurt." Arya offers. She knows that nothing can truly repair the hurt of losing someone you love, but she knows that her family has always been there for her just like they will be there for him.

Dieter shrugs slightly, unwilling to be hurt by someone who he had limited contact with for most of his life. "Honestly, I didn't know him. Although I don't know now if it was because he wanted nothing to do with us, or if my mother made sure that we didn't want anything to do with him." He's hurt, very hurt to know he had family that he never got a chance to know because of her lies.

"We are here now." His cousin promises, reaching across the table to take his other hand. "If we had known how to find you, we might have done this many more times by now."

He's grateful that she is so nice, smiling at her in appreciation. "Our - our grandparents...." He ventures softly. "What are they like?"

“They’re kind.” Arya returns the smile as easily as breathing but chuckles a little. “Well, they are now. They were much stricter when I was young, but time has softened them.” As everyone begins to eat, she hums a little and tries to pick out what tidbits of information to offer. “Mémere likes to paint. She has painted everyone in the family several times over, I think. And my boys - I have two teenagers - are teaching Pépere to play video games. Usually he just sits and watches but he knows all the characters and the plots from games they like.”

He chuckles slightly, nodding. "I would do the same." He admits. "Can't play video games for anything, unless it's the original Atari." He doesn't know anything about a family dynamic, he's been alone for a long time.

“Does anyone else in the family paint or do other kinds of art?” You had wondered plenty about his family after you had started talking to his cousin, hoping that there would be plenty for him to latch on to and have in common with them.

“Oh, yes.” She nods eagerly. Mémere, my mother, and my boys. Ever since they were small. Our home is like their private art gallery.”

Dieter snorts, shaking his head. "Well, I always wondered where I got it from." He muses, reaching over and taking your hand. "She paints as well. Is an art teacher and a damn fine one." He tells his cousin, nodding at you.

“Our niece,” Arya says our to him like it’s some kind of magic spell and it makes her smile even more. “Noemi is only five, but she likes plays very much. She dresses up and acts out her favourite stories. Perhaps she will follow in her uncle’s footsteps one day?”

Dieter grins and feels proud that he can contribute to a family. "Only if she wants to, but don't let her get into it too early." He advises. "Let her be a child for now."

Arya’s chuckle is full of life as she pauses with a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. “You try to tell her that. I think she has already chosen her first red carpet dress.” She shakes her head again, glad to see Dieter smiling. “She is an angel, my brother’s daughter, and your soulmate says you are wonderful with children. You will love her.”

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure if I would say that I'm wonderful with kids, but I like them." He tells her with a shrug. "They are curious and accepting."

“You’re amazing with Nora.” You protest, always knowing he was going to sell himself short. “The hospital trip? Come on – not everybody could have handled that and you made her feel so safe.”

"Who wouldn't in that situation?" He asks, raising a brow at you, knowing that none of you would have turned their back on a little girl needing comfort. Not even as selfish as he is.

“He doesn’t always take compliments well,” you tell Arya with a smirk. Sometimes, of course, he’s a complete shit about it. But never when it comes to Nora. And definitely not right now.

He rolls his eyes and huffs, feeling slightly defensive about that observation. He hates that you seem to see the way into his soul sometimes, even if he appreciates it. "Yeah, yeah." He blows a very mature raspberry at you.

“I see what you mean.” His cousin laughs, nodding as though you had described that reaction from him specifically. Which you probably could have if you had predicted this conversation.

Dieter rolls his eyes again and takes another bite of his soup although he ends up laughing along with her. It was true that sometimes he could be a vain S.O.B. but then he also would get shy at a genuine compliment.

“Love you.” You grin, still giggling slightly as you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“You are good together.” Arya laughs, letting her spoon rest in her now empty bowl. “How long have you known each other?”

Biting his lip, he looks over at you. He wants to tease you about the first time you had told him to go fuck himself, but he doesn't want to embarrass you with his family. If you want to tell that tale, he would let you do it. "Nearly three months, right?"

“It’s actually three months on Saturday.” You can just feel the way your cheeks burn that you know it down to the day, but you’re proud of him and of how far you’ve come together.

"Three adventurous months." He tells his cousin with a chuckle and tosses you a smirk.

“This is the biggest adventure I’ve ever been on,” you explain to Arya, shrugging your shoulders. “I had never left the country before, and all of a sudden I’m in one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen in my life for three whole weeks. It’s been amazing.” And really, that’s all down to Dieter – something which you’re incredibly grateful for.

He grins, proud that he could give you that, his hand sliding up and around your shoulder. "Plus, she just got her first tattoo." He tells Arya proudly. "Branded me." He tosses you a wink and smirks. "Like I branded her."

“My soulmate is afraid of needles.” Arya laughs at that, as though it’s something she has teased him about many times before. “He is covered in all of my cuts and burns from growing up in this bakery, but there is not one single tattoo between us.”

Dieter smirks. "You could always get one, when it transfers over to your soulmate, it's just a sharp pain and then the beautiful artwork."

“I wouldn’t know what to get.” She doesn’t hate the idea, though, always having liked the way that real art looks on skin. “Can I ask what inspired you to get yours?”

"Show her." Dieter encourages you. "She actually designed it herself."

"Actually, what inspired me was him." You explain, unbuttoning your shirt just enough to loosen the neck so you can drop it off one shoulder to show Arya your tattoo. "They are the favourite flowers of all of the most important people in my life. Dee, my niece Nora, my sister-in-law Stephanie, and...and my brother, Shawn. We lost him to Covid, unfortunately. I've been helping raise his daughter since he got sick."

"I am so sorry for your loss." Arya murmurs, even as she admires the watercolor of flowers that are inked into your skin. "It is a gorgeous tribute to those that you love." She shifts in her seat to look more closely, not quite touching the colours inscribed in your skin with her fingertips but tracing the lines. "Would you..." she almost laughs at herself, but shrugs. Not that you can see it. Dieter can, and she glances at him before looking back at your shoulder. "Would you design one like this for me, if I asked? I'm not sure what of, but the style is so beautiful."

"Oh!" You fluster, head popping up to look at Dieter in shock that his cousin would ask something that is such a huge compliment. "I—I mean, of course. If you wanted that, I would draw whatever you wanted." You can't imagine that she would have any kind of outlandish request, or something you would feel uncomfortable painting for her. "That's so kind of you."

Beaming with pride, Dieter winks at you. "I told you that you could design some wonderful tattoos." He reminds you softly.

"Maybe that's what I should do from now on." It's so unrealistic that it practically makes you giggle as you readjust and rebutton your shirt. "I'll become a tattoo artist for the irony."

He snickers and shakes his head. “Still think you need to do traveling art classes.” He reminds you. “That way you can go any and everywhere you want.”

"Are you thinking of changing careers?" As much as Arya appreciates art, she has never been very good at producing it and never really had the patience for studying it. If she could ever claim to be an artist at all, it is with pastry.

"More like changing what kind of teacher I am," you tell her, reaching to squeeze Dieter's hand gently. "Becoming a private teacher would let me choose what I want to teach, and when, and where. So I could travel and see the world like I always wanted to, but keep teaching and making art, which I love."

“She would be fantastic at it,” Dieter brags. “She’s painting the portraits that are being used in my latest movie. The one we are here shooting now.” He loves that he gets to say that. “And plenty of people on set have asked her to teach them.”

"You could just travel to wherever he is filming." It's such a glamorous idea – and outlandish because of it – that it makes Arya smile at the two of you. "Hold classes for anyone working on his films as well as anyone local. I know I would certainly come if you ever taught a class here someday." Just because she doesn't have a natural talent for art doesn't mean that she wouldn't like to try to learn. Especially from someone so talented.

Dieter sends you a look that screams ‘I told you so’ and grins. “Isn’t it a great idea? I told her that she could always find local coffee shops or say…bakeries, to hold her classes in. Give them some business and let them advertise as a special afternoon.” He turns to his cousin. “What would you say as a business owner if someone proposed that?”

"I think most business owners would say that their first concern is cost." Arya admits, though she hates having to say it. She has the luxury of managing a long-lasting, well-loved, ever-growing family business and tries to never take it for granted. "Some will want a portion of your profits. Like the way concert halls keep a portion of ticket sales. But to have someone teach art here? That would only help my business. I cannot see a reason to say no, and I know that many would find it exciting."

“It’s honestly questions that would need to be worked through.” Dieter acknowledges. “But I could see how having that information and a plan would be a good idea.”

"Art is disappearing from American schools, is it not?" She asks you, and the way her brows furrow with concern is somehow almost identical to the way Dieter's does also.

"It's difficult. We try to do our best with the students given what the schools allow, but there is no budget for supplies. Most of it comes out of my own pocket. Not to mention the strain put on our time by requiring all of us to do things like chaperone school functions and run after school activities." You sigh, hating the guilt that twists in your gut whenever you think about leaving teaching. It can be so rewarding, but it can also be such a suffocating source of stress. "If I didn't love my students, I think I would have already left for something else."

Dieter reaches for your hand, knowing that it would be a loss for the education world for you to leave, feeling slightly selfish for wanting it. Maybe he needs to back off pushing. “Her students are very loyal.” He tells his cousin. “We met a few out in the wild and it was obvious how much they admire her.”

“She cares very much.” Arya can attest to that, having spent three days exchanging constant emails with you. “If she cares for her work half as much as she cares for you, they are very lucky children.”

He huffs, flushing under the meaning of those words and gives a small shrug. “She cares for them more, most likely. I couldn’t blame her for that.”

“She,” you grin a little at the silliness of referring to yourself by pronouns. “Loves her kids very much. But…not as much as she loves her soulmate.”

His own grin is just as sappy, and he preens just a little. “Good to know.” He chirps and rocks proudly in his chair.

“It is hard to believe it has only been three months.” When Arya sits back in her seat, she smiles softly and rolls her water glass in her hand like an unconscious movement. “But then, some soulmates bond after three hours. It can never be predicted.”

“Our relationship was rocky at the beginning.” He tells her, lacing his fingers through yours. “My fault.” He’ll claim the blame for that. Apparently, the American celebrity news doesn’t reach over here and he doesn’t want them to think badly of you.

“I wasn’t exactly an angel.” That’s about the understatement of the year, but you don’t want his family to hate you. Today works the best if you both come out of it smiling. “But we’re glad to be where we are now. Even if we are both a little stubborn.”

Arya grins, lifting a brow at how the two of you are protecting each other. “I think that the more alike people are, the more they clash.” She tilts her head and snickers. “Although ‘Fuck you, Bravo!’ was an amazing first meeting.”

“Oh god…” You groan, leaning into Dieter’s side and burying your face in his arm. “I was so hoping you hadn’t seen it!”

Arya laughs and reaches out to touch your arm. “Don’t be embarrassed.” She urges you. “Our family is not the type to hold it against you. I swore I would never marry my soulmate if he was the last man on earth.”

“No?” Feeling a step past mortified, you still keep close to Dieter when you look back at her. “On principle?”

Arya laughs and gives a small shrug. “Yes and no.” She tells you. “He infuriated me. Had all these ideas on how soulmate were ‘supposed to be’.” She rolls her eye and grins. “He changed his mind, obviously.”

“I think infuriating and stubborn is how we both would have described each other, early on.” You admit with a rueful grin. “Thankfully, we’re also both a bit more malleable than we thought when it comes to each other.”

“That’s what happens when love creeps up on you.” She smiles again and looks back and forth between you. “You wouldn’t have found his family if you didn’t love him.”

“That’s true.” And thankfully you’re past the point of even attempting to deny your feelings. It would be impossible to do by now anyway, with the way you feel your heart just spilling over at all hours of the day and night. You would have slipped by now. “And I’m so grateful to all of you for being so welcoming.”

“Everyone is looking forward to meeting you.” Arya tells you, standing up and starting to clear the now finished meals. “They have all missed your mother and wondered about her life for years. And to meet her son? It will bring happy tears.”

“Arya!” An older woman’s voice rings from the direction of the bakery’s kitchen. “Où es-tu? Sont-ils ici?” Where are you? Are they here?

“That’s Maman.” Arya smiles, biting back a laugh. “She must have gotten impatient waiting. One minute.” She pats Dieter’s arm gently before disappearing behind the counter and back through another archway. “Arrête de crier! Je suis là.” Stop shouting! I’m here.

Chewing his bottom lip, Dieter clings to your hand a little desperately. “I— do I look okay? I should have worn something nicer.” He frets, suddenly terrified that they won’t accept him. Feeling jittery and honestly craving something medicinal or chemical to calm him down.

“Baby, you look amazing.” You promise him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. That small act of reassurance being so important. “I know you’re nervous, but they’re so excited to meet you. I promise. I wouldn’t have brought us here if I had any doubts.”

“I didn’t know they existed.” Dieter murmurs. “She never talked about her family. Acted like she was alone.”

“And they didn’t know you existed.” The first emails had been full of the necessary requests for proof, and you had related as much as you could of Dieter’s mother’s story to Arya and her mother, Luisa. “I mean, they knew you existed, they just didn’t know who you were. Are. To them.”

“Jesus.” Both of his hands are cupping yours and he rubs them, trying to soothe himself. Touching you seems to be an important part of that now. “I—why? Were they that bad?” He asks quietly, glancing at the door to make sure Arya doesn’t overhear. “Why else would you deny family?”

“From what Arya could tell me, it sounds like your mom didn’t want to be forced into the family business.” That raises another sigh, since you can’t see how it was worth cutting off her entire family over. “And they…I guess your grandparents objected to her running off with your dad because they weren’t soulmates. But like Arya said…they’ve gotten less strict over the years. After a while all they wanted was for her to come home, but since they didn’t know your dad’s last name, they couldn’t find them.”

Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “Stubborn.” He tosses you a wry look. “And you wonder where I get it from. Apparently it’s a family trait.” He frowns. “I would never be upset. If you— if you wanted to be with someone other than me.” He rolls his eyes. “I mean I would but not because of anything more than I love you now.”

“Don’t be dumb.” Rolling your eyes at him is the best self-defense you have over getting misty-eyed, and after only a few weeks of getting along you’re not really feeling like this (especially right now) is the time or place to push. “I’m not going anywhere. Who else is going to sass me as well as you do?”

“I am really good at it.” He teases, sticking his tongue out of you.

“Very mature.” You snicker, stealing a kiss before more of a ruckus can be heard from the kitchen. “I love you, Dee. You brought me my family by surprise, so I brought you yours.”

“Thank you.” He rushes out before anyone can come out from the back. “No matter how this turns out, thank you.”

“You are…my goodness…” Luisa Müller is a strong, lean woman with all of her softness contained in her round face. Bright eyes and chubby cheeks add animation to a bright smile and wild, white hair. “Welcome home, mon caneton.” The tears in Luisa’s eyes are the truest kind of happy, born of such exhaustive relief that she looks like she could break right down and sob as easily as breathe. But that’s not the kind of woman she is. She’s far too exuberant for that, so it is open arms and the offer of tight hugs instead. The welcome she would give to any member of her family.

Standing when they walked into the room helped him not be smothered in the woman’s, his aunt’s, arms. “Hi.” He swallows down the urge to shed some tears, trying to keep it together and act like a grown ass man instead of the little boy who wondered why he had no family when doing a family tree project in school.

“Look at you.” She cups both of his cheeks in her hands and smiles, absolutely lit up from the inside to be able to have her nephew in front of her after not knowing that he even existed for so many decades. “Grown up and a man already. I wonder if you have any idea how glad we are that your girlfriend found us.”

“I don’t.” He admits, although he’s starting to get an idea. Grinning at the way she is pinching his cheeks as if he were a small boy. “Mon caneton?” He asks, raising a brow since he is taller than she is.

“My duckling.” Arya chuckles, coming back into the room with several pastry boxes in her arms. “Maman used to call us little ducklings in a row when we were growing up. I suppose there are three of us now.”

Luisa nods, tears spilling over in her eyes. “My daughter, my son, and my nephew,” she confirms, pulling Dieter into another tight hug.

“There—there were four.” Dieter clears his throat and pulls back. “You would have loved my twin sister. She was the good one.” He jokes weakly, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening it to the pictures he kept of her there. They went from phone to phone, always. He turns it around to show his aunt. “Danica.”

“Mm.” Luisa nods solemnly, examining the photo on his phone with a soft expression. “It was a car accident, yes?” She clucks her tongue and rubs Dieter’s arm gently. “I am so sorry, mon caneton. If it does not hurt too much to talk about her, we would love to hear your stories tonight.”

He nods. “It’s hard, but that’s just a testimony to how wonderful she was, right?” He asks, looking over at you. “Besides, my soulmate hasn’t even heard the stories. It will be good to talk.”

“Good then.” With one more squeeze, Luisa lets him go and transfers all of her hugging power to you instead for a quick but tight embrace. “Let us go home then. You can see the house where your mother and I grew up, and meet the rest of the family?”

“Sure.” He nods and wipes his hands on his pants before reaching for you again. “Whatever is best.”

Deciding it’s best if you follow them to the house, you and Dieter head back out to the rental car while Arya locks up the bakery and her mother packs up the pastry boxes in her own little Citron. “How are you feeling, love?” You give his hand a squeeze once you’re both in the car.

“I don’t know.” Dieter tells you honestly. “It— I mean I talked about it— but I’m shocked.” He lets out a loud breath of air. “I have family here.”

“And not just a little one.” Sitting back in the passenger seat, you offer him a slightly lopsided but encouraging smile. “There’s no rule that says you have to spend every single holiday with them now, or anything like that. But you deserved to know they exist. And that they love you.”

“Seriously,” Dieter looks over at you again. “Thank you. I don’t know if I ever would have had the courage to look up my mother’s family and I would have missed out.”

“I—” Shrugging slightly, you can feel the way your cheeks burn as the admission. “I’d do anything for you.” As quickly as you fell, this seems to be where you heart belonged all along. Whether or not it’s because you’re soulmates, you don’t know. But you know you would go through hell or high water for this man without batting an eyelash. “That’s all there is to it.”

“I love you.” It’s so much more than just love, but he can’t articulate it better than that.

******

The drive to the home where his mother had grown up didn’t take long, just a few blocks from the business that was the preverbal straw that broke the camel’s back in terms of her cutting them off and denying Dieter any knowledge of them growing up. He wonders how different life would have been if he had known them, summers in Switzerland when he and Dani were out of school. When the car stops, he bites his lip, looking at you and not the house. “Here we go.”

“I’m with you.” The promise is made as seriously as possible, and you lean over the console to kiss him before getting out of the car. “If you get overwhelmed and need to go back to the hotel, just say the word. Okay?”

“I appreciate that.” He murmurs softly before the two of you climb out of the car. Again, his fingers lace with yours when you come around the side and he feels better, nervous and excited all at once.

There are two men a little older than you in the front yard when you get out of the car, one who looks remarkably like Arya and one who embraces her in the gravel driveway up to the large stone farmhouse. The village is beautiful now, but it must have been stunning when it was all farmland as far as the eye could see. Beautiful orchards and fields of ripe crops and well-cared for animals instead of streets and cars between houses. It’s easy to visualize, even when the reality of the modern village is right in front of you.

“Dieter!” Arya waves the two of you over as she stands between the two men – one giant with curly brown hair that she introduces as her husband Leo, and the other with lighter hair and her very same eyes, that she introduces as her brother Theo.

“How’s it going?” Dieter introduces you, lifting your hand up where they are joined. “Thank you for having us.”

Theo apparently lives very much in the same vein as his mother, because when he steps forward to greet both of you, you and Dieter find yourselves fully enveloped in a bone crushing bear hug. “You’re here!” He hiccups, obviously overjoyed at the fact. “Cousin, you are all we’ve talked about for days. Come inside! Even the boys are excited and they are teenagers…what is the word?” He laughs jovially. “Sullen. That is it. But not today.”

From the time that his abuela died until he found the fame that he craved, Dieter can’t remember a time when people were overjoyed to see him. His hand drops from yours and he squeezes the larger man back. “I’m— it’s good to be here.” He chokes out.

“Mémere has guilt,” he admits softly, like it’s something that he was warned against mentioning, but he feels Dieter has the right to know. “If she had known how to find you, you should have been sick of us by now.” Theo tells him with a conspiratorial grin.

“She doesn’t need to be guilty.” Dieter knows that for certain. “My mother didn’t even let us know we were half Swiss until we discovered her passport.”

“She will always feel a little guilty.” Arya waves it off like it’s nothing to worry about and reaches for his hand to whisk him inside. “Today is not to be sad, cousin. This is a joyful occasion. It is love.” She laughs, inhaling the deep scents of long-cooked secret recipes creeping through the walls of her home. “And we say love with food.”

Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “That’s not a trait carried down.” He jokes. “I can burn water.” His cooking is bad and he owns up to it. Hell, he never really remembered his mom cooking anything that didn’t come from a can or a box.

“Some things skip a generation.” Luisa offers, smiling as Dieter is pulled into the house with you trailing behind, admiring the stonework.

His eyes are darting everywhere, trying to take in the sight. Generations live here, history that is a part of him, makes him up even if he hadn't been aware of it. He wipes his hands again, wondering if he is going to be hugged again by his grandparents. He wouldn't mind it, but he doesn't know if that guilt Theo mentioned will prevent it.

“Sont-ils ici?” Are they here? An older woman’s voice comes from deeper in the house, and you reach to squeeze Dieter’s hand gently. Checking in with him as you walk deeper into the house, it’s clear that everyone has turned out to meet their long lost cousin. “Mémé!” Arya flashes a grin in his direction and beckons for you to follow, eventually ending up in the dining room of the old house. “Mémé, we’re home.”

Dieter takes a deep breath, confronted by the biggest case of pre-performance jitters he’s had in a long time. This matters, more than any roles he’s played.

The woman sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and a deck of cards in front of her is the obvious older version of Dieter’s mother. It’s like Irene Bravo was simply a clone of her mother – running twenty-five years behind – and there is the woman herself standing up to embrace him with tears in her eyes. “You are here,” she breathes, as though the air pushing out of her tall frame with the exclamation is all the breeze that has ever existed in the world. It’s a rush, but at the same time so very comforting. “And you—you look just like your father.” With both of his cheeks in her hands, Dieter’s grandmother pinches them in unison and smiles. “Welcome home, Dieter.”

“I— I don’t know what to call you.” Dieter blurts out and looks horrified for a moment. That was the first thing that came to his mind? “I mean— I— it’s amazing to meet you.”

She chuckles at first, then it becomes an all-out laugh as she pats his shoulder gently. “Begin with Valentina, until you are comfortable with Mémé,” she tells him. “Do you prefer I call you something else?”

“Dieter’s fine, or Dee.” He feels better since he made her laugh and searches her face, seeing so much of his mother in the statuesque woman. “You look like my mother, but you don’t. If that makes sense?”

“I will show you pictures of myself and Irene as young women.” She leans in conspiratorially, barely shorter than him and certainly not lacking for energy. “Your mother was nearly my twin. But age changes us all in different ways.”

Dieter nods. “It does.” He is certainly different than he was when he was younger. “I would like to see that. She— she didn’t share much with us.” He says tactfully. His mother shared nothing, leaving Danica and Dieter to feel as if they were alone in the world after their abuela died and their father left.

“Is she—” Valentina looks slightly sad, her eyes moving between you and Dieter for a moment. “Has she passed?” Having had no word from her daughter in more than forty years, she had had to teach herself to think of her that way. It was how she learned to let go of her anger.

“No.” Dieter shakes his head. “She’s still alive. At least, the last I heard; she was still alive.” Sighing softly, he decides honestly it the best option. “We are not close.”

“I see.” If it surprises the elderly woman at all, she doesn’t let on. “More is the pity for her, then. We are going to have a good time tonight. Eat, drink, tell stories, tease each other.” The last is directed at you with a wink. “Your soulmate was clever to find us, and now you both have more home.”

“That…sounds perfect.” Dieter chokes out, feeling like he’s actually got a family for the first time since he lost Danica. It feels perfect. His hand reaches behind him and finds yours, squeezing gently. It’s all because of you and he’s so fucking grateful.

******

The kids have all slunk away by the time the photo boxes come out after dinner, off to play video games or watch movies until they fall asleep like some of the other adults have done – saying their good nights with kisses on cheeks and tight hugs with excuses about early work times. Valentina, Luisa, and Arya sit with you and Dieter at the big dining table with the last remnants of pastries and seemingly endless glasses of wine alongside a shoebox of family photographs and memories. “This one should be yours, if you want it.” Valentina murmurs, pulling out a crisp photograph many decades old. The street corner is easily recognizable as being right outside the family bakery, but the two people in the picture look like distant memories. Irene et Carlos reads the back, in Valentina’s looping cursive. 16 Mai 1979

“Wow.” Dieter can’t believe how young she looks. He frowns slightly. “Did she— why did she leave?” He asks softly. “I don’t understand.”

“She was in love.” Valentina sighs in that way only mothers can have when speaking off their daughters. “And we did not think that she was old enough to decide the rest of her life yet. But Irene was stubborn…” She touches the image of her daughter’s face gently. “Your grandfather and I did not approve. They were not soulmates, and they were too young to know what kind of world they would be facing. And she…she took our disapproval as a challenge, I think.”

Dieter snorts and rolls his eyes. “That sounds familiar.” He comments sarcastically. “Always knew where I got it from.”

“Unfortunately, in those days it was much harder to find people who had been lost.” Valentina takes another photo from the box: Irene and Carlos again, marked as taken a few days later. In this one they are sitting on a stone wall with a bottle of wine and two glasses beside them, curled into each other’s arms. “They did love each other very much. No one could deny it. But we…we tried too hard to protect them, and it ended up making problems worse.” She looks at Dieter with absolute softness, offering him this photo as well. “And for that, I am sorry.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” Dieter gives a small shrug. “I don’t know what happened, but by the time we were younger, three or four, it was burned out.”

“Young love burns brighter, but faster.” His grandmother murmurs, looking between the two of you. “Be glad you found each other after you had already grown the heads on your shoulders.”

“I don’t think that I’ve done that yet.” Dieter jokes, although he understands what his grandmother is trying to say. “I can show you some picture of her. If you want.” He doesn’t have many of his mother, but he does keep a few in his phone.

“You have some?” That brings Valentina’s features to life all over again, and she shifts closer to the table in her chair to peer across the way.

“Yeah.” Dieter fumbles with his password and brings up his photo albums. One assistant had been tasked with digitizing all his old photos one year. He had been wanting photos of Danica, but had done them all. When the depression of having no one would kick in, he organized them. He pulls up the one for his mother. It even includes the rare photos she would text him. She is his mother – even if he doesn’t like the way she treats him.

“Will you…” Fingers carefully brushing the sides of his phone so as not to touch the photo on screen, Valentin glances back up at Dieter carefully. “Will you tell her you saw us? I cannot blame you if you wished not to say anything.”

“I am going to tell her.” He had decided that around the time that dessert was served. Despite whatever her feud with her family was, he had no part of that, and he wouldn’t be ashamed of getting to know people he had wanted to know his entire life. “I can…pass along a number. If you want.”

“Would you mind if I sent a letter with you?” She asks instead, obviously having thought it over far before now. “If she chooses not to answer me, that is up to her.”

Dieter nods. “My birthday is coming up soon.” He tells her. “I always hear from her then.” He doesn’t tell his grandmother that it’s to beg or harass him for money. Or like the one disastrous year she had gotten plastered and told him that she wished he had died instead of Danica – after he had told her he wasn’t sending her money.

“It must be hard,” she observes. “Missing your sister? I—I lost my twin some twenty years ago. It weighs on the heart.”

“You had a twin!?” Dieter practically gasps it out in surprise. He had never known anything other than what his abuela said about cousins being twins but nothing else that she knew of. He had always assumed it came from his dad’s side.

“Mm.” The way she smiles is full of nostalgia and fondness. A happy light inside something that could easily be only sadness. “My sister and I were identical. Ten minutes apart, and I never let her forget that she was the old lady.” Everyone at the table laughs. “Josephine and myself, you and your Danica, and Arya’s two boys. You have lots of twins in your family.”

“Apparently.” He can’t help but look at you and smirk. “You’re warned.” Children are nowhere near anything that’s been discussed but he can’t help but tease.

“Oh god.” You cringe at him, but it’s playful and for show. Family planning isn’t exactly a conversation you’ve had and you’re not going to have it for the first time in front of his extended family. “You’re going to be sooooo nice to me if that happens, I swear.”

He scoffs, but can’t help but grin. Old Dieter would have panicked and offered to pay for an abortion for a non-existent baby, but he’s surprisingly not worried. Maybe because of that little word again. The one he loves getting to say to you.

The joke, however, has opened the floodgates, and his aunt Luisa nearly squeals. “Oh, you would have beautiful children!”

“The world is not ready for more Bravos.” Dieter jokes. “Need to be sober a little while longer for that.”

“One day.” Luisa grins unrepentantly. “A beautiful wedding and beautiful babies.”

“Maman, leave them alone,” Arya chides, shooting you both an apologetic expression. “She is obsessed with babies, ignore her.”

Dieter chuckles slightly and gives a small shrug. “Most older people are, I’ve found.”

“Older.” Luisa huffs, but it’s good-natured and she has enough self-awareness to laugh at herself. “It won’t be long before you are older too.”

“Oh, he’s already there.” You can’t help but join in the teasing, knowing that the age gap between you and Dieter is just large enough to be make him pout. And you’re one hundred percent willing to admit that he’s cute when he pouts. “I mean, I’m the youngest at the table, so he’s already an old man to me.”

His pout is immediate, and if it weren’t for the fact that his grandmother was sitting at the table, he would remind you how you hadn’t minded him being older when you were screaming his name earlier. Instead he just huffs, blowing a raspberry at you. “Old man.” He grumps.

“My old man.” Under the table, your hand finds his leg to brush your thumb over his thigh to make sure he knows you’re only teasing. You couldn’t give less of a shit about the age gap except to be glad that you had met when you were both adults – like Valentina said.

Slightly mollified, Dieter captures your hand and winks at you. “I mean, I guess.” He huffs. “Only because you wore me down. Chased me, this one did.” He jokes, grinning at you playfully.

“Oh yeah.” You can’t even nod with a straight face, and Arya cracks a wide grin on your other side. She knows the entire story, of course, having seen it unfold in the press. You were glad to be able to tell her the real development and give her a glimpse of the real man her cousin is. “An absolute groupie. That’s me,” you droll sarcastically.

He snickers and nods. “Yep. Total fan. Nearly passed out when she met me.” He finally can’t hold back the laugh and shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “No, but I did manage to clip your claws.”

“Sometimes love wears masks.” Valentina offers, rather enigmatically. “We just have to know when to lift them.”

“Very true.” Dieter acknowledges. Leaning back, he smiles at the older woman. “How did you meet your soulmate?”

“Walking into his bakery.” The elderly woman blushes slightly and reaches for her glass of wine as she shuffles through the box of photos. Dieter’s grandfather had gone to bed an hour ago after a lengthy good night. “Everyone struggled after the war, and I had saved my coins to buy just a little tart for Josephine and myself. It was our birthday the next day.” When she laughs it shakes right through her, and she grins at the photo of two identical teenage girls in simple dresses with immaculate makeup and hair so blonde that it looks white in the old photo. “Yves was a snobby little boy, and he didn’t want to serve me because I didn’t look rich, but his mother boxed his ears and gave me the tart for half the price to apologize.” Laughter erupts around the table, Luisa and Arya nodding along with the story they’ve heard countless times before. “He was so rude! I was very annoyed to find out we were soulmates. But he—how did you say it? Clipped my claws. And I clipped his.”

“So it’s a family legacy to have difficult soulmates.” Dieter grins at the joke and looks over at you with affection. “Did it make the clipping even sweeter?” He asks. “I swear when she opened up and I stopped being stubborn, it was just…magic.”

“It became a thing to tease about.” Valentina chuckles, reaching over to pat your hand affectionately when she sees the sheepish expression on your face. “He has his snobbish moments still and I am still sometimes too much — what is the term in English? Advocate for the Devil? But it is just who we are, and to love a person with flaws is far more honest than to pretend they are perfect.”

“She’s a saint for putting up with me.” Dieter is teasing you, but he doesn’t want them to think that you are a bad person. You are fantastic. “Honestly…the only reason I’ve stayed sober as long as I have is because of her.” He admits softly.

Your fingers lace through his, holding his hand tightly in your own and trying not to look too choked up. As far as you understood, his sobriety was entirely down to Libby and this film. It was a thing he had been forced into and even though he had been clear about wanting to continue it on his own, you had no idea that he attributed any of his success with the struggle to you. The ketamine incident has given you some uncomfortable ptsd issues, but he had never let a nightmare pass without making sure you were calm and safe back in his arms when you went back to sleep. “I just want to support you,” you murmur quietly, knowing the whole table is listening. But that’s really what it comes down to for you. Love and support go hand in hand.

“Thank you.” He whispers and Valentina looks on with pride. “You communicate very well.” She compliments, beaming at both of you. “You will do well.”

The impulse to snort at that has to be smothered immediately, because it was simply not the case not so long ago. “We try very hard,” you tell his grandmother instead, because that is the absolute truth. “But he’s worth the work.”

Dieter flushes deeply, always amazed when you say things like that out loud and to other people. The pride in being his soulmate is such a dizzying pleasure that he can’t help but get flustered.

“Still not used to her saying such things?” Arya guesses, her expression as soft as it is teasing.

“No.” He easily admits. “It’s been a very long time since someone actually cared enough to do more than kiss my ass or flatter me to get what they wanted from me.”

“Good you have her, mon caneton.” Luisa nods with absolute authority. “To temper all the bullshit in the world.”

“Maman!” Arya seems shocked to hear a little bit of colorful language from her mother, but it only makes Valentina laugh.

“Ass kissing is not going to change the world, mon coeur,” she says to her granddaughter. “But love might.”

Dieter can’t help but laugh, thinking that he might be more like his grandmother and aunt than he realizes. “It’s okay cousin.” He grins. “I tend to make people curse around me.”

“It’s true,” you smother your own laughter but have to admit it’s a fact. “But it’s a little less these days. He’s behaving himself at work.”

“It’s difficult.” He pouts.

“You say that.” A gentle poke in his side comes with a grin. “But your hair and makeup artists love you.”

“They make me look good.” He rolls his eyes like it’s the obvious answer. “Of course I’m nice to them.”

“Priorities.” Luisa agrees, pointing one finger in the air but with a bit of that soft pride known almost exclusively to aunts. “Not that they have much work to do with you, mon caneton.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dieter huffs, unable to take a compliment from family too, apparently.

“I have embarrassed you.” Apparently that only amuses Luisa more. “It is my job. Privilege of the aunt. And I have much time to make up for now that you are here.”

“Great.” Dieter chuckles and shakes his head. “Family.” The tone is accepting and amused.

******

It’s a few more hours before you stand from the table to say good night, and another half hour after that that you’re actually getting into the rental car with a parcel of pastries, a small collection of photographs, and a letter from Dieter’s grandmother to his mother. It’s late but the drive back to the hotel won’t be long, and every second that you stayed in Satigny Village today has been immensely worthwhile.

Dieter is quiet on the way back to the hotel. Contemplating everything he learned and absorbing the information and savoring the fact that he has family. You've come to understand his silence a little bit better in the last few weeks. It isn't disdainful or arrogant - it's contemplative. Or else it's a blank space for him to exist in while he processes the things going on around him. Tonight he has an exceptional amount to process, and you don't want him to feel poked or prodded. So you hold his hand while he drives, eventually pulling the car into its space at the hotel and cutting the engine. "You okay in there, love?" You ask quietly, not wanting to presume one way or the other.

Shaking himself out of his wandering mind, he looks over at you. “Yeah.” He nods, meaning it. “I am. It’s – it’s strange because I thought I would be upset that they didn’t know about us. Or that it was a fear that they didn’t care to. But I just felt like I was home.”

"Do you think you might go back for one more dinner before you come back to LA?" His grandmother had offered, telling him to consider the bakery and the house to be open to him any time he wanted to visit and never feel odd about arriving unannounced, but you didn't know if he would take her up on it. It's what you hope for him, obviously, but you would also understand if it was overwhelming somehow.

“I – I think I might invite them to the hotel for dinner.” Dieter chuckles and shakes his head. “The dining room might actually see a dinner party.”

"It would be good to use it for more people than just us." Nudging him slightly, you climb out of the car and retrieve the things his family sent home with him from the backseat. More than anything, you're just glad to see him smiling about the whole thing. His family loved meeting him. It would have been a shame if they hadn't gotten along, but the whole day was wonderful.

“Have to make sure that they wipe down the table though.” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Since we did defile it.”

"We've defiled every inch of that suite." You can't deny that, only laugh a little as the two of you wander toward the elevator that will take you up into the hotel. "Honestly they should just sterilize the whole thing after you check out."

“I’m sure they do.” He chuckles and gives you a shrug. “Although it’s normally for other reasons than sex.”

"Well, it should definitely be because of sex this time." Pushing the button for your floor, you readjust the boxes under your arm and stretch up to kiss his cheek. "I, um...I'm glad you liked your surprise, love."

“I did.” Dieter turns and presses his lips to yours. “It’s amazing. You must have been searching forever.”

"It took a little digging, but considering the business they were easy to contact once I had actually found them." It's starting to really set in that you're leaving in the morning, and you grasp at more kisses like they're a lifeline. "It was worth every second of searching."

“It’s amazing and I don’t know if I can ever give you something as meaningful.” Dieter knows you don’t want anything in return. He’s just overwhelmed that you went to such trouble for him.

"Well try as I might, I'm never going to be able to top the birthday you gave me when yours rolls around in two months, so I thought hey, why not find his long-lost family instead." Grinning, you know he can tell that you're teasing, but it actually is where the thought had begun. And once the thought was in your head, it completely consumed you. "Really, I...I know it's not really the kind of thing people say out loud but...but I just want you to be happy."

“I fucking love you.” He laughs, shaking his head and kissing you again.

Never able to let things be serious for too long, you shoot him a wink as the elevator doors open. "And I love fucking you."

He trails after you, watching your ass as you walk down the hall towards the hotel suite. His heart flips and hammers in his chest despite the cheeky comment. “You’re going to be fucking me as soon as we get in the room.” He promises.

“There he is.” No matter how emotional or serious the moment, Dieter’s sexual appetite is always just below the surface, and tonight you’re actually a little grateful for it. You’re going to miss him like hell for the next week and don’t want to waste a second of the time you have left together. Pushing into the suite, you deposit the things from his family on the nearest side table and drop your purse beside them. “Got something particular in mind, babe?”

His attitude changes in a heartbeat, moving over to you and wrapping his hand around your waist to tug you closer. “I want to strip you down.” He murmurs huskily. “Take my time.” It’s rare that it’s not fast and frantic and he doesn’t want that right now. He wants to see how long he can make you wait to cum while giving you as much pleasure as possible.

Even having said the words, you wouldn’t characterize well - any - of the sex you’ve had as lovemaking thus far. And you’re not going to presume that it’s what he has in mind now, either. But slow is definitely out of the ordinary for the two of you and you aren’t going to deny him. If you could safely sleep with him inside you tonight you absolutely would. Fuck you really need to get on birth control… “Where?” Your voice is a little breathless, but you don’t particularly care. He’s heard every version of pleasure and anticipation from you at this point, there’s no shame or embarrassment in it.

He would say right here, but it doesn’t seem right. “The bedroom.” He takes your hand and tangles his fingers through yours and tugs you closer as he turns and starts to walk to the room that the two of you have shared for the last three weeks.

"Seems positively romantic." Just because the mood has changed a little doesn't mean you don't still have a teasing streak a mile wide that you know for a fact he enjoys.

“Cheeky little shit.” Dieter chuckles and when you are in the bedroom, he turns suddenly and backs you up against the wall next to the door. “We’ll see how long that lasts baby.” He murmurs against your lips.

"Me being cheeky, or you being romantic?" You know he's talking about your teasing, but it's too much fun to play with him. The twist of a grin against his lips makes him nip at you and you shiver a little in anticipation.

His hands and sure and steady, slower than they’ve ever been as he starts to strip you down. Lovingly caressing every inch of your skin while he kisses your lips. It’s as close to worship as he has ever come.

Normally your shirt and bra would be tossed aside in a matter of seconds and your pants peeled away with greedy enthusiasm. Normally, the two of you waste no time at all. Tonight it's like he's trying to memorize you instead of consume you, making the memories you're going to hold onto for the next week while you mope over how big and empty your bed is without him beside you. The trail of sucking kisses and bites down your neck will be gone by the time school starts but with the way he's pressing them into your skin, you know you'll remember exactly where he placed them every time your skin tingles as you think of him. If this is what people call that magical, mystical soulmate connection? You're borderline furious with yourself for denying it for so long. You could have had so many more years of this.

Slowly he pulls you away from the wall, guiding you back toward the bed. Drunk on you, hell – he’s high off the taste of you. The soft sigh of your pleasure when he kisses those little spots on your skin that make you shiver. “I love you.” The words are breathed into you, both a praise and a promise. One that he’s eager to repeat over and over again as he lays you out on the bed.

"I love you." It seems like the words took forever to happen and yet it really was only a few weeks. Compared to other soulmates, though, that is a snail's pace. But that doesn't stop you from gasping his name softly into the dark night, or discourage you from digging your fingers into his thick hair as he explores your body for was seems like the millionth time.

His lips want to map your body. To memorize it and make you feel the most pleasure that he can. With you, he can do anything. More in control than he’s probably ever been with a partner, and yet, it’s submissive. He’s serving you. Treating you like the goddess you are.

"Dee..." Squirming under him and arching your back to keep him as closes as possible, the way you gasp when he sucks one nipple into his mouth and laves it with his tongue is absolutely wanton. "Oh my--fuck, baby." He hums against your skin, slowly sliding his hands over your hip and thighs. Not pulling away even though he smirks at you.

"Oh, that's how it's going to be tonight?" Even though his eyes are dark with lust, they're sparkling at you with mischief as well. You twist slightly under him to grasp at the tented front of his jeans, squeezing his cock just right to make him moan.

Dieter groans, throbbing in your hand and rolling his hips up. Now his fingers move to your folds, sliding through them and up into you, curling when they are buried to the knuckle.

There's no hope of being coordinated enough to undress him while he's fingering you, but your fingers run along the outline of his hard on eagerly, squeezing every so often as your hips grind down on his hand and you sigh out in pleasure. Everything always gets fuzzy around the edges with his fingers pressing against your G-spot and it's the kind of pleasure that can make the whole rest of the world temporarily disappear. He keeps his fingers working, pumping in and out of you while he sucks and bites on your tits. Wanting you to fall over the edge in bliss.

It doesn’t take long. Of course it doesn’t. Dieter learned your body like he learns his scripts – the important parts committed to memory promptly and the rest as sort of an interpretive symphony that he plays however he likes. He learned what you like and don’t like nearly instantly and has turned finessing your orgasms into his own private concert – where his name, curses, and praises are the only lyrics.

His lips are on yours when you bear down around his fingers. A sob of his name breathed into his mouth like a quenching drink. Absorbed and swallowed down while he hums his happiness, fingers drenched in your essence.

“Jesus—” When you can breathe again it’s like the first breath taken after drowning, and you cling to him much tighter than you would normally. “Pants, Dee. Fuck. Get rid of em, baby, please.”

He chuckles and nods, happy that you are so needy. You sound drunk and he loves it. “Yes ma’am.” Pulling away from you is hard, but it will be worth it when you are under him again.

The fact that you both pout when he pulls away is proof of how you’re so distinctly on the same page right now, but when he lowers himself back over you, you nearly whimper. There’s a softness here that you never even knew you wanted, but it’s absolutely perfect.

Normally, Dieter is frantic to get inside you. Not now. Right now he’s too busy kissing you. Slowly rubbing his body against yours as if he’s making love to you but the condom still isn’t on, and he’s not slipped inside you. His cock leaks against your soft skin, but he doesn’t try to speed things up.

“Love you.” Panting into his kiss, there are about a hundred things you find yourself wanting to say right now but none of them are staying long enough in the front of your mind to make it out of your mouth. How you’re going to miss him, how you wish you didn’t have to leave, how you want to just say fuck everything and stay until you can come home together. How you wish he could keep coming home to you every night like he has here. How you would do nearly anything to stay at his side. But that’s the impending loneliness setting in and you can’t trust yourself to say anything but murmured “I love you”s in the dark. Anything else might be disastrous.

Dieter is completely blissed out. Every nerve on fire as he slowly grinds against you. “I love you.” He purrs into your ear. “So fucking much.”

“So fucking much.” The natural echo between you is half breath, and you almost wonder how he can even hear you except that the only sound in the room at all is your labored breathing and needy promises punctuated by the occasional creak of the mattress. Your legs wrap around his waist, keeping him close and making it easier to rolls your hips against his, half wishing he would stop torturing you with teasing and half hoping it never ends.

“You think you can cum like this for me, beautiful?” He breathes into your ear, loving the way you feel against the underside of his cock.

“Fuck.” Basically humping like horny teenagers isn’t want you expected from him tonight but it’s just like he’s got a list of ways he wants to make you cum in his head and is checking them off one by one – and who the fuck are you to deny him that? “Anything for you, baby.”

He keeps his hips steadily moving, rubbing against your clit and teasing your soaking wet entrance with his cock. Kissing you all the while. “Feel so good.” He whispers.

It feels unbelievable. For something so simple, it's so much better than any other time you've rubbed your own clit with your fingers or even when the pads of Dieter's fingers are slick with your cum and he's trying to drag one more orgasm out of you before you both collapse. The velvety feeling of his hard cock slipping rhythmically over your oversensitive clit is a slow build but a powerful one, until your heavy panting and whimpering become swallowed gasps and cries of pleasure as your legs tighten around his waist and begin to shake with the surprising force of cumming a second time.

“God.” Dieter groans and braces his shaky arms over you. Trying not to cum before he fucking slides inside you. But it’s so tempting, especially when you are clinging to him and crying out his name. Instead, he focuses on you. Kissing along your jaw and slowing his hips down so you can ride out your orgasm before he starts making love to you.

"I know." You half-laugh, letting your labored breathing slowly come back to normal as you drown yourself in even more kisses. Truly you'll never be able to get enough from him – he's become your own addiction, one that seems to be insatiable and elating in equal measure. "And you're not even inside me yet."

“Gotta get a condom on.” He kisses you again and curses himself for not getting one out, hating to move away from you. “We shoulda bought stock in the condom company.” He jokes as he leans over and grabs the package off the nightstand.

"I'm gonna call my doc and get an IUD when I get back." It had been something you decided on maybe a week ago but had just stored the thought away for later, eventually forgetting to mention it to him.

“Only if you want to.” Dieter doesn’t mind condoms. “Those IUD things, can’t they mess with your - you know? Woman parts?” He gestures to his own stomach where a uterus would be if he had one.

"Any kind of birth control has side effects." He's sweet to worry, and you rub your thumb across his thigh in a soft gesture of affection. "My doc might suggest the pill or the shot instead, and that's fine. I just..." you shrug a little, almost feeling embarrassed about it. "I want to be able to feel you, not the barrier."

“I’m never going to say no to that.” Dieter grins. “I just don’t want you to think I’m pushing you to get on something you don’t want to be on.”

"It's my decision." And one you've made happily. The last three weeks have given you a glimpse into something wonderful and this is a step you want to take to make it that much more intimate for the two of you. Without having had any discussions about the future, you don't want to risk a fuck up that will put a strain on your relationship. "But I didn't think you would mind."

For now, he rips open yet another foil packet and quickly rolls down the protection over his cock. It’s stupid but he wants to blurt out that you don’t have to go on birth control. That it would be perfectly fine to just see what happened. But he can’t do that, you are not ready to even consider something like that.

"How do you want me, love?" It's a legitimate question, considering you've tried every position you can possibly think of, but you're fairly certain you know where his head is at tonight. It's just all about intimacy, and you're happy to be able to breathe his name against his lips all night long.

“Just like we were.” He tells you as he pumps his cock. “Is that okay with you?” He wants to make love to you, but he also knows that you should be involved in the decision.

"Of course." You'd give him almost anything he wanted tonight – being able to pour all of your love and pleasure into kissing him while you fuck? That's an easy arrangement. You lay back, spreading your legs wide for him to have a beautiful view of your swollen lips and dripping hole from the two times you've already cum. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He’s so goddamn proud of that fact. You are his and he just can’t get over that fact. He lowers himself down onto his elbows and settles between your thighs. “Position me.”

"Ooo, are we giving orders tonight?" He rarely does, and it's always playful, but tonight you really didn't expect it. Tonight has been nothing but praise for the both of you. Instead of prodding him, though, you reach down between you and pump his achingly hard cock a few times before notching his head at your entrance with a needy sigh.

He bites his lip, rolling his hips forward a few inches to start breaking you open. Moaning your name loudly and shuddering at how good you feel. If you could commit that sound to permanent, exact memory, you absolutely would. It's one of the best things you've ever heard in your life and you swear you could live on that sound alone if it came down to it. "Feels so fucking good, baby," you gasp out, back arching a little further off the bed with every push of his hips.

Normally right now is the time that Dieter is starting to lose his mind. Forgetting everything but the way he feels when his cock is burying itself just as frantically as he can manage. Right now though, he reaches for your hands, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning them up by your head while he rocks into you purposefully.

With the different tempo comes a different feeling altogether, the slow and steady rhythm of shallow thrusts being more about keeping you connected than your normal game of seeing who can make the other scream louder in pleasure. This is still about pleasure, but the two of you are climbing to that peak together one inch at a time instead of sprinting toward the top. It’s borderline worshipful but you’re not quite sure which one of you is doing the worshipping – the way he cradles and kisses and caresses your body certainly makes you think it’s him, but then you drag your lips and teeth and tongue across every inch of his skin that you can reach with your hands pinned down and your legs hitched high on his waist and know that these moments are as purely adoring as any you’ve spent with him. It’s love, pure and simple, and for the first time you’re willing to admit that you would give up everything to stay like this with him.

“I love you.” Dieter gasps, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. It’s overwhelming and wonderful and he’s never felt so exposed as he does right now. Except you are looking up at him like he hangs the moon.

"S—so much, baby." Having him buried so deep inside you that the coarse hair at the base of his cock grinds against your swollen clit feels so perfect it almost makes your eyes cross, and you squeeze his hands in yours as your head drops back on the pillow on a moan.

“Want you to give me one more.” He begs, wanting to feel you squeeze him again. Needing that pressure of you cumming around his cock again. You’re leaving soon and he wants to have as many memories as he can for the days that he will be alone.

"Anything." You wrap your legs around his waist, creating a new angle and a new pressure that will hold him tighter inside your body. As deep as he is now, you know neither of you will last too much longer and you whine his name when he bottoms out again. “Fuck — everything. I—I’m so close, baby.”

“Yesssssss.” Dieter hisses, biting your jaw and rocking his hips a little harder, a little faster than before. “Do it.” He demands. “Cum baby. Cum on my cock.”

As if he ever really needs to ask. Your body seems to respond to him more and more as the days go on anyway, seemingly responding to the soulmate bond between you with natural enthusiasm. His pace picks up, pushing you over that last hurtle that has you sobbing his name until you run out of breath. Your entire body bears down on him, pushing the air out of your chest and making you squeeze his hands harder than you think you ever have before.

Nothing beats this moment. Not his first bump of coke, not the moment he realized he was wealthy. Hell, not even winning his Oscar beats the way he feels right now. Your pleasure triggers his own and with a push of his hips, your name tumbles from his lips with a cry and he fills condom as he collapses into you.

“I love you.” You can never say it enough, and this time it’s whispered softly in the quiet night as you wrap your arms around him and wait for your breath to come back.

“I love you too.” Every time he says it, it gets easier and he loves that. He shifts to his slide and brings you with him. Gazing into your eyes with a smile on his face. “Although, I still fully expect to hear ‘fuck you, Bravo!’ when I piss you off.” He teases.

“Well sure.” Brushing sweat damp hair from his forehead, you practically beam at him. “But I find you much more endearing than annoying since I fell in love with you.”

Dieter winks at you. “It’s my charm.” He decides smugly.

“Must be.” You roll your eyes at him but it’s all for show, and the way you’ve snuggled against him in bed is clear evidence of it. With your face buried against his chest, you sigh. “I’m going to miss you…”

Sighing softly, his hands stroke your back. He will have to throw away the condom soon, but he’s not worried about it now. “I’m going to miss you too. But you have to take back all our gifts for Steph and Nora.” He reasons, wanting to give you good things to look forward to.

“It’s gonna be a week of constantly asking when Uncle Deedee is coming home.” Not that you can blame Nora for missing him. You’re basically going to be staring at the calendar for a few days on your own. “I think we might need to have you come over for dinner pretty soon after you get home just so she can see you.”

“I think we can arrange that. Or…” Dieter gives a nonchalant shrug, like it’s just a passing idea. “We could do it at the house. Arrange a sleepover for all of you.”

“Yeah?” When you look up at him he shrugs again, playing it off like it’s a random fancy. “They’ve been visiting a lot. Nora loves the pool. And I…I wouldn’t mind actually waking up in that bed with you.”

“I have plenty of bedrooms.” He hums. “Maybe I can show you the room I use to paint.”

“I’d like that.” The chance to see more of him — the things that really make him, him — sounds like a kind of intimacy completely different from lying in his arms with his softening cock still inside you.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Dieter decides, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Maybe I should get one of those play set things. For Nora to play on.”

“Don’t feel like you have to.” Even though she absolutely adores him, and he likes Nora a lot, too, you don’t want him to feel obligated to do any of these things. After all – she’s the only little kid in his life currently. It would be a lot of money to spend on something that would eventually sit in his yard unused just because one little girl liked it at one time.

“It’ll be good.” Dieter doesn’t mention that idea that has been swirling around in his mind. It’s too early. “She’ll love it and it’ll be good to have more than just the pool.”

“She will love it. Every second.” Tipping your head back, you dust a few kisses on his jaw before smothering a yawn.

“We should go to bed.” Dieter is very in tuned with you and he knows you will try to stay awake when you are exhausted because he’s not tired. “Let me.” His hand wedges down between you to hold the condom so you can pull off of him.

“One more night.” It’s more heartbreaking than you want to admit, but if like were kind or logical, you wouldn’t have wasted a decade hating your soulmate for something beyond his control. “I’m acting like it’s a whole-ass military deployment or something and it’s only going to be a week.” Sighing at yourself, you snuggle back into his arms after he’s tossed the condom. “You’ll be back in no time.”

“Since the lawsuit, the studios are trying to kick us off set.” He chuckles. “Apparently holding actors hostage isn’t a good thing.”

“If you do need to stay a little longer, don’t worry about it.” The last thing you want is him pushing himself to get done fast and ending up with an accident on set or being less than proud of his performance. “I’ll still be there waiting for you with open arms when you get back.”

“Nah, this – this project has been a cake walk.” He doesn’t want to say why he thinks that. He honestly thinks that it’s because you’ve been here. But he doesn’t want to push you like that. “The producers are already talking about Best Picture and Best Actor noms.”

“Your second Oscar.” You hum, fully impressed with the idea as the two of you settle in with your head on his chest and his arms around you. “That would be fancy.”

“They could be book ends.” He jokes, wondering where he put his Oscar. He doesn’t exactly remember the last time he held it.

“It’s your house,” you remind him, shrugging slightly in his arms. “Put it whenever you want.”

Humming, he shrugs, close to say that it could be your house too. But it’s too soon. Instead, he kisses your head and sighs. “I better get cleaned up.” He murmurs softly. “Tomorrow will come early.” He has to be back on set before the sun rises.

“I’m going to leave for the airport when you leave for set.” It will put you there hours before your flight, but you don’t really care. You would rather stare at an airport coffeeshop for a little while than sit in the hotel suite without him. You’ve already had your last day on set – a few flowers and a cake from some of the set crew marked the occasion – and you’re already fully packed except for what you’ll wear to fly home in. The most amazing and important vacation of your life is at its end, and you’re going to miss it so much you could cry.

“I can still tell them to fuck off and wait if you want me to go with you?” Dieter is very annoyed that the director scheduled an early call time when he knew you are going home in the morning. Thinking about it being revenge for not spending a few hours on set on your birthday.

“No, it’s okay.” When he gets back in bed the two of you cuddle together again like two halves of a whole. “Shooting will distract you and that’s a good thing. And I promise to text when I board so you know I’m on my way.”

“Okay.” He pouts, but he won’t argue. Instead he’s figuring out ways to get even closer to you without being in your skin, wanting to savor every inch of your body against his. “It won’t be long, and you have school, your life, to get back to.” He doesn’t voice his concerns, that this is just some interlude of life, quickly forgotten.

“You say that like you’re not part of my life now.” Have you explicitly talked about it? Definitely not. But you had hoped that the little plans you are making had made it clear to him that you wanted him with you regardless of what continent you’re on.

“Yeah, I know.” Except…there was only one more official date left on the contract. Then you would be completely free to block him and never see him again. He tells himself that you would never do that, but years of being used for money or publicity makes one doubt that people actually like him for him. He doesn’t voice any of this, instead just clinging to you tighter and burying his face in your neck.

“Get some sleep, baby.” Even with your arm around his waist and your head on his chest – the most comfortable way you’ve ever lain in any bed – you doubt you’ll sleep much tonight. You can sleep on the flight to try to ignore missing him instead of passing up any moment in his arms.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape @sammus-white @spanishmossmagnolia @frasmotic @quietpainter

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #The Bubble #soulmate au #Trash Can Man

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toomanytookas · 7 months ago

Text

“You can see it in his eyes that he wants to touch you, to hold your hand, but he doesn't.”

The way that I was just so obsessed with the moments that drew attention to their physicality with each other this chapter... I love how you incorporated both the memory of touch and its presence in their present dynamic (dude that Stay here with me. Be with me. WTF).

I think if I had to pick a singular favourite instance of touch, it is hands down that hug in the atrium on opening night.

God, Taylor, the way I FELT it deep in my soul and just cannot shake the warmth and comfort of it. It was such a tender and significant moment as an embodiment of what had been building between them... I just wanted to hang in the glowing, healing feeling that it gave my heart for forever.

I literally could have copied the entire scene and was very tempted to, but as much as I loved the way you described the mental feeling of the hug, I genuinely FELT the actual tactile details in my bones:

He presses his warm hand against your shoulder, tucking you farther and farther in, as the other hand spans across your entire back, his face burrowed in your neck. You feel him sigh, at ease, his ribs expanding into yours and you fight back the sharp swell of the sob caught in your throat. You had no idea what it meant to be held until this moment. You don’t want to let him go. You don’t think you can.

It was so, so damn lovely and sweet and the perfect balm for some of the sharpest ache of their navigating becoming close again.

There's something about the language that you used to describe how perfectly they fit together that is just so wonderful and visceral. There was such a great build up from that initial holding back, which that made the first intertwining of their fingers all the sweeter and it felt like it just cascaded so wonderfully (in a gentle and controlled way) from there.

This in particular was so, so beautiful (as always, obsessed with how sex scenes are a vehicle for so much emotional exploration in your work):

He fits, so well, like no one else ever has. Bones touch bones, his space is filled by your joints, his blood warms where you are cold. Disjointed and broken, you slot together in holes made by the other.

And then in the epilogue, it was so delightful to see how free they could be with their touch, how open with their kisses and caresses in a way that echoes but is far better than anything that they were able to share in iterations of their relationship in other cities and other times.

I also loved seeing how both of them were so gently touchy with Marie (lol I guess she's getting her own little feature at the end of both of my comments for this chapter— she deserves better from me, honestly)? The forehead kisses, the way Dieter scoops her up so gently... It's such a wonderful and gentle energy that feels so wholesome and like it's the result of so much healing and the building (back) of trust.

Ok, Taylor, I gotta stop chatting your ear off sometime, so it might as well be here. I don't know how I thought I was going to read the entirety of this story on my plane ride, but it's been so lovely to draw out the experience over this week instead. I'm so excited to go back to the doc now that I've finished and get lost in some of the nitty gritty!

I can't possibly fully imagine what a labour of love developing and writing and publishing this must have been for you, but I am so grateful that you did it so that folks like me could have the opportunity to read Dieter and Natalie's story and get torn apart and put back together by it. 💕

Part Two + Epilogue

A/N: this is an approximation of what I envisioned reader wearing the night of the premiere. the monologues come from the works of elena jacobs and lemony snicket.

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NOVEMBER

Snow had come hesitantly to the city. Sprinkling down and melting against the black tar like salt in soup, the weather seemed unable to make up its mind. That nasty wind would flush down narrow alleyways, snagging up unsuspecting hats and everything not firmly held down, bringing with it that biting cold. This late in the season, the gorgeous bloom of golds and reds fluttering in trees was gone, torn down by that spiteful wind. The gnarled, brown bodies of leaves littered the streets, drain pipes swallowing them down when that first drift of snow melted into gray water. New York was fighting an oncoming winter, sinking its heels in and rejecting the inevitable. Everyone else just wished it would pick a side.

You know you’re not, not really, but sometimes you feel it: old. At thirty-two, things tend to crack a little louder than they used to. Hangovers lasted two days, not two hours, and how you used to live your life with only hours of sleep for weeks at a time completely baffles you. Sure, it was probably a lot of coke, but god, these hours are going to kill you.

Production for Andrew’s play is in full swing. Some days you never leave the back side of the curtain, too entrenched in building, then painting the forty-two foot moveable walls. Between you and the rest of the tech crew, you had managed to solve the weight problem: because of its light-weight nature, the walls had a tendency to fall forward or back, basically the opposite direction of where they were pushed. But late last Thursday, with a few bolts from a nail gun, a couple of thick screws, and several PVC pipes, the walls stabilized. A collective, exhausted cheer went up, some moved to tears after hours of frustration. After that the crew went home . . . and you went to open the gallery.

Marie helps as much as she can. Opening early when you can’t and closing late when you have passed out in your office chair. But as financial manager and co-owner, she has her own responsibilities. Hands to shake and meetings with potential buyers and artists. She’s taken over much of the front-facing work associated with running a gallery, as you had both agreed when you agreed you’d handle Andrew’s project, but there’s still so much to do. Opening night looms large in your mind and you are simultaneously excited and horrified. Once it's over, you plan on sleeping for two weeks straight.

There are some bright spots, though. Your crew is a bunch of college kids from NYU interning, but they teach you about the world of TikTok outside of being the marketing arm for the gallery and whatever the fuck flossing is. You overheard one of them call Dieter, “girl dinner” and you absolutely knew better than to ask what that meant. They’re funny and curious and love to learn. Gives you hope for this goddamn world.

And then, there’s the opportunities you get to see bits of the show before anyone else. When rehearsals are on, the building stops, quiets for a few minutes. Like ants, the stagehands scurry out into the seats, relieved to have nothing to do for a bit, and eager to see where all their hard work is going.

You find your place at the far back of the house, out of the lights of the stage, and you watch him. And he’s good. He’s so fucking good it makes your heart twist in your chest. The rest of the cast is great in their own right, but your eyes remain glued to him and him alone. His performance is magnetic. You feel it in your bones. You could watch him on a stage for the rest of your life. You don’t miss acting, but you do miss having him as a scene partner.

For what it’s worth, he never looks at Emily longer than he has to.

You twist your wrist, growling at the pain, the muscle in your forearm cramping like it always did when you overworked yourself painting. With the walls built, that left only the actual artwork to be done and if your team were master carpenters, master artists they were not. You set them to work painting the base layer, but it was on you to bring those designs Andrew approved to life.

You are sweaty, hungry, and every time you move, something else hurts. By your watch, it’s close to seven and Andrew usually lets the cast go home around seven thirty. You’re a more benevolent overlord; you let your team go around seven fifteen.

But at seven on the dot, the black curtain moves back and several members of the cast head towards the back door, animatedly chatting amongst themselves. Like wildfire, some gossip spreads from the cast to the crew, eyes lighting up and suddenly reinvigorated.

“What are they talking about?” You ask Liam, one of the stagehands, who shrugs.

“No idea, but –,”

“Andrew is giving us the weekend off!” Sarah in her too big overalls comes bounding over, practically vibrating. “He’s hosting a party at Shandy’s.”

Shandy’s is actually three different venues built into one like legos. In the center was an open air stage. If live music wasn’t playing, then the latest sports game played on the high definition screen. On the right was a bar, aptly in the style of an old tiki lounge. And on the left, was a low-maintenance seafood bar and grill: fish and chips, fried oysters, and hush puppies. It sounded fun but you never much had the inclination to go sniffing your nose around temptation.

“You’re coming, right, Natalie?” Sarah asks excitedly. But the idea that you have a second of free time to yourself, much less to spend it with drunk people, is laughable.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Sarah. There’s gallery stuff – Marie hasn’t had a break in weeks and –,”

“You hear the good news?” Dieter’s delighted tone splits apart your little trio and he comes loping over with a grin on his face. “We’ve got the weekend off.”

“Hell yeah!” Liam pumps his fist. “But Natalie here doesn’t wanna come to the party at Shandy’s.”

Dieter’s face falls. “Why not?”

You frown, not feeling like you need to explain yourself to a bunch of college students, or Dieter himself for that matter. You stand up, mindful of the tension in your lower back, and wipe the paint on your hands on your overalls. After working with you for several weeks, Sarah’s bright enough to pick up on your irritation simmering low.

She eyes him as she steps forward. “We’re gonna head out for the night, if that’s okay?”

You nod at the both of them, your mouth still twisted into a frown.

“I have a job outside of this,” you huff at Dieter, as the kids scurry away. “A busy full time job and I just can’t –,”

“What if I pick you up?” Dieter asks. How, after all these years, could he still make you feel like you are the only person in the room? “Andrew’s also doing a bunch of events for the out-of-towners, and the last stop before dinner is a bar. Which I’d like to avoid for obvious reasons. So lemme meet you at the gallery and take you to the dinner.” He smiles relaxed.

“I just don’t know, Dieter.”

“Bring Marie,” he says simply. “You both have earned a night off. I’ll pick you both up and take you back after dinner. I’ll help you mail invoices, if you’d like.”

Knowing exactly what his ADHD does to his brain with numbers, you shake your head, giving up the ghost and grinning. “That’s really not necessary, but, um, I’ll think about it. Lemme talk to Marie and see what she thinks.”

He nods, watching as the backstage empties out. Less people, less noise. Dieter’s mouth twitches.

“I can help you with painting too. You and I both know I’ve got a shit head for numbers, but this, I think I can do. With a little direction.”

He flashes you a smile and you inject your thumbnail into your closest finger.

“Um, maybe? I’m exhausted right now and probably shouldn’t be making any executive decisions.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

Your chest swells at his sincerity. “Just to the subway stop if you don’t mind.”

To your enormous (disparagingly, staggeringly large) surprise, Marie actually agrees.

“I’ve been staring at excel spreadsheets so long I think I’m going cross-eyed,” she says from behind the office desk you share that next morning. She massages her eyeballs with the heel of her palm. “We’re in a good place with the fundraiser announcements for the holidays and there aren’t any upcoming tours we have to schedule.”

You know this, but you let her talk through it outloud, hoping she’ll stumble across something that’ll make her change her mind. But she doesn’t.

She shrugs. “Tell him I’ll buy him dessert if he gets a car with heated seats.”

After your initial confrontation at your brownstone, Marie had seemingly changed her stance on having Dieter around. While she wasn’t about to offer to him to stop by, she most likely wasn’t still considering murdering him in his sleep. You wonder if it had anything to do with his consistent concern about your wellbeing – making sure you ate breakfast at those six AM calltimes and walking you home at night in the freezing cold, despite your protests. He even made the very risky joke that Daddy’s visitation hours were over and it was time to return you to Mommy . . . in front of Marie. And again to your enormous surprise, she laughed.

It was progress. Progress towards what, you weren’t entirely sure.

You smile at your friend, gray eye bags and all. Maybe this is the universe’s way of sending its approval; yes, this is okay to want.

“I’ll call him later today.”

It’s the last tour on a Friday before a long weekend. Meaning, none of the students are paying attention and a few appear asleep on their feet. You go on with your explanation of brushwork, of pattern recognition, that artists' use of color is almost as distinctive as their signature. You sound boring even to yourself, your quips falling flat and references feeling awkwardly outdated. Nothing could rouse these zombies and their glassy-eyed stares. The herd shuffles along as you take them to the charcoal exhibit.

This actually has you excited, charged even. You talk about the care that using this particular medium requires, that there are so rarely do-overs and mistakes are costly. The artist must be precise with their vision, focused, and above all else, determined.

Your impassioned speech for the arts wakes up no one and you fight back a frown.

Jesus Christ, gimme something to work with.

As you try and remember the next part of your tour, something beyond the crowd of students moves. You’re halfway through describing past and present famous artists who worked with charcoal, when you catch his eyes.

Dieter leans up against one of the white walls, a real one, not a hanging salon wall, his arms crossed and his converse notched against his ankle. You expect a smirk, a tease, so this is what you get up to when I’m not around, but whatever is on his face its not that.

It’s . . .

He’s smiling.

Like he’s proud of you.

You attempt to stifle the blush erupting up your face as you turn back to the artwork. If the students can catch the tremble in your voice, they don’t say anything.

Through the glass window, you see their bus pull up and stop by the curb, a beautiful glowing miracle.

“And that’s the end of our tour,” you say quickly. “Thank you for coming on this tour. Feel free to browse the gift shop, but you are free to go. ”

You don’t physically shoo them out the door, but your fingers clench just the same.

“You’re good.” Logically, you know you didn’t hear him coming, didn’t smell his cologne. But you sense him all the same. You don’t jump at his voice suddenly at your shoulder. You turn and smile back at him, throwing your hip out dramatically.

“Had some practice acting in front of crowds before. Maybe you’ve seen my work?”

He shrugs, swinging his hands into that tan coat – which he wouldn’t let you pay to get drycleaned – as he looks around the gallery.

“Maybe, I have,” he sniffs, “don’t get a big head about it.”

You laugh as he wanders back as though drawn to the art. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your contribution and curse yourself for not tearing it down when you had the chance.

You sidle up next to him, hoping that if he got that far, you could deter his attention elsewhere. But he doesn’t notice your anxiety, your worrying ball of fear. Instead, he’s quiet, mouth soft, eyes slow to move across the exhibits.

“You know, you always were braver than me.” Your heart catapults into your throat, gaze wrenching away from your dark secret to him, to his face, to search desperately for a hint of a lie.

“W-what do you mean?”

“This, all of this,” he swings his hand out either to indicate the rest of the artwork or the building itself, “it’s so fucking incredible, Natalie. I let you see one painting of mine and I wanted to die from embarrassment. But this . . . you . . .” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do this.”

“Do you still paint?”

There are flashes in your memory, more feelings than anything else, of that time in New Orleans. You’ve told your therapists as much as you can remember about it, about the drugs you took with him, how quickly it spiraled out of control. And then comes the most painful thing to admit: it was the first and only time in your life you felt truly happy. Having Dieter all to yourself was a bright spot that nothing, not even time, or anger, or heartbreak could ever extinguish.

And in those flashes of memory, you remember waking up and watching him paint gorgeous things on those green walls. Watching him paint on you.

Your heart aches, throbbing for just a minute. He’s been back in your life for months now, and you’re still convinced he’ll vanish the second you’re not looking.

Dieter nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a stress reliever than anything else.”

“I get that. I tried out ceramic work before I found out I’m complete shit at it. But it felt good to punch something gooey.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod, adding, “moved on to painting giant murals after that. Pollock would have been proud.”

He follows you as you lead him back, into the long and winding guts of the gallery.

“I tried a lot of things after . . . after rehab. Not a lot stuck, but at least I wasn’t choking on my own feelings anymore.”

Your unconscious feet have brought you to the red painting your other tour group pointed out. It’s big, pulsating red, black specks invading the scarlet colors like an infection.

“Lots of love and nowhere to put it,” he murmurs to the painting.

His curls are just as lush, just as beautiful as they are on your charcoal sketch. As they are in your memories. God, his neck, his fucking neck –

He catches you staring and grins bashfully. “Sorry, what you said reminded me of that scene in Fleabag. When she confesses to the tax guy.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat, nodding your only possible action. And then he turns and you feel your knees buckle.

“Did you paint because of me?” The brown in his eyes is soft, overwhelming. Seizes you and nails you to the floor. The noise that would leave your mouth if you open it would come directly from your heart.

The gallery is quiet, empty. Silent as a church.

But then he steps back, resetting the distance between you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m crossing a line here and –,”

“Yes.” It’s gentle, quiet, your admission. Your confession. “Yes. You said you picked it up in rehab and I . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to see if it helped me too.”

He worries his lip, his hands fidgeting in his pocket. “And did it help? Painting?”

You huff and cross your arms as you stare up at the art you made with so much unhinged rage and painful love pouring out of you. You had been sure your tears were going to ruin the paint.

“Yeah. It did. Unfortunately, your fucked up matched my fucked up in absolutely every way possible.” His nose flares as he stares at the ground. It hurts him still, after all these years. You inhale, the smell of the space calming your nerves, Dieter’s cologne a heady undertone. Trembling barely visible, you reach forward and take his hand. It’s warm and heavy and you try to find a memory where it was gentle against your face, but it doesn’t come. Your brain longs for new memories of him, hungry, desperate after surviving on scraps. He stops breathing regularly as you intertwine your fingers. “For what it’s worth, Dieter . . . it was nice not to feel so alone.”

The noise he makes is quiet, almost imperceptible. Could have been a deep breath, a groan, a sigh. But it is something much more vulnerable, much more punctured than that.

You hold him a bit longer before letting him go.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters quietly, staring at your wrist. “I don’t get why you aren’t fucking furious with me.”

“I was,” you confirm. “For a long time, I was. I hated you, Dieter. But I can’t be mad at you without being mad at myself and I’ve learned to forgive both.”

He closes his eyes briefly, lashes thick as they obscure that beautiful brown. “I could have said no. I could have – stopped it, before it became anything.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

It's careless, throwing around suggestions about fate and destiny and the thing that binds all living things. Your gaze lifts from his lips to his forehead when he looks back at you.

“You’re right,” he hums. “You were, we were . . . it was an addiction I wasn’t prepared to deal with at the time.”

“Did it get better? Dealing with your . . . addiction.”

You want to think he’s looking at your lips as you face the painting again.

“Nope,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Had to quit cold turkey. But this one, uh, this one doesn’t come with any nicotine patches.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Those things smell disgusting.”

Something buckles as it crosses his face. He sticks his hands into his pockets again. “Yeah. But I would have preferred it to the alternative.”

New York had made a decision by the time Marie locks up the gallery behind her. The sky is a throbbing purple and thick snowflakes flutter against your eyelashes. The sharp wind had surrendered, winter making its final claim over the city, and it started snowing with confidence, with surety.

White flecks cling to your scarf as ahead of you, Dieter opens the car door for Marie. Desperate to get out of the cold, she practically launches herself across the leather seats, her little body always cold as it is.

“Did you seriously get a driver with this car?” You shake your head at him as you follow Marie. He smirks as he climbs in after you.

“I’m only partially responsible with a credit card now. Besides, New York drivers are so mean and my fragile heart can’t take it.”

It was a simple town car, but with the seats facing inward like a limo. Marie sits with her hands over the air vent in the floor with obvious relief on her face. She cracks an eye open to Dieter as he shuts the door and the car lurches into traffic.

“What do you want?” She scowls begrudgingly.

“What do you mean?”

“You went above and beyond the request for seat warmers. I owe you dessert. What do you want?”

Dieter chuckles, glancing at you as Marie all but curls up against the vent.

“Rain check?”

She hums and closes her eyes, her head lolling against the window. Dieter sits across from you, his feet tucked in between yours, a content smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly. The cold has left a pink blush across his cheeks and it looks wonderful on him. His hands flex by his sides.

“Least I could do.”

The only sound for a while is the rush of air coming out of the vent, the faint honk of a car in the distance. Over Dieter’s shoulder, you watch the slow trickle of snow turn more consistent, flakes turning to chunks. It looks deathly cold out there.

You meet Dieter’s gaze – only because he had been watching you first.

“Do you ever miss warm and sunny California?” you tease quietly, mindful of Marie.

“Sure.” Dieter shrugs and folds up his long leg over his knee. “But I don’t think California misses me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” You cock your head to the side, watching the snowfall again. “California has a lot of good memories with you.”

“Well, if California ever wants me back, she’ll have to give me a call.”

You laugh. “She’s far too mysterious for that.”

“I’d like to think I know what a lady wants.” His voice is low, rumbling, like the heated vents. You glance at him but he’s already staring out the window.

You unbutton your coat and sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

Shandy’s is, presumably, packed. Hot bodies desperate to get out of the cold stand shoulder to shoulder in the pretend-crab shack. The irony of a beachfront-themed restaurant while outside a blizzard is brewing, is not exactly on anyone’s mind as they cram further in, away from the windows and drafts. The smell of fried fish makes your mouth water and these are the times you miss having an ice-cold glass of beer. With your arm wrapped around a sleepy Marie, Dieter stands on his toes to try and find Andrew and the other cast and crew who showed up. He drops back down, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, saying something to you, but it’s loss in the buzz of the crowd.

“What?” You yell across three feet. He shakes his head and, without warning, takes your hand, diving into the crowd. You have only a second to revel in the warmth of his palm before you have to take an active stance to avoid being elbowed or stepped on. Marie latches on to your arm tighter, one good jostle away from being lost in the sea of people. Dieter ducks and weaves with shocking precision, his wide chest cutting a path for you and Marie behind him. Someone steps back and you stumble into his shoulder.

He glances down at your intertwined hands, as if to make sure you are still there. You can’t quite read what’s in his eyes.

“Nearly there,” he murmurs before diving back into the crowd. Like the parting of the red sea, Dieter manages to pull the three of you through the knot of people and over to where a section of tables and booths had been roped off. Andrew leaps to his feet, his face red and eyes blurry, the instant he sees you.

“You made it! I thought we lost Dieter a while ago!” He embraces each of you, ending with Marie who glares up at him.

“I’m hungry.” A sleepy Marie was one thing. A hangry Marie was a whole other beast entirely.

Andrew chuckles and slings an arm over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure we ordered everything on the menu twice, so dig in. All goes on the company card.” Marie’s eyes the size of silver dollars as she stumbles towards the feast, Andrew turns back to you. “What about you? Hungry?”

There’s something warm in your palm and it takes you a minute to realize it’s Dieter’s hand. You’re still holding hands – and smooth as ever, Dieter casually lets go as one of the cast members comes to give him a hug.

“You’re good, right?” He says to you, as they break apart. “You can come sit with us if you want.”

By some miracle, you spot someone who looks like Sarah from the back so you shake your head.

“Nah. I think I see my people over there.” And then you do something incredibly stupid: you clap Dieter on the shoulder, like an uncle would pat his neurotic nephew. “If Marie comes looking for me, tell her I’m in the back.”

He glances at your hand on his shoulder and then nods. “Sure. Uh, have fun?”

You are sweating beneath your woolen coat from the body heat of a hundred drunk idiots and now you can actually feel it on your hairline.

“Yeah. You too.”

You spin on your heel in the direction of your salvation, internally cringing at your own stupidity. If this girl isn’t Sarah, I am so totally and completely fucked.

The girl was, in fact, Sarah. Liam’s there too and a few of the other NYU interns. The art director sits in a booth nearby, talking to a couple of the students, so you don’t entirely feel like a lecherous weirdo hanging out with a bunch of nineteen year olds.

Many of them come up to you, offering to buy you a drink as a premature celebration for opening night, which is only just a week away. But you merely ask for water, or a coke. They obliged, curious, but respectful, staying for a while to chat until the ice in their glasses melts and they’re off for a refill.

In the early days of your partnership with her, Carla told you that addictions are formed out of habits: you turn to drugs or alcohol every time because you have no other tools with which to self-regulate. That you quite literally fill the silences by drinking because the alternative is unbearable.

So, you count it as a small personal, private win that you can lean against a railing, quiet, and watch the crowds of people without ever feeling like you need a drop to top it off.

But . . . there is a want. A missing of something no longer there. You toss back the ice to crack it between your molars before it melts.

“Hey there, stranger!” Dieter bounces up the few steps to the small alcove you’ve propped yourself up in. His cheeks are flush and his hairline is wet. That gorgeous jacket is nowhere to be seen. He shoulders up next to you and you are consumed with his radiating body heat.

A delighted scream goes up from the crowd as the opening chords of Sweet Caroline begin and the walls vibrate with a triumphant “bum bum bum.”

“Someone’s having a good time,” you practically shout over the bad and off-key singing, eying him up and he chuckles, swirling around the brown, bubbly liquid in his cup.

“Some of the kids wanted to go dancing,” he yells back, “and bet I couldn’t floss or whatever, so sue me if I’m a little sweaty.”

He drops his head and rubs his sweaty forehead against your shoulder.

“Ew! Dieter – get off!” You giggle and shove him away from you. Hekers as he stumbles against the railing. He sniffs his shirt.

“Blegh – I think I can already smell myself.”

Sobering, you watch him as he presses the cool cup against his forehead. He catches you watching.

“What?” He asks and pushes the sweaty ends of his hair out of his face.

You turn your head to his ear so you don’t have to screech over Neil Diamond’s most famous song for white people. “You look . . .” You can’t really find the right words now, opting for staring at a freckle on his neck until they come to you. “You look happy, I guess.”

The rapturous smile curled around his lips fades, his eyes caught on the melting ice in his cup. This close, your shoulders touch and he curls around you, like he’s got a secret. You’ve learned a thing or two from your therapist so you wait until he’s ready.

The crowd is insatiable, screaming and howling as the final chords play, and another plucky song starts up.

“Once upon a time, these kinda things were a struggle for me.” He nods to the crowd, the bar, the alcohol. “Either I’d get black out drunk and wake up next to my PA or a stripper named Candy. And then, when you met me, I was straddling sobriety and my failing marriage.” Another party, a hotel, a blue sparkling pool. Wanting nothing more to push him back into his room and unbuckle his pants on top of his linen bedsheets. Dieter drops his head away, his forearm tense against yours. He thumbs the edge of his cup, preparing it for his admission. “And then . . . I was going out of my mind trying not to think about you.”

You can’t admonish him. You already know this, how you had been the image in his mind he pictured when he fucked his fist, long before viewing party at the director’s house. But it feels new, fresh, like he’s confessing all over again. Like the feeling persists.

“Dieter, I . . .”

His mouth is soft, beard wet, neck sticky with sweat, but his eyes burn you. Threaten to singe the skin from your bones.

“Old habits die hard, I think.”

His thumb presses against your wrist, his big hand covering yours against the wooden bar, pinning you – you can’t move forward or pull away. The heat of his chest throbs against your stuttering ribcage, the fingertips of his other hand twitching against yours at your side, seeking out your knuckles and then jerking away. His inhale draws your chin up to his, you’re so close you can see every memory etched in the lines around his eyes, his pulsating skin above the vein in his neck – the way his lips part when you meet his gaze. He murmurs your name and the ghost of his kiss swoops down your spine, choking your lungs, robbing you of air. Heavy lashes soft against his cheeks, he breathes, gives you whatever is left inside of him and you swallow it down, inches from his mouth.

Here you come again

Just when I'm about to make it work without you

You look into my eyes and light those dreamy eyes

And pretty soon I'm wondering how I came to doubt you

In the lofty silence between you, the Dolly Parton lyrics are audible, the crowd decidedly less familiar with the words. The bubble of sound surrounding you, enclosing you and him, breaks, the casual hum of a bar returning, and the outside world suddenly exists again.

He blinks at you as neither of you can ignore the song any more.

Here you come again

Looking better than a body has a right to

And shaking me up so, that all I really know

Is here you come again, and here I go

“Smoke?” You squeak.

He nods quickly, pushing you gently on your low back. “We gotta get the fuck outta here before they play Jolene.”

It’s nearing 1AM when Marie finally stumbles out of Shandy’s, drunk and warm and full of french fries.

“‘Hn don’ even ca-are I’m over thirty n’ drunk as hell.” She mutters into your shoulder. Heavy virgin snow sits heavy on the ground, only a few imprints of shoes left behind. You hold her close, worried about her stumbling and yanking you both to the ground. Dieter has gone ahead to flag the car down.

“You say that now but wait until the hangover, sweetie,” you laugh and she squeezes you.

“Hmm, you’re maybe right.”

Bold headlights flash on the street ahead as the town car pulls up against the curb. Dieter jogs up, leaving the car door open behind him.

“Gimme Drunky Pants.” You help him hold Marie up right before he bends, scooping her up by her knees and cradling her to his chest.

“Dieter, be careful,” you frown. “It’s fresh snow. You could slip.”

Marie lifts her head, her arms looped around his neck, squinting. “Am I Drunky Pants?”

“Yeah, Drunky Pants,” Dieter chuckles as he leads you to the car. “It’s a good thing you weigh about a buck fifty soaking wet.”

“Hey, pal, ‘m at least two dollars.” She holds up three fingers. She tries to find you over his shoulder. “Natalie, call my lawy’r, they’re takin’ me to jail.”

You brush her wet hair out off her forehead just outside the door. “I’ve got bail money, don’t worry about it.”

Dieter snorts and climbs to the car, minding Marie’s head as it goes limp on her neck. He eases her onto one of the seats as her eyes flutter open and shut.

“ ‘re such a good friend, Nat-il-ee. I h’ve bail money for you too.”

You shut the door after them and Dieter raps the glass, indicating to the driver to go on. He sits back down as Marie’s hand touches his knee.

“ ‘r we friends, Die’er? We’re frien’s right?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep from ruining what could be a very sweet moment, as Dieter pats her hand.

“Yeah, Drunky, we’re friends.”

“I’m not Drunky, you’re Drunky . . . wait, no, guess y’re not.” With a sigh, Marie rolls over and faces the plush seat. “Good night.”

Dieter meets your eyes across the car, your teeth tight against your lips, and he shakes his head, grinning like a mad man. Don’t ruin it for her.

You nod, snorting down a giggle. You take out your phone and snap one picture. Just for memorabilia.

DECEMBER

The morning of Opening Night

The concrete floor is cold even through your thick socks and hard-bottom slippers. The low window is shut and has been locked for weeks now, but the icy air managed to sneak in anyway. A woolen shawl around your shivering shoulders, you shuffle towards the stack of shelves at the back corner of your basement. Your pottery wheel sits clean and unused, the prospect of either hauling it up to the kitchen or freezing your ass off down here equally unappealing.

You store things down here that are either seasonal, like decorations and bug spray, or things that are too big to fit somewhere upstairs. Or, in the case of what you’re looking for, things that weigh too much.

It’s on the bottom shelf in the back, like it always is. You realize now that you’ve unintentionally stored it in a place of shame or embarrassment, a dirty secret you can only look at when it’s cold and all the lights are off. But that’s not how you feel about it. You slide it off its shelf, the only thing here that isn’t covered in a layer of grime that accumulates over items in basements. The buckles are cold under your hands and you feel like you should apologize. So you do. Silently, you make a promise that it’ll no longer live in the basement, that under the bed, easier to reach, might be a better home for it.

After all, you think, after tonight, you might want to show it to him.

Breathing out puffs of white air, you tighten your shawl over your shoulders and make the slow climb back up to the warmth.

Opening Night - Premiere of Homeward with You directed by Andrew Young

You puff out your cheeks, air rushing out between your lips painted the color of pomegranate, deflating entirely, as you swish the emerald green folds of your dress back and forth in the mirror. At the store, you loved it immediately and Marie audibly squealed, repeating that on the point of death, you had to promise to buy this dress for the premiere.

Now, you think it fits awkwardly, the waist too tight and the loose shoulders unable to settle right. The high collar around your neck threatened to choke you out, your overheated skin uncomfortably itchy beneath the wool.

This is stupid. I look ridiculous. I’m changing immediately –

“If you try to take that off, I’m tackling you to the ground.”

Marie shakes her head as she slips silver studs into her ear, her own black dress stunningly elegant yet remarkably simple. Her short hair is coiffed, tucking around her ear in a way that would make any flapper girl sick with envy.

“But it doesn’t look right,” you whine. “I look like an asparagus!”

She rolls her eyes and picks your earrings up from your vanity, your gold necklace looped between her fingers. Her smooth brow is furrowed as she gently slips your earrings on, softly plugging the backs. She is quiet, contemplative.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be you when I grew up?” She asks quietly.

You frown at her in the mirror as she goes to put on the other earring. “That’s ridiculous. You of all people know what a complete nightmare my life has been.”

“Yeah, but you’re still here, aren’t you?” She unhooks the chain of your necklace. “You are without a doubt the most tenacious person I’ve ever met. You’re brave and funny and smart. Everything I ever wanted in a big sister.”

The sharp flush of tears in your eyes threatens to smear your mascara and you catch her arm as it rests against your shoulder to clasp your necklace together. She stills and you look her in the eye.

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” You ask her, your voice tight.

She puts her arms around you, her head on your shoulder, her heels adding that extra height, and you watch each other in the mirror.

“Of course, I know that. I just want you to be happy.” Her tone changes and you can’t find her meaning in her eyes.

“I am happy,” you say, firmly. “I’m happy with this life we built.”

She kisses your temple. “No, you’re not. But you could be.”

The falling snow flickers and sparkles in the bright lights of the theater, the sidewalks clear for now. As the car approaches, through the window you read the name of the production up on the marquee in giant bold letters, his name just below it. Your stomach tightens.

The tires squeak and you climb out of the cab, Marie just behind you. No one greets you and there are no flashing camera lights. There are a few journalists, trade reporters, critics but they stand around, relaxed, smoking or talking amongst themselves. It’s a relatively quiet affair, not uncommon for productions of this size. You feel the brief press of disappointment before boxing it away.

The lobby is warm, with bordeaux floors and wooden paneled walls. An ancient staircase spills out to greet its guests, rich, shining banisters peering down from the second floor. A smiling suit-and-bowtie bartender waits by the coat check-in desk, converted from the old ticket sales corner used during the theater’s glory days. Marie offers to take your coat as your phone starts to ring.

Fighting between your coat and getting your phone, you answer it without checking the caller.

“Hello?”

“Hey there.” Dieter.

Your mouth dries and you glance at Marie chatting with the coat check-in girl. Quietly, you make your way over behind the grand staircase, a little out of sight.

“Dieter, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I can do both. Talk to you and put on this eyeliner that makes me cry.” You fight a smile, your hand holding your elbow, shoulders hunching towards the sound of his voice. “It’s okay, you can laugh. It was funny. I’m funny.”

“Dieter, did you call for a reason?” You know he can’t physically see you roll your eyes, but he’s deserving of it anyway.

“Yeah. Um, well, actually I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“If you’re in the lobby, can you look over by the old phone booths?” Annoyingly vague occasionally, but cryptic, Dieter is not. You peer around the wall, your gaze running across the lobby. Sure enough, by one of the other theater entrances sits five old wooden phone booths. Only a few still hold the rotary boxes, but in one on the end sits a small woman with white hair. “Do you see a lady there in a silver dress in one of them?”

“Yeah, I do. Who is she, Dieter?”

With an exasperated chuckle, he says, “okay, this you can’t laugh at. She’s my therapist.”

“What?”

“Okay, ex-therapist. I met her in rehab and I stuck with her after I got out. But then about five years ago she retired and she referred me to someone else. We kept in touch and became really good friends. I flew her out here to see my play and I was wondering . . . if you could keep her company.”

Your mouth dropped further and further open. “Dieter, I . . . I don’t know . . .”

“She doesn’t bite,” he laughs. “And don’t worry, she only knows only most of the details of our sex life.”

“DIETER!”

“I’m kidding – I’m kidding!” You can picture him hunched over on the chair in the dressing room, laughing himself silly. He sighs, giggles subsiding. “Okay, look, she knows you who are, but I don’t talk about that stuff with her anymore.” His voice drops, quiet and boyish. “Besides, she’s kind of the closest thing I have to family and I don’t trust anyone else with her but you.”

You can almost feel his breath across your jaw, his hushed reverence.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m still here.” You scratch your eyebrow with your nail. “Of course, I’ll keep an eye on her. What’s her name?”

“Beatrice, but I just call her Bea.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Bea and Dee?”

“I’m just cute like that.” You laugh with him this time. There’s a part of you that wishes you could have seen him before the premiere, given him what you want, but you worry it might have messed with his head. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.” He sounds so sincere. “I’ve gotta go, but –,”

“Dieter, wait.” Phone clutched tight to your ear, you go deeper into the bowels of the theater, by the door that leads to the cabaret stage. “I, um, I have something to show you later. Nothing serious – and it doesn’t even have to be tonight but I’d like to steal you away for just a bit.” You smirk, trying to get some even footing underneath you, but his silence dries your mouth out. “I-i-if that’s alr–,”

“Say when and where and I’m there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“A-alright. Then, uh, break a leg.”

He chuckles, right down your neck. “Thanks, Nat. Oh and if I don’t see you until afterwards, you look really nice.”

You swallow around a dry knot of wool in the back of your throat. “Is this where I’m supposed to say, ‘you can’t see me’ and you say, ‘I just know’?”

“You’ve got me all figured out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Dieter.”

You close your eyes, thumb shaking as you tap the red button on your phone. Every breath catches on the knots of your spine, of the curve of your ribs, as it goes down, hollow, sucked down, only to emerge shredded and weak.

The memory of what had nearly happened the night of the party at Shandy’s, it’s sunk into the crevices of your brain, under the skin behind your forehead, weighing your brow down day by day. It’s there, but you don’t see it. You don’t look. Like a beast in the jungle, you don’t make eye contact, hoping it will pass you by.

Hearing his voice over the phone, teasing you, you swear you hear it growl.

Look up, look up, look up

Look at me

Slipping your phone back in your purse, you straighten your shoulders and march for the old phone booth.

Bea is probably about sixty years old, maybe closer to seventy. Silver hair tucked back in a low bun that makes her dress shine, short unpainted nails press a ratty paperback book into her lap. She adjusts a navel blue sheer shawl around her mache-thin skin when you gently tap the window, smiling. She blinks up at you with the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen on a living human being.

What it says about you and Dieter that your therapists could not be more different, is a question you’ll bring up to Carla later on.

You gently push back the accordion door and wave.

“Hi. I’m –,”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she says softly, her smile coy. She bookmarks her page and closes the book – The Jungle by Upton Sinclair – before standing up. Not wanting to offend her, you don’t reach for her unless she seems unsteady, but her walk is confident, if not slow as she exits the phonebooth. “Dieter said a friend of his would come get me.”

Yes, but do you know which friend? Those thin lips swirl up to the corner of her mouth, her eyes playful. “You really are as pretty as he said you were.” Quickly, she adjusts her shawl and offers out her small hand. “Lovely to meet you, dear.”

Mischievous. Like those little elves or sprites. Instantly, you see what Dieter likes about her. You offer her your arm.

“Lovely to meet you too, but I get the feeling you know much more about me than I know about you.”

She pats your arm, that dizzy (fake) bleary old lady glaze going over her eyes. “I don’t know what gave you that impression.”

Above you, the lights flicker and a thrilled anticipation hums from the lobby, those still left eagerly moving to take their seats

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Bea squeals against you.

“You’ve never been to Dieter’s plays before?” You wait until the flow of people lessens, not risking an elbow or an errant shoe.

“He doesn’t let me!” She grouches. “Only recently has he let me see some of his movies. But he picks them out and we have to watch them together. Honestly, that man is such a goof!”

Her blue eyes watching people go by, she doesn’t see you chew your tongue. The man he lets Bea see is so wildly different from the one you knew, or the one you’ve gotten to know the past few months. The idea of just sitting down on the couch with Dieter to watch a movie was once, well, impossible. Now it didn’t seem . . . right. You try to picture this Dieter, this long-haired, relaxed, sober Dieter in a dark room, feet under your covers, laughing – laughter comes so easily to him now – and you couldn’t. Your brain shut the doors and turned off the light. No, no one’s home.

No one’s there.

“He’s a doctor in this one,” you say by way of filling the silence. “Did he tell you that?”

Bea peers up at you, her silver eyebrows arching. “No. He said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“He’s a small town doctor, in a town on the verge of collapse in the thirties. He’s caught between being responsible for his brother’s kid, who has been drafted just before he’s set to get married, and getting out of the town himself.”

“Ooh, his dramatic roles are so good!” Bea squeals again, squeezing your arm excitedly. You wonder if this is what she does to Dieter’s arm when they watch his movies. The crowd thins, so you lead her down the steps, to the front row that Andrew roped off for special guests. The theater is small, intimate, not space for more than fifty people, but the red velvet seats have been kept in immaculate condition, the Roman-inspired paintings on the ceiling and golden-dusted ceilings kept fresh in gloss and shine. It’s, for lack of a better word, cozy.

Marie is already there with a playbill and her smile fades when she sees you with an old woman on your arm. You shake your head, I’ll tell you later, and help her sit before taking your seat next to Marie.

“Do you miss it?” Bea asks quietly, her eyes on the stage, as the room fades to black.

“Miss what?”

“Acting.” If you were dancing, you would have just tripped. “With him?” And now you’re on your ass, wondering what the hell just happened.

You swallow, those blue eyes so bright and earnest. “Um. Sometimes.”

Bea sighs, rolls her eyes, and pats your hand. “He misses it. Even if he’ll never say anything.”

You don’t ask her to elaborate, because you don’t want to know.

He’s good. They all are.

There is a natural chemistry reflected between the cast that is often so hard to find. The subject matter, the sets, the expertly designed costumes – there is a sense of grounded realism. As Andrew hoped, the audience peers into the lives of a people strapped on a path of destruction. They fall apart as their town does around them. They get in their own way. They sabotage their own happiness again and again out of fear or frustration. Every character is fully realized to the point of anguish, of emotional damage because how could they not see it? How could they possibly continue to live their lives like this? How long do they believe they should suffer?

And beyond this swirling chaos of painfully human failure are the mobile walls you designed. They evolve, transform under expertly placed light, shadows increasing or decreasing depending on a blue or red light. The old Greek plays had The Chorus, omniscient watchers that took pity on the tragedy but were unable to stop it. Andrew’s play had your designs; silent, overbearing smears of sadness or grief or joy just out of reach. In such a grounded play, the walls added a sense of vivid delusion, waking madness, providing a razor’s edge of tension to every scene.

Dieter’s character is morally flawed. Tired and run down by this world that’s given him nothing, no hope; stealing from his patients when he conducts housecalls to pay for this “escape” that never comes. At first he has no interest in saving the skin of his nephew, not willing to risk imprisonment over a fake diagnosis, but he, like the audience, is forced to bear silent witness to the genuine, deep, honest love between his brother’s son and his sweetheart, played by Emily.

They sit at a kitchen table, the set painted a light green, the wood chipped and window glass cracked above the grimy sink. The night before he is meant to be drafted, Dieter’s doctor in the corner trying desperately to appear unaffected as his nephew goes through his will to his sweetheart and his uncle, so that in case of the inevitable, they know what his final wishes are.

The boy is choked up, nervous, reading through every word with an agonized sob. His hands that hold Emily’s are shaking, as silent tears stream down her face.

And then in a truly beautiful stroke of theater production, the boy pauses, and a recorded voiceover of him continues to read the will. But he stands, Emily and Dieter frozen in time behind him, and gently kisses Emily on the forehead, his eyes shut and face wet. He lets go, and turns to the audience.

The voice over fades to a low hum as he stands at the center of the stage. The boy is mere feet from you. He watches Emily over his shoulder.

“There are things I want to say to you, but I can’t. I think you already know them, but saying it out loud would only make things worse, not better. I would be saying them to be selfish, to unburden my own soul, by weighing down yours. But you know, right? You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I'm not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.” He goes to her, still frozen, still curled up on the table, her eyes seeing nothing. He strokes her cheek, getting on his knees to look into her visionless eyes. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you everyday. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close. I will love you until your face is fogged by distant memory. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else and I will love you if you never marry at all, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all. That is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

He drops his head onto her hands. The reading of the will ends and the lights hold, just a bit longer on the doomed couple.

“Are you okay?” Bea whispers, touching your arm and dropping back into your own body, you stare forcefully at your lap, begging the tears to stay back.

A cold sweat breaks out across your forehead, down the skin on your back, sucking your dress’s zipper to your spine. The blood in your ears roars, thunderous and loud, and you know you’re breathing unevenly, but you can’t help it.

You nod, wishing she would look away.

You feel green, feel pale, like something is molding inside of you, sickly blue sprouting around your spine and into your stomach. A sickness, an illness, lying dormant for years.

It’s still there, you understand that now.

The beast in the jungle, you meet it straight on, knowing the truth of it from the very beginning. But to what end – where would the self-inflicted circle of missed opportunities and failure finally end?

To unburden my soul, by weighing down yours.

The lobby is loud, dozens of voices overlapping each other in an excited chatter, the crowd . You bring Bea to one of the long, low benches near the twin sets of double doors at the entrance, careful to take her out of the rush of the crowd.

She groans as she sits down and eases her feet out of her silver flats.

“I do not miss the days of heels,” she says with a sigh, rolling her ankles around. “But is it too much to ask that they make nice shoes that don’t chew up your feet?”

“My mother used to say that was the price you pay for being a woman.” You sit down next to her, watching Marie chat with the art director across the room. “It’s not supposed to feel good, she said.”

Bea shrugs. “I suppose that’s true, but seems like a terrible way to look at life. A cycle of reward and punishment.”

You grin wryly at her. “My mother was a pessimist.”

“And you?” She leans back, her thin hands on her lap. “Are you a pessimist or an optimist?”

“I’m trying to break the cycle of reward and punishment.” Your eyes unconsciously fall to the door to the theater. “But old habits die hard, I guess.”

An excited roar sparks from across the room, the crowd surging towards the double doors. You see Emily’s shining blonde hair between shoulders, her bright smile. You can’t see him, but he’s there, you know it. So you sit back with Bea, matching her easy position.

“I know my old bones couldn’t fight off that crowd,” she nudges you with her elbow. “But you should go.”

A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes.

One way or another, it will be over soon. There is a sense of peace with that, whatever the outcome.

You shrug. “I’m just fine right here.”

So you sit, with your ex’s former therapist and closest thing he has to family because his are all gone, or they hate him. You ask her about Upton Sinclair, and she asks you about what you do, and you tell her about the gallery. The two of you could have been sitting on a bench in Central Park, for all the hurry you take, exchanging questions and answers.

Reporters ask for his picture, vloggers using their livestream to ask him about the role. You and Bea watch him, never talking about him, but never looking away either.

He’s handsome. He always is. Hair slicked back, eyes still ringing with black. He smiles and performs and you wonder if he’s a good enough actor to pretend to want to almost kiss you. His suit jacket is a deep red, almost purple, a perfect color for a December premiere. He turns, leaning into a photo with a few of his castmates and you see it – a flicker of dark green on his lapel. A glass leaf, the same color as your dress.

You fight to hide your blush, your assumptions really and truly getting out of hand, and you ask Bea about where she’s from. Eventually, Marie comes and joins you two, and her eyebrows jump only slightly when you tell her Bea’s connection to Dieter.

The congregated crowd of media and fans alike eventually subsides, leaving just friends and family. Andrew finally comes out and an applause goes up. He’s pink and his eyes are a little bleary and you think he might have started celebrating a bit early. Toby holds his hand and he leans into it, smiling like a fool.

You hear a buzz about an afterparty through excited grins and one-armed hugs, the news met with nods or groans. The last stragglers linger, wandering out into the cold or into waiting cars. The lobby is flushed with cold air every time the double doors swing open. Marie has gone to pick up your coats, including Bea’s, her wrap doing nothing for warmth, and you lean your head back against the wall.

You’ve been rehearsing something in your head since this morning, a final script, the end to the scene. Nothing fits quite right and you wish you’d written it down, but that risked someone finding your batherings. Maybe you’ll journal later, to get down everything in your head, everything you can’t say or don’t know how.

The crowd thins, and a few more flashes go off, and then he’s coming towards you, arms outstretched.

“Bea!”

The old woman wrestles to her feet with a speed you hadn’t witnessed all night and Dieter envelopes her in his arms. Without context, the image is sweet, domestic: a boy and his mother.

Then she steps back and messes up his perfectly combed hair. “There – that’s the Dieter I know.”

You swear he blushes.

“I have had a lovely evening with your friends!” Bea says, holding his hand and giving you and Marie warm smiles.

Marie out of the blue rushes forward and nearly tackles him to the ground. “You were so good, Dieter!”

His eyes widen before his arms come around her waist, squeezing her so tight he lifts her off the ground.

“Mhmm! Thank you! Thank you for coming. And now I promise to return your business partner to you. No more painting backdrops until midnight.”

She slips off him, as his eyes drop to you, the warmth there softer than the velvet chairs. He reaches for you and all of existence narrows to his palm. You take it and he pulls you into his chest.

He smells like your old Dieter. That layered musk of charcoal and vanilla, of sweet tobacco and sweat. Of course, he wears cologne, expensive and rich, but you turn your nose to his neck and inhale – it’s still there. Somewhere. His hands fall to your hips, your low back, then they’re sliding up your dress, cupping your ribcage against his. You pull him tighter to you, the scruff of his beard rough against your cheek as you breathe each other in. It happened accidentally, but this is the hug you should have given him all those months ago – one that allows for joy, for remembrance, for an ease that only comes after two people have learned the other intimately, where so much of one exists within the other, their own hearts cannot decide where one ends and the other begins.

You don’t want to let him go. You don’t think you can.

But the double doors sweep open, drafting in the cool air and stronger, prevailing thoughts. Your chin trembles at the strength it takes to keep from pressing your lips against his cheek as you set your weight back on your heels, his hands resisting your release until the very last moment. He doesn’t let you fall or drop you; he eases you back down, away. But his hands are shaking and he steadies them around your elbows and you take his because you think your knees will buckle if you don’t keep touching him. His mouth makes a wet noise, his eyes on the ground, feet shuffling back. He holds you as though the room is spinning.

“Um, Dieter,” Marie’s voice comes in from far away as you fight the urge to bury your body up under his chest, to lift him up with every ounce of strength you possess. “There’s an afterparty . . .”

“But I’d rather like to go home first, darling. If that’s alright,” Bea says. “Dieter?”

You watch his throat convulse and he stands up right. He lets go of you entirely.

“Sorry,” he swallows, resolutely not looking at you, “just got a little lightheaded. Haven’t eaten much today. Bea, can I call you a cab?”

“Do you want to go to the party?” Marie asks you as Dieter guides Bea over to the front desk. “Andrew’s invited us.”

You shake your head, watching them go. It has to end tonight. It has to.

“I . . . can’t. There’s something I need to talk to Dieter about.” You tear your eyes away to her concerned face. “Shouldn’t be long, but after that I’m gonna go to bed. I’m exhausted after four months of this.”

She nods like she knows it's been much longer than that. She hugs you, pulls you in tight, her mouth tucked in by your ear and says, “don’t take this the wrong way, love, but you were never going to be just friends.”

You don’t make eye contact with her when she pulls away.

Ten minutes later, Bea and Marie have decided to share a cab, Bea’s hotel on the way to Marie’s apartment. You and Dieter stand on the curb, waving to them as they go. The snow is coming on thick now. A few catch on his lashes as he turns to look at you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the party?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “There’ll be others. What did you want to show me?”

Age has done nothing to rob him of his beauty. You think you hope it hasn’t robbed him of anything else.

The creaky door of your brownstone greets you as you lead him inside, cheeks blushed pink from the cold, fingertips slightly numb, the metal keys in your hand bitterly chilled. You fumble for a few lights, cursing yourself that you left your home in total darkness hours earlier. The warm overhead lights awaken your living room, then the dining room across the hall. You’re grumbling to yourself and completely oblivious to Dieter’s open-mouthed stare. You’re leaning against the wall, fighting with your heel as he walks into your aubergine-colored living room with the plush gray couches and wall-to-wall bookshelves.

“I want to look at every single one of these,” he says softly, fingers curled around your chenille throw blanket on the back of the sofa. “Have I read any of them?”

“If your reading tastes are anything like Bea’s, then probably,” you grin at him as you finally slip out of your heels. You fight the urge to groan, your feet flat against the hardwood, sensation finally returning to your toes, but you do sigh. The noise brings his attention to you and he smiles.

“You do look beautiful.”

Your toes visibly curl and you feel the smile slide off your face. You nod over your shoulder.

“C’mon. It’s in here.”

He follows you through the other open-archway rooms to the kitchen, where the box from your basement sits on the counter. It’s gray, unassuming, with little buckles as adornments on the corners. Something about it feels weathered, hard won, as if it had been shipped across the ancient sea by long-dead ancestors.

The lights are low here, hovering low on the dimmer switch. You always thought kitchens should be relaxing, comforting, so you rarely brighten the room unless you have to. Behind you, Dieter unbuttons his jacket as you grip the lid.

“Now, you can’t laugh,” you say, a playful curl to your lips. He mimes an ‘x’ over his heart.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ve had these for a while, collecting them as I came across them. At first, it seemed almost morbid, but – I don’t know – I took comfort in them. As time went on, it helped me remember that everything that happened back then, actually happened and wasn’t just some insane LSD trip.” You thumb a corner. “At least it wasn’t for me.”

His brow deepens as you take off the lid.

He blinks a few times, trying to understand what he’s looking at. You wait, sit down on a black stool, watching.

Newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. Online articles printed and cut out.

He takes a few out, his fingers running over the corners where yours have gone a dozen times.

“Are these . . .”

“They’re all about Recovery Road. Speculation pieces on why it should win an Oscar, or several, even before it premiered. First reviews and public, consumer reviews. Trades on Heidi’s directing career, the cinematographers, the music for the film.” Your bare toes could brush his shoes if you swung your leg forward just an inch. “Opinion pieces on my career . . . and yours.” The knot in his throat moves as he flips through, going back ten years to the first articles. You watch his masculine hand, thick veins and weighty palm. “I know we didn’t make Oscar night, Dieter, and I don’t know if you ever stopped to celebrate. I know I didn’t, even years later. So this became my little celebration and in light of your success tonight, I thought you might like to celebrate with me.”

He spreads a few out on the counter, the strange shapes of cut-out articles like lost puzzle pieces. His mouth is a straight line, those thick eyebrows drawn down, jaw set tight.

“That night was the worst night of my life, Natalie. I don’t know why you want to remember it.”

His voice is rough, cutting, comes from a place at the back of his chest. Your heart sinks.

You’ve gotten it all wrong.

“Oh. Oh, I . . . I’m sorry. I thought . . . well, actually I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, dispelling any lingering illusions you may have, and brush together the articles he laid out, jumping to your feet. “This was a stupid idea. I can’t believe I thought this would be fun. I took you away from your afterparty to show you this ridiculous –,”

His big hand loops around your wrist and you freeze, the warmth of his palm exploding up your arm and into your cheeks. Dieter looks at you with a weight so profound you feel as though you could plunge through the floorboards.

“I lied to you.” He says gruffly. “Ten fucking minutes into seeing you again and I lied.” He works his jaw as his hand slides up to your forearm, then your elbow where it notches over the bend in your arm. “I know I said I thought we’d be better off if we never saw each other again, but that’s not true. Every day until you were released from that hospital, I begged Heidi for any news. On your health. On your withdrawals. On if you got out of the fucking bed that day. And then after you got out and into rehab, I asked Heidi to check in on you. But I knew it had to fucking stop. I had to fucking stop wanting things to be different because I didn’t think they could be. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Your bottom lip trembles. “And now? Now, do you think things could be different?”

The lines around his eyes tighten as he straightens up. But he still holds your arm like it's the last life raft in a cold black ocean. He turns his head, an imperceptible tilt.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Do you want it to be?”

“Dieter,” you cry out, out of breath before you open your mouth, air held captive in your chest. You’re crying and you don’t mean to be. You sway as you violently shake your head and he grabs your other elbow. You reach forward and steady yourself with both hands on his biceps. There’s no way you can say this with your eyes open. “Dieter . . . for months now, everyone’s been asking me if I need space from you, or if it’s alright with me to be alone with you. If everything is still too painful to be around you, like I need protecting from you or something. But I – I don’t know how to tell them . . . that’s all I want. I want you. Even after everything, after how fucked up it was, how fucked up we both were, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

It comes out in a rush, words and tears tumbling out of your mouth. You open your wet eyes to his lips parted in surprise, his face soft beneath the weight of your revelation. You inhale, more tears and more courage to say the things you’ve always wanted to say. No paper, no pen, no going back.

“Dieter, I think about that house in Albuquerque all the time. I wake up and I think I can smell you in the kitchen. Or you’ll be out on the patio, painting. I know you and I went our separate ways – and I think that’s what was best for us then – but God, you never went away. You never, ever left.”

You tighten your grip, nails digging into his lovely jacket. Staring at his throat, locked in by memories, you want to drag him to the floor and cry in his arms, the way you should have on that hospital bed.

In the silence, your gaze drifts, down his chest and over to his lapel.

That green leaf pendant. The color of your dress. You thumb it and it’s warm, like his heart sits just behind it.

Unexpectedly, his wide palm rests against your jaw, tilting your head up. Eyes warm and dark like the dying coal in a wood-stove, he brushes your cheek with his thumb. You don’t realize how cold you are until your face is held in his hand.

“I’m gonna fuck it up if I say anything,” he says quietly, to you and you alone, “so I’m just going to do this.”

In an instant, years and years and years of buried fear come screaming into your chest. That single most profound worry you carried with you since he first kissed you the night of the rainstorm – dug it deep, covered with ignorance and a blind eye – it emerges like a seed sprouting into the light when his lips touch yours.

You fold up into him, this fear, this concern pulling you up as he does.

You feared, in all this time and all these years, that the great love of your life, the end-all-be all to romance and adoration, had been nothing more than a misguided, lonely girl giving away parts of her to unworthy holders – drugs, alcohol, addiction, and Dieter fucking Bravo, the first man who taught her there was something special about sex and feelings and not being alone in the darkness.

You break apart from him, trembling in his arms. You’re crying again and you think he might be too, but it’s too blurry and it’s too much.

“Dieter, w-wait–,” you grip his lapels, unwilling to separate his chest from yours, the press of his hips against yours. “W-what if we are wrong? What if I was wrong – what I felt for you, what I feel for you, everything we had – it’s just – a-a mistake. What if what you feel for me, is just more psychosis, more pills we have to swallow to fix it, fix us? F-f-fix me? What if you never really loved me?”

With a groan, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your cheek, the ghost of teeth against the fine hairs on your skin.

“If what I feel for you isn’t love, then I don’t know what it is.” His arms sink across your low back, as if pulling you in as tight as he could make you understand with touch alone, send you his thoughts unfiltered and honest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, wet and frantic, and then your cheek and then again on your mouth. It’s wet and messy and he pulls away, just inches, to say: “I’ve loved you every day of the past ten years. I never stopped loving you. You were the only thing I ever got right.”

A soft cry escapes your mouth, hand on his cheek, as you tug him back into your mouth. Your lips barely part at the touch of his teeth, before he slips into your mouth, tongue massaging yours.Your nails scrape the back of his neck, the curve of his skull, fingers delightedly yanking on his longer, wilder hair. Everywhere he touches you, it’s insistent, determined to make you feel his love. He breathes harshly out of his nose when he palms your ass in his wide hands and you allow yourself to rub up against him, as if you didn’t own every inch of him already.

Even through your dress and his slacks, the heat of your cunt up against his half-hard length is enough to have you both gasping for air. Breathing doesn’t really work right, lungs stuttering, half-aborted gasps through hiccups.

His hand curls around your jaw and he kisses you again. You no longer need to breathe air that hasn’t been recycled by him first.

“I’m so fucking scared,” he murmurs against your lips, half-open eyes searching for hesitation, for rejection.

“Me too.”

You claw at him, and still sucking on your mouth, he rolls your dress up over your knees, up to your hips. His hands on your bare skin for the first time in a decade, he cups the back of your knees, tugging you up onto his chest.

“Where?” He mutters.

“Upstairs. Second door on your right.”

You spend the time it takes to get there familiarizing yourself with every curve of his mouth, the softness on the inside of his cheeks, where along his neck elicits the deepest groan when you use your teeth.

Memories whisper like ghosts – he likes it there, lick here and listen to him, bite, yes, bite – you slip his earlobe between your teeth, nipping just north of gently, and he falters.

“You got this?” You tease, nosing under his jaw, as he makes the landing.

“If this place was blown to bits,” he grumbles as he knees open your bedroom door, “I’d still find a way to fuck you on this mattress.”

Kneeling one leg at a time, he unfolds you on the covers, hands free to roam against your hips, your ass, the backs of your thighs. Your nails scratch through his hair one last time before he sits up.

Your bedroom is dark, blue in the winter, and the only light to see him by comes from down the hallway and over the banister. In the half-light, Dieter glows, a faint bright edge to his hair, his right arm as he slips it out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. It lands somewhere and you don’t hear it, don’t look, instead watch his fingers unbutton his collar, tugging the starched shirt out of his pants.

Mesmerized, you want to tell him to stop, that you want to do it, but you can’t. You have and always be spell-bound by Dieter Bravo. He gets off his outer shirt and that’s when you realize how hard he’s breathing, the shadows blurring the pink tinge on his skin.

“Dieter, baby,” you worry, reaching for him and he comes, collapsing on his trembling elbows. He kisses you with a wet mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this. You’re so fucking beautiful. You look like a fucking angel, on this bed, in this dress and I never thought I’d ever be here with you again.” His chest shakes and you pull him between your legs, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hand cupping the back of his head. He buries his head in the curve of your neck, grasping at your back with his arms.

You together lie there for a minute, in the silence and comfort that is afforded those nestled in intimacy. He fits, so well, like no one else ever has. Bones touch bones, his space is filled by your joints, his blood warms where you are cold. Disjointed and broken, you slot together in holes made by the other. You stroke his hair and he pulls back. The grin that grows across his face causes tears to spill down the apples of his cheeks.

“You’re a fucking hurricane, baby, and I love you.” He holds your cheek in his palm, softly pressing a kiss to your lips. “Can I take off your tights?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, the anticipation of having his hands on your skin making you twitch.

He kneels away from you and one hand slides up the material of your dress while the other reverently plucks at the tight waistband of your nylons. He tugs gently, then using both hands, knuckles scraping your hips, your thighs. He touches the back of your knee and that fear resurfaces just for a moment.

“Be careful, Dieter,” you gasp. He slows, catching your eyes. “P-please be careful.”

The rest of your nylons come off easily while he nods, his thumbs briefly rubbing the material before they’re tossed to the ground. The night air is suddenly cold, colder than it had been seconds ago and you shiver, your dress around your hips and your cunt nearly exposed.

Dieter crawls forward, settling around between your knees. It’s like he can smell how wet you are. His big palm cups your inner thigh, thumb directing his attention.

“Do you still like to be licked here?”

You nod fervently, almost bashful.

“Has anyone eaten you out in a while?”

Again, your head jerks back and forth in the opposite direction, your hand clutching his knee and the other fisting the sheets.

“Can I?” His stare flickers from your barely visible pussy up to your eyes. He’s all but begging you.

His gaze reawakes your voice. “Yes, Dieter, please – p-please, I need it.”

His tongue wets his lips, eyes half-open, focused, as he pushes your dress up the rest of the way. You part your legs for him and he groans with appreciation.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He shuffles back, easing onto his knees on the floor, big palms around the hinge of your legs. He tugs you as he goes, until your hips have settled on the edge of the mattress.

His mouth drops open at the shine on your inner thighs and as though too overwhelmed to go straight for the center, he licks as close to your cunt as he can, eager for your taste. His hands on your hips tighten as he groans, inhaling deeply.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

You have half a second to breathe yourself before he licks, flat-tongued, up your cunt and the edges of your vision grow dark.

He picks you apart, slowly, methodically, explorative. He licks like he’s trying to get an ice cream cone to come all over his face.

Dieter tongues one lip, then the other and he has your hips shaking. He digs in, suctioning his mouth to your cunt, and flicks his tongue as far as he can and you twitch. He slurps in spit and slick between his teeth before presenting it back to you on the head of his tongue.

“Oh, fucking god, Dieter –,” you press the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I can’t believe how good –,”

He licks as deep as he can, all the way up, air muffled by your folds, and flat-tongues your clit. Your vision whites out and you scream. But you didn’t come. That wasn’t you coming. Your legs are trembling and Dieter presses his forearm against your lower tummy, eyes scorching and scolding. Stop moving and let me work.

As you relearn him, he rediscovers you. He knows there’s a spot, just around your clit that when sucked, it makes you arch off the bed, but he searches in no hurry, divining every inch of you again. He gets close and you tremble, so he pushes your knee back, opening you up further to slide in two fingers. So much more than anything you could put inside yourself, you roll your hips as much as you can, chasing that touch as his tongue sweeps over you again and again. He taps up against your pelvic bone through your pussy and you moan, loudly, pleasure soaking his fingers, then his palm. His dark eyes watch you from where his mouth works to suck ten years of missed orgasms right out of you.

You want him to fuck you faster, to get you there in a way only he can, brushing places only he can find, only he dares reach. He licks you faster and faster, fingers plunging deeper and twisting, spreading you apart – he adds a third just before entering you again and again and again and then he finds it – that spot on your clit that breaks you apart, that warm gooey center exploding across his tongue.

You come in silence, sparks flickering at the edge of your vision, mouth open, pussy clenching down on him, and only when you feel the vibrations of his moan between your legs, do you remember to breathe, gasping sharply to the high-pitched edge of a whine.

“Dieter,” you pant, voice strained, knees weak as you push against his shoulders. Your clit stings a bit from overstimulation and he relents. He wipes his mouth on your inner thigh, inching up the bed, with your knee over his shoulder, still three fingers deep in you.

“C’mon, honey, you can give me one more like this. I know you can.”

You whimper, never having a single orgasm like that in the last ten years, let alone two. “I don’t – I don’t think I can –,”

“Of course you can.” The wet squelch of his fingers scissoring inside of you proves him right. “I’ve got you, darling, I’ve got you and I’m never letting you fucking go again.”

He licks under your knee, beard still damp with your release, and Dieter does what he does best: he talks.

He promises you filthy, beautiful things.

I wanna be soaked in you. I want you to come so hard, it drips down my arm, wets my chest.

I wanna put my tongue on every inch of your sweat-drenched skin. I wanna taste you. All of you. In you. I wanna make you so full, that when I fuck you, I taste myself.

I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, your cunt squeezing his fingers so hard they can’t move, and you gush, all the way to his elbow.

You can’t see for a second, the sound of your pounding heart in your ears the only proof you’re still alive. It’s like your body has been storing it all for him, never doing this for anyone else, so you keep coming and coming. Dieter groans, drops his head, and licks up as much as he can, but you feel your own slick slip down your ass and stain your dress. You whine as he slips his fingers out of you.

“Ohmy– oh – oh – oh fuck, Dieter,” you garble. Your entire lower half is numb. You don’t realize you’re shaking until he’s stretched out both of your legs, hand gently massaging your thighs. He licks his palm, his forearm, trying to clean himself up, but never once taking his eyes off you.

“Good, baby?”

You nod, blinking back the sparks of light whirling across your vision. “So good. So, so good.”

“I have a lot to make up for. Where’s the clasp to your dress?”

“In – In the back,” you swallow, hand flopping around to indicate some direction.

“I’m going to turn you around, okay, baby?”

He takes you by the hip, the shoulder, and curls you onto your side. His thumb pressed up against the cup of your skull, warm and grounding, he unzips your dress, the sound loud in the silence. Easing you as he goes, he rolls you until you’re face down on the mattress and he can peel the dress off your shoulders. Somewhere behind you, he makes a noise at the sight of your bare back.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Heat drapes across your back as he leans down and kisses from the back of your neck, down your spine and lingers at the place just above the curve of your ass. He harshly palms your thighs, the meat of your butt, groaning, promising and marking places for his teeth. Your breathing hitches as you slide your dress off your arms. He meets your hands and helps you pull it down the rest of the way, over your knees and off the bed.

You should be cold, shivering, but you aren’t. Not when his hands start over your calves, gripping them soft enough that he can move unhindered, but tight enough it's almost a massage. He goes up the backs of your knees, curves around your thighs, fingers dip into the bones of your hip. The mattress dips as he lays out behind you, over you, fingers tugging you back until there’s enough space for him to slip his hand between you and the mattress, his knee prying your legs apart. He cups you, biting the curve of your ear, and you gasp for him. He plugs you up with two fingers, still so wet he meets no resistance and he growls in your neck.

“There’s this image of you that I swear to god is painted on the backs of my eyelids,” he murmurs, fucking you lazily with his fingers. You fist the sheets, arm shaking to keep yourself tilted enough to give him room. You can feel his hot, thick, solid cock against the back of your thigh, his own body heat enough to make you sweat. He touches a place that makes you gasp and his hips twitch forward. You want more, more heat, more of him, his white undershirt sticking to your back. You want to feel him. You push your hips back and he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “I see it when I wake up and when I go to sleep at night and it used to fucking kill me because that was all I had left of you.” He speeds up, his wrist snapping against your pelvis. “But then – then, it – it gave me comfort, because I got to see you all the time. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t enough but god, it got me through the worst of it.”

You can feel your core tighten, pleasure spiral down and in on itself, a single spark away from exploding, as he goes faster and faster.

“I fucking need you–,” he whines in your ear, chest smothering your back, knuckle rubbing up against your clit.

“Dieter, take off your fucking shirt –,”

You lunge forward, out of his grasp, his fingers dragging wet slick over your hip as you roll away from him. His hands frantically yank his shirt up and over his head as you work the button on his pants, unzipping him in a rush. You’ve barely gotten his pants down over his knees when he grabs you by the elbow, yanking you into his mouth, his lap. Your shared moans coat the inside of your mouths, lips pressed swollen and hot, teeth nipping and pulling. Separating only to breathe, he hauls your knee over his hip, pulling you as close as he can, his cock red and leaking into your stomach.

You roll your hips forward, your soaked cunt clutching around his cock and he sways, breaking apart, to open mouth-groan.

“C-condom?”

“Don’t want one. There hasn’t been anyone but you.”

“Me neither.”

You snake a hand between your heated bodies and pump him once. Again and he whines. A third time and you push him back, flat against the mattress, his body thumping into the pillows. His thumbs press into the curve of your hips, up your waist, fingers slotting between your ribs.

But his eyes are latched onto your nipples.

“And these tits, baby,” he cups the weight of one while thumbing across the raised nipple of the other. You arch your spine, letting him do whatever he wants, while you pump him slowly, and swirl your clit with your other fingers. “Been obsessed with them. Fucking dream about them. Wanna spend a whole day with my mouth on them.”

“Well, I wanna spend a whole day on this cock. Dieter, fuck, your cock is fantastic.” It’s thick and long and you lick a mix of precum and spit into your hand to coat all of him.

“Yeah, you missed my big cock?” Hips bucking inches off the mattress, his eyes fall half-shut, almost black with hunger. “Show me, baby, show me how much you missed me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Despite his filthy mouth, his breathing hitches when you go onto your knees, hand holding him beneath you as you adjust to find your entrance. He breaths so sharply, you glance at him, the head of his cock just inches from your cunt. His chest is flushed and sweaty. The roundness of his stomach trembles, the hair there pressed flat and wet. The hair at his temples and across his hairline is damp, beautiful curls tossed back from his face. Eyes warm, his lips are wet with anticipation.

“I missed you, Nat,” he says quietly, suddenly. His fingers squeeze your thighs and his words catch as you notch just the head inside you, the fat head splitting you apart. “I m-m-missed you so-oh much.”

Wanting nothing but to feel every inch, you take your hand away and find his forearm to steady yourself. The deeper you take him, the higher your whine goes.

“Fuck, Natalie, fuck –,” his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw tight, as you gasp towards the ceiling, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fuck, you feel – you are –,”

“Dieter –,”

Your hips drop, his twitching below you, and you take in every ridge, every throbbing vein. You don’t mean to tease, but he’s so big and it’s been so long since you’d taken him, you have to sink as slow as possible. His grip almost bruising, he wants nothing more than to yank you down on his cock, but he holds, waits, lets you adjust, even though his chest is red and he hasn’t taken a full breath in a minute.

You inhale as you finally take all of him inside you, flush to his hips, his lap already wet, that low simmering heat swirling out from every place his cock rubs up inside of you.

“Natalie–,” he chokes.

It’s been too long.

You thrust forward, riding him hard and setting a pace that startles even you. A loud groan roars through him and his hands around your hips yank you back and forth with just as much force, as much want. Arousal climbs higher and higher, your shared pants and moans a catalyst for fire.

“Natalie,” he tries and you open your eyes. His face is flushed now too, eyes wet. “Natalie, I can’t stop thinking – the last time we were like this – I did – I said –,”

He whimpers as you slow and lean over him. You cup his cheeks with both hands, thumb tugging down his bottom lip. You kiss him, mouth slotting over his. “Don’t think about that, baby. Stay here with me. Be with me.”

He nods frantically, gasping as you jerk your hips just right, and you nuzzle his nose before building back your speed, that heart-stopping pace. He intertwines his fingers with yours, offering himself to hold onto as you both race towards release, his hips rhythmically bouncing against yours.

But you can’t help it either. Flashing across your memory like fireworks, you’re overwhelmed with images of you and him either in this exact position or a dozen others. On top of a desk, in a car, against a wall, behind, under, in front – every way he would make you take him again and again. You dip forward, just a bit, remembering that angle that made his knees quake – and apparently still does.

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

Bits and pieces of old fantasies slide in between the gaps in your memory – the time you tried to picture his face when you sat on your new vibrator you gifted yourself on your twenty-sixth birthday – the time you finger-fucked yourself in the bathtub, hopelessly trying to find that spongy spot he used to stroke – it was not agonizingly enough.

It was nothing like him begging you to never, ever leave. You ride him hard and fast because tomorrow isn’t promised and it might never come.

His thumb on your bottom lip and his voice pry your eyes open. Your thighs quake from the strain, ratcheting that thunderous pleasure up every knot of your spine. You’re sweating so much you think you might melt off his cock.

The bed squeaks, as you grind yourself against him, his hand still on your face.

“I fucking love you.” He breathes through, open-mouthed, a spike of pleasure, his hair plastered against his forehead. You think you might come from the look of pure adoration in his eyes alone, but you white-knuckle your approaching orgasm, just as you know he is. “You’re made for me. This cunt is made for me.”

Every inch of you is fire hot. You gaze down at him and take your thumb between your teeth, nipping gently, your hands balanced against his stomach.

“I am yours, Dieter. I’ve never wanted anything else. Never.”

He swallows, eyes impossibly dark and deep, staring up at you like you hang the moon and stars, like you are solely responsible for the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

Dieter jerks up to kiss you, his hand cupping the back of your head, nails lightly scratching into your hair. The force of him stills your hips and you kiss him back, arms around his neck, but does nothing to quench that roaring blaze in your cunt.

His arm drops from your head, goes around your back, the other catching your hips against his and he flips you both, nestling you against the covers. He pins your arms above your head and thrusts into you, setting a pace that has your eyes rolling back your head. You whimper.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever loved,” he grunts into your neck, his voice low as it kisses your skin. His pace is punishing, chasing whatever haunted him at night those years he was apart from you. You pin your knees to his ribs, welcoming him deeper and deeper. “I want to be yours. I want to be yours until the day I fucking die.”

“You are, Dieter, you are.”

The sound that comes from his chest, echoing in your ear, and seeps into your bones finally pushes you over the edge. White-hot lightning strikes you between your legs, a warm, milky wave rocking you flat on your back as your cunt clenches down on him. He shouts, loudly, his back tense as he spills inside of you a second later. You can feel him soak the inside of you, his cock twitching under the pressure of your still-tight cunt.

His hips pump once, twice more, his body eager to empty him out entirely, and then he stills.

The sound of your shared heavy breathing, between the sweaty, throbbing mass of your bodies, is the only sound in the bedroom, stretching on for minutes at a time.

You have never felt so close to a person as you do right now. You can feel his heart pounding against his chest as it sits above yours. Your skin, damp with sweat, clings to his. This is where you want to be, for the rest of your life.

Slowly, as fast as his shaking arms will allow, Dieter lifts up to look you in the eyes, breath still heavy in his lungs. He’s red, pushed to the limit of exertion and then beyond that. His hair is a damp mess and his skin is so warm it almost burns.

But he’s smiling.

As your breathing returns to normal, even if it might take hours to wash yourselves clean, he smiles at you and you smile back because all it took was time.

Time, some therapy, and some space apart to find out what truly matters. What only matters. If nothing we do matters, this is the only thing that does.

You don’t have to speak because he knows what you’re thinking. Grinning through a half-chuckle, he kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. With a sigh, you wrap your arms around him as he gingerly tucks his head under your chin, and rests his cheek against your chest. You play with his hair.

The night stretches on, the snow falls harder outside. Eventually, you end up under the covers, Dieter Bravo is in love with you and you love him back.

He taps his fingers against your hip, absent-mindedly, to a beat you don’t recognize. And then his chest vibrates over yours, the sound sinking into yours, as he hums the chorus to Here You Come Again.

When you wake up, hours later, sleep overtaking you at some point during the night, you open your eyes to gold sunlight streaming in through the curtains and his back to you. His arm tucked under his head, curls askew on the pillow, and you feel him breath against the mattress.

Hesitantly, slowly, you reach forward, hand trembling, across the small space between your bodies –

And you touch his shoulder. He’s solid. He’s real. He’s here.

He shudders awake, groaning sleepily, as he turns over, his brown eyes greeting yours with all the joy of the sun.

He touches your cheek and you smile.

Epilogue

The wooden tracks of the rollercoaster vibrate violently as the cars lurch over the railings and down the slope. Screams of delight are lost beneath the gentle melody of the merry-go-round, its lights bright against the late evening sky. People wander between the tents and the booths, stopping to play a round of hunt-the-duck or to throw a ball at empty milk bottles. The smell of popcorn and candy hangs thick in the warm summer air.

Dieter adjusts the giant stuffed bear on his back, eyes surveying their next target on the Coney Island pier.

“Ice cream me, babe.”

Your arm juts out and smears vanilla-chocolate swirl across his mouth and he sputters.

Your eyes jump up from your phone, embarrassed to have been so distracted, and you immediately go to wipe his lips, his own hands busy keeping the bear up right.

“Sorry, sorry!”

He grins as you blot his mouth and chin. His tongue swipes out and licks your palm.

“It’s okay, only if you use your mouth next time.”

You roll your eyes as you toss away the used napkins. This time you hold the cone properly so he can lick his fill.

“What’s so important on your phone that you nearly drown me in ice cream?”

A summer breeze, hot off the waves of the ocean, strokes your hair, tugging it over your eyes. You push it back, frowning.

“Netflix emailed us, wanting to know if we wanted to be a part of the documentary about the making of Recovery Road.”

“And you think that’s a bad idea?” He asks, catching an errant dribble before it smears across your fingers.

“I don’t know. It just feels like dredging up things that are better left in the past.”

“Netflix’s specialty.”

You frown at him and he grins. “No one’s ever officially gone on record about what happened and now maybe we should. Set the record straight.”

“I don’t think we’ll come out of it looking very good,” you worry your lip. “Besides, if we’re being interviewed, shouldn’t Chloe get a chance to tell her side too?”

Dieter shrugs. “She can if she wants. But the story is ultimately about you and me. Besides, they just want the juicy gossip about all of our wild and crazy infidelity sex.”

“Dieter!”

With a chuckle, he drops the bear between the two of you, so he can look you properly in the eyes without a paw over his face.

“Baby, I’ll do whatever you want to do. If you want to do it, great. If not, fuck ‘em. I don’t care how it makes us seem, because no matter what, they’ll never know the true story.” He takes your hand that is not holding an ice cream cone, sticky fingers and all, and kisses your knuckles. “You and I are so beyond Netflix documentaries, or tell-all exposés – or whatever constitutes a love story in Hollywood. What I feel for you, no one could ever do it justice.”

He sees your chest stutter for breath, your eyes soft as he kisses your palm.

“They’d never understand the man you’ve become,” you say quietly. “What it took to get here.”

He nods, hand sliding to your cheek, your neck, and pulls you in. “This is it for me.”

“Me too.”

The jingle of the carnival around you, the roar of the rollercoaster in the distance, fills the silence as your lips move against his, hand curled up against his collar.

“Okay, new question,” he breaks apart before he loses all of his senses and pulls you into a bathroom stall.

You chuckle against his lips. “Yeah?”

“What would you think about getting a dog?”

“A dog?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be very big – there’s no room in our brownstone for the three of us anyway.”

You frown playfully, contemplative, as you loop your arm through his, the bear stretched across both your backs, as you instinctively wander towards the water.

“I’ve always liked pitbulls. Found them to be really misunderstood.”

He nods. “I like that. Kind of flies in the face of the ‘small dog’ idea but I like it.”

“When have we ever not bucked tradition?”

“You’re exactly right, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your cheek as you list off other potential breeds.

Honestly, he doesn’t care. Whatever dog breed you want is fine with him.

As long as it has a collar and a name tag, somewhere he can hang a ring.

T H E E N D

#there’s so much stuff I loved that I didn’t touch on but I will bug you about it some other time #the bubble #chaptered #read #author: chronically-ghosted

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