Dieter Bravo - Tumblr Posts
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Oh how I love Dieter and his lack of fucks to give when it comes to who sees or hears
Break Me Off A Piece
Dieter Bravo x Female Reader Written for the ever so lovely @yopossum's Mootboard and Minifics celebration.
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Your husband Dieter Bravo has dragged you to yet another boring Hollywood party, you're determined to make it a little more fun. Warnings: reader calls dieter daddy, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (be safe irl), food play (kit kat on/dipping in reader’s kitty cat so definitely edible object penetration), spanking with a garden tool, teasing, somewhat public flashing, public-ish sex, getting caught having said public-ish sex, stolen flower, reader wears a dress and heels. Words: 2,000
A/N: Well, I’ve done it folks, my first fic where reader calls someone “daddy.” Thank you to @mothandpigeon for letting me type out Kit Kat ideas and @ohheypedrito for supporting the daddy of it all.
Masterlist
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All night you’ve been playing nice, allowing Dieter to rub elbows and be the center of attention at this boring Hollywood party full of lame people you have nothing in common with. You laugh at jokes you don’t find funny, nod at stories you don’t care about, and smile at people you don’t like. You’ve been wondering all night why you even let Dieter drag you here…until you saw the way his face lit up as he watched you run that sweet cherry from your drink across your bright coral lips before biting into the fleshy fruit. Oh, that’s right, if you’re bored at this party, why not just tease your busy husband from afar? Time to shuffle the straps of your dress farther down your shoulders. Oh, what’s that? Your leg itches, let’s hitch your dress up and scratch the outside of your thigh. Dieter’s eyes behind his designer sunglasses always find their way back to you all night; you’re playing with fire, and you like the way the deep orange flames feel across your body.
He’s entertaining yet another group of hanger onners, they laugh at everything he says, maniacally nodding their heads as he regales some sort of story you’ve probably heard a dozen times. Oh, please, he’s not that big of a deal. You love him, he’s your best friend, but they don’t have to pick up the Kit Kat wrappers scattered around his bedside table or pick up his wet towel he constantly leaves on your side of the bed. He catches your eye and you feel like making him suffer even more for dragging you to this lame party inside a lame mansion owned by a lame producer. You glance across the room, nobody’s looking at you, you’re not famous, you’re just a “trophy” (yeah, right) wife. A shot of bravery makes you sit up straighter, and grab the hem of your green dress. You open your legs, just as Dieter’s eye’s open when he gets a glimpse of your coral panties. His mouth drops, thick eyebrows rise above his sunglasses in feigned shock before he gives a precursory nod to his fan club and walks away from them, heading straight for you.
“Get up,” he grabs your arm, pulling you to stand. “We gotta go somewhere, need to teach you a lesson.”
__
“Here?”
“Yes baby,” Dieter crowds your back against a table filled with gardening supplies and potted plants. Your body knocks against the wood top, trowels and rakes clatter against one another; you’re mindful to not stick your hand in the potted cactus sitting to the left of you. His wet tongue runs up the column of your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your jaw. You can feel the bulge of him growing against your behind.
“It’s so dirty in here,” you say, angling your head back to try to meet his lips.
“So?” he asks before sealing his mouth over yours, his large hand grabs your chin as the other grips your breast. You can taste the fancy champagne his cohorts have been pouring him all night. “You should have thought about that before you teased me in there.”
“Meee, tease yooou?” you gasp against his lips when he pinches your nipple through the fabric of your dress.
“Yes, youuuu,” he teases, “you know exactly what you were doing to me.”
Your palms push against the rough wood of the table, you’re really mad at your past self for choosing to wear such high heels. Weak knees and platform shoes are not a good mix for an escapade in a damn greenhouse.
“Bend over for me naughty girl,” he rasps. “Want to show you what all this fucking teasing gets you” He bunches your dress up in his hand, exposing your bare cheeks to him. "Fuuuuuuuuck, this is perfect baby girl, you wore my favorite thong like the bad girl you are, didn't you?"
“You are aware this whole greenhouse is–nyuuh–glass, don’t you?” you ask surveying the surroundings of the windowed shed. Is all of this necessary? Do mega movie producers really garden?
“Well aware," he growls. “You look so fucking good tonight, I don't give a fuck where we are, just as long as I can fuck this pretty little orange covered cunt. I say let everyone watch. Let them see how crazy you’ve been driving me all fucking night.”
You hear the clang of metal, before feeling something cool and flat against your ass cheek.
“...What in the world are yo–”
SMACK, a stinging sensation blooms across your bottom. Your body tightens, a loud moan escapes and echoes across the glass panels of the greenhouse. You jerk your head back, to only be greeted by Dieter and his proud smile.
“Told you I had to teach you a lesson,” he says, waving a garden trowel in the air.
You breathily laugh, lust surging through your body when you push your ass farther out, encouraging him to spank you again.
“You want another bad girl?” his voice drops an octave, deep bedroom Dieter has taken over.
“Yes daddy,” you mew, enticingly shaking your curves back and forth.
Cool metal is once again against your skin rubbing small, teasing circles into your flesh. Your breath hitches in your throat when it’s pulled away, time slows while you wait for another spark of pain.
SMACK. The metal lands against you harder this time, you gasp Dieter’s name, he answers you with a grumbly chuckle before throwing the trowel back on the table.
His hands find your hips, turning you around to face him before he sinks to his knees and bunches your dress up. He lifts his sunglasses up to rest atop his head, giving him a clear view of his favorite pair of panties.
“Fuck, they do match your lips,” he says before running his tongue across the seam of your orange thong.
He pulls your underwear to the side, covering your cunt with his mouth. You’ll never get tired of the way he groans against your flesh, like he can’t believe he gets to taste you. He swirls and glides his tongue against your sensitive flesh, sucking and licking in all of the right places.
The sensation makes you lose your grip on the clutch you’ve been carrying all night. The bag drops, scattering its contents all over the floor, stealing Dieter’s attention away from eating you.
He leaves your warmth, quickly gathering all of your items and stuffing it back in your purse, save for the lone Kit Kat bar you keep in your purse for Dieter emergencies.
He holds the candy up, a thick eyebrow angled up in mirth.
“What?” you shrug, “I know how grumpy you can get.”
“Feeling kinda grumpy at you for what you just put me through in there baby,” he says before bringing the package up to his mouth.
“Then it’s a good thing I know you,” you counter.
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Dieter says through gritted teeth, the Kit Kat package swings from his mouth with each word. He pulls your panties down, fully taking in the sight of you in before opening the candy package. “Though, I am quite hungry.”
He breaks a piece off and brings the chocolate to your cunt, parting your lips with the thin stick of chocolate. He circles the smooth wafer against your clit before leading it down to swirl against your entrance, Dieter looks up at you and winks before he dips it inside of you for a split second pulling a sweet moan out of your throat. He glides the confection covered in your slick out and brings it to his mouth; his eyes flutter shut when he wraps his plush lips around the candy now covered in you. A boisterous whimper emits from his throat, his whole body shudders against you. It’s filthy and sweet, watching your movie star spouse taste his two favorite things… you and a Kit Kat.
“Good?” you question, exceedingly turned on just knowing how much Dieter enjoyed his little treat.
He moans out a long, satisfying “mmmm” before tucking the open candy package into the chest pocket of his linen shirt.
“Amazing,” he smiles, rising to his feet and unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out, already leaking and hard, definitely due to his prior snack.
You lift yourself onto the potting bench, bundling your dress up and spreading your legs wide, your pulse quickens, your body's already anticipating being stuffed full of Dieter’s thick cock.
He consumes you, his big arms blockade you in on both sides as he slowly enters your cunt. He puffs out a breath of air against your neck when he fully sheathes himself inside of you.
“You feel better than a Kit Kat,” you sigh, adjusting your legs to wrap around his body, opening yourself up even more for your husband to take you in the greenhouse.
He cackles against your neck, his dick rumbles against your walls with each laugh.
“Better fucking be,” he says, pumping in and out faster as if he has to prove he is in fact better than a tiny stick of a candy bar.
His thrusts rock into you harder as you open wider for him, soaking his cock with your slick; your hands clutch his hair, knocking his sunglasses off of his head when he begins to pound into you. You’re moaning so loud but you don’t care... Dieter is right, let them hear you, let them see you be taken by your husband.
“That’s it, taking my fat cock like the naughty fucking girl you are,” he grunts. The table you’re sitting upon shakes under his force, metal garden tools and pots knock against one another. The loud clash of a terracotta planter landing on the floor doesn’t even phase the two of you.
“DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK?!”
The sound of Dieter’s mega producer friend Jordan interrupts your feverish fucking. Your hands unclasp from Dieter’s hair, you can’t even look over at Jordan, too embarrassed by how he’s found the two of you. You idiot, what did you expect you’re screaming like a banshee and he’s fucking you in a greenhouse.
“Sorry man, we’re almost done,” Dieter says, his dick twitches inside of you with each word spoken.
“No dude, people are watching from the balcony, you gotta get out before someone snaps a pic,” Jordan scolds.
“Alright,” Dieter slips out of you, your body already begins craving the fullness of him. “Alright, we’ll get going, so we can finish elsewhere.”
“Jesus Christ Bravo, you could have asked me for a room,” Jordan shakes his head before turning and leaving.
Dieter turns his head to you, giving you his classic smug grin. God damnit, you love this frustrating mess of a man.
“Let’s go. The car’s waiting outside, I can fuck you in there.”
He picks your panties up off the floor and stuffs them in his pocket.
“Wait a second…” he turns around and grabs a stem from the bird-of-paradise plant now laying on the floor surrounded by the broken pot.
“Diet–”
“I made that man seven figures last year, he’s not going to miss this,” he says, handing you the flower before leading you to the limousine waiting to take you home. “Plus, every good show deserves flowers at curtains down.”
___
“Shit,” Dieter says, as he deposits his keys and belongings onto the foyer table. “I don’t have my sunglasses. Pretty sure they’re still in that shed…”
Binged this entire story this evening! Such a good read 😍
I'LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN (Dieter Bravo x f!reader) Masterlist
FANDOM: The Bubble / Dieter Bravo
READER: Adult female. Non-American citizen. Film actress. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.
RATING: M
No Minors Please: My work is 18+. I will respectfully ask minors to turn away to protect themselves and me. Thank you.
SUMMARY: You’ve landed the role of a lifetime and the only thing that threatens to ruin it is having to share the screen with Dieter fkn Bravo.
NOTES: Canon divergent, flashbacks are pre-The Bubble timeline, but present day events are set about two years post-The Bubble, in a world where Dieter turned down Cliff Beasts 6 for something better. This series is complete.
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I’LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN
Scene 1: The Role of a Lifetime - Your agent has some good news…and some bad news.
Scene 2: The Callback - Dieter’s a brilliant actor. In more ways than one.
Scene 3: Flashback to the Proposal - It was a true proposal, never a question.
Scene 4: Flashback to the Farmer’s Market - AKA the first “date.”
Scene 5: You May Now Kiss The Bride - The wedding and then some.
Scene 6: What’s Mine Is Yours - Two years makes all the difference between when feelings were easy and now that they’re complicated.
Scene 7: The Sex Scene - You’re finally able to admit some things to yourself both in the past and the present. As always, Dieter’s way ahead of you.
Scene 8: The Final Shot - The fallout. The fall back together. And not one, but two Oscar ceremonies with very different outcomes.
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ARTWORK INSPIRED BY I’LL NEVER FALL IN LOVE AGAIN
My favorite Hollywood couple: Cakes and Dieter by @beecastle inspired by Chapter 4
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COMMISSIONED ARTWORK
Dieter x Cakes - by @miranhas-art based on Chapter 8
PLEASE NOTE: I write my stories with myself in mind, but I try to keep them as reader characters as inclusive as possible. This art is not meant to represent all readers. Your reader is you. My reader is me, and when I commission artwork, I usually do so with myself as reference. I write what I yearn and yearn to see what I write, and I can’t do it myself, so I choose to support fanart artists. They do beautiful work and there’s no way I’m not going to share it with you!!!
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CHARACTER MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST
Ahhhh I love these so much!
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Dieter Bravo Heart Emoji Icons
Please like or reblog if you use! For any other characters you’d like to see, send me an ask!
Oh my wooooord!!!!!!
This was absolutely beautiful 😍😭😍😭
I just wanna give Dieter a hug 🥺
A Better Man
Status: One Shot, Complete
Summary: Dieter goes back to a place he knows so well just to get a glimpse of a life he could have had.
Word Count: 2k words
Notes: IDK, I'm way into Dieter again these days, and thought of writing this fic that's full of yearning lol
I pull up to the house slowly, like I’m sneaking up on it. The engine hums under my grip, vibrating through the steering wheel, and I kill it with a sharp twist of the key. The quiet settles in around me, and I just sit there, staring at the place I used to know so well.
It’s funny. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m not the sentimental type—at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for years—but somehow, I always end up right back here. Your house. The one you made a home, way back when everything felt so damn simple.
It’s been a while. The shutters are a different color now, a soft blue. You used to complain about how you never had time to take care of the garden, but it looks… alive now. Somebody’s been looking after it, after you. It’s like the house moved on, but me? I’m still stuck.
I lean back in the seat, staring through the windshield. I remember this place, and I remember you—us. Those days when I’d crash on your couch, no questions asked. The nights we’d laugh too loud, talk too much, and I’d forget, just for a second, about the chaos waiting outside your door. This used to be the one place that felt like it could be something real.
I close my eyes, and suddenly I’m back there, in those moments that play like an old movie I can’t turn off.
–
“You know, I could get used to this,” I said, my shoulder brushing against yours as we sat on the steps of your porch. The air was thick with the scent of your jasmine plant—always too sweet, but you loved it, so I never complained. I looked over at you, trying to hide my nerves behind a grin. “Just you, me, and this crappy little neighborhood.”
You laughed, and God, that laugh—it’s like a shot of adrenaline, better than any drug I’ve ever touched. “You say that now, but you’ll get bored. You always do.”
I wanted to argue, but I just shrugged, picking at the loose thread on my jeans. “Not with you,” I said softly. “You’re the only thing I never get tired of.”
You gave me this look—like you knew something I didn’t. “We’re not like that, Dieter. We’re... something else.”
I tried to smile, but it felt wrong. “Yeah, sure. Something else.” But I wasn’t so sure anymore. Not when everything was changing so fast. I could feel it slipping away, and I didn’t know how to hold on.
–
I showed up at your door, way past midnight. I was drunk, pissed off, and lost, but you still opened up, just like you always did. No questions, no judgment—just you in your pajamas, hair a mess, eyes sleepy but warm.
“Dieter, it’s late,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I just... I needed to be here,” I said, brushing past you into the living room like I belonged there. And for a while, I think I did. I slumped onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “Everything’s fucked. I fucked up.”
You sat down next to me, close but not too close. You always knew how to give me just enough space to breathe. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
I looked at you, and for a second, I forgot about the headlines, the shitty reviews, the people tearing me apart for the mess I’d made of my own career. “You ever think... maybe we should’ve done this differently?”
You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half sad. “Done what differently?”
I shrugged, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. “Us. This. Everything.”
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “We are what we are, Dieter…”
I wanted to say something, anything, but the words got stuck somewhere between my head and my heart. So, I did what I always do—I let the moment pass, hoping it wouldn’t be the last.
–
“I’m done, Dieter. I can’t do this anymore.”
The words hung in the air, and I could feel my chest tighten. You stood there, calm but determined, like you’d been preparing for this moment for a long time. I tried to read your face, but it was like staring at a wall—no cracks, no second thoughts.
“What do you mean, you’re done?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “We’ve been together for years! We fight, we figure it out. That’s what we do.”
You exhaled, shaking your head slowly. “We’re not together, Dieter. Not really. Not in the way that matters.” You paused, searching for the right words, and I hated how composed you were while I felt like everything was falling apart. “I want a real relationship, Dieter. I want to feel like I’m more than just the person you run to when your life is spiraling. I want something that’s going somewhere.”
I stared at you, thrown by how final you sounded. “We are going somewhere. It’s just… complicated. But we can figure it out.”
“Complicated?” You scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Dieter, I’ve been with you through your worst. Through the scandals, the press, and the stretch of weeks you didn’t even call me because you were too drunk or too high to even remember who you were with. And I stood by you, I waited for you… waiting for things to get better, but they never did. And you know why? Because you never wanted them to.”
“That’s not true,” I argued, frustration bubbling over. “I love you, you know I do.”
“But what is that worth?” you said, your voice finally breaking, the tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. “Love isn’t enough when I’m stuck living half a life with someone who can’t even be bothered to call me just because... You can’t even take me out to a decent meal. The best I get is my couch, or sitting in a Five Guys parking lot, eating drive-thru in your car with the windows tinted so dark that no one sees us. That’s not a relationship, Dieter. It’s barely even anything.”
I tried to speak, but every excuse felt thin and worn out. You were tired of the same old lines, the same old promises that things would change. And deep down, I knew I couldn’t give you what you wanted, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how.
“It’s not that easy,” I said, frustration lacing my voice. “I can’t just—”
“That’s the point!” you interrupted, your voice rising as you lost that calm veneer. “I don’t want it to be this way. And I can’t ask you to change your life for me, I won't even want to do that… to put me in your world when I know that no one would believe it if I even tried to scream it out loud that you love me. Who would believe some girl like me? Living this mundane life, far away from the adventures you’re off having when you’re not here, when you’re not hiding away with me.”
You softened for a moment, a flicker of the love we once had shining through the hurt. “I love you too, Dieter. But love isn’t enough. Not when I can’t even call you my boyfriend, not when I’m just the girl you go to hide away when it’s convenient.”
You looked at me, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. “I need more than this. I need more than stolen moments and secret meetups. I need someone who isn’t afraid to be with me, who wants to be with me. And you’re not that person, Dieter. You never have been.”
The finality of your words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to fight, to tell you that I could change, that we could make it work, but deep down, I knew you were right. I’d always been too afraid to give you what you deserved, and now I was paying the price.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow and inadequate. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You nodded, tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “So am I,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending that this is enough when it’s not.”
You turned to open the door, and I watched you go, my heart breaking as the door closed behind you. You didn’t even stop to hesitate or even look back… I wanted to run after you, to pull you back and promise that I’d be better, that I’d be the man you needed. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And that was the moment I lost you—for good this time.
–
I don’t even know why I’m here, but I can’t seem to stay away. I park a little down the street, close enough to see but far enough to not be seen, and I watch through the large windows of your house. It’s early evening, the lights are on, and I can see you moving around the kitchen, your silhouette framed against the glow.
You’re different now. Softer. Happier. And as my eyes drift lower, I see the subtle curve of your stomach, round and unmistakable. You’re pregnant. Again.
It hits me like a punch, the memory of the first time I saw you like this. I remember the way your body changed, how your skin seemed to glow, how you moved with this new grace that had me staring at you like I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You were carrying someone else’s child, but all I could think about was how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to be the one to fill you up, to make you mine in every way possible.
You shift, one hand resting on your growing belly, and I feel it all over again—the longing, the jealousy, the regret. I’d lie awake at night, thinking about you, about what it would feel like to be the one who got to hold you when you were swollen with life, about the softness of your body pressed up against mine. And now, it’s like I’m being forced to watch the life I could have had unfold right in front of me.
You laugh at something, one hand absentmindedly smoothing down your shirt, and there’s this guy—your husband, I guess—walking in from another room. He leans in, kisses you on the cheek, and it’s so damn domestic that it makes me sick. I don’t even know him, but I hate him. I hate how he gets to have you in ways I never could.
I watch as he rests his hand on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles that make you smile. It’s intimate, tender, and I can’t tear my eyes away. You look so content, so fucking perfect, and all I can think is that I’m the idiot who let this slip through my fingers.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles white as I fight the urge to storm up to that door and tell you everything I’ve been too scared to say. I want to tell you that you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, that I miss you in ways I can’t even describe. I want to tell you that I wish it was me. That I wish I’d been enough.
But it’s too late. It’s always been too late.
I start the engine, but I don’t drive away right away. I just sit there, staring at the life that’s no longer mine, and I feel this hollow ache in my chest that I can’t ever seem to fill. I think about you, about the way you looked at me that night when you said you loved me but that it wasn’t enough. And maybe it never was.
As I pull away, I catch one last glimpse of you through the window, your hand resting on top of your oldest child's head while you spoke to your husband, and I feel like I’m leaving something behind all over again. Maybe one day, I’ll stop coming back here. Maybe one day, I’ll let go of this ghost that’s been haunting me.
But for now, all I can do is drive. Away from you. Away from the life I’ll never have. And I wonder, for the hundredth time, what might have been if I’d just been a better man.
Dieter fucking Bravo.
Give me that chaotic trash panda so I can FIX HIM!
do you ever become obsessed with a character and you just go "of fucking course its that one" at yourself because you are so incredibly predictable
Aww yay! Thank you for reading and sharing! ❤️❤️❤️
Memories
Summary: What happens when your husband, Dieter, forgets who you are?
Warnings: 18+ minors get outta here! Cursing, fluff, smut, feel good, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), probably not like realistic medical knowledge but it’s fiction 🤷♀️
A/N: Thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. @jay-zzle for the idea AND the mood board 😍❤️ I really liked writing this and had a lot of fun with it. Hope y’all like it! @schnarfer(it's here!)
Masterlist||AO3 Link
“Wait, who said we can’t have fruit bars anymore?” you ask, turning from the pantry to look at your seven year old daughter, Luna, sitting at the kitchen island.
“Daddy,” Luna states matter of factly, “He said that it’s fake food and we should only eat organic stuff.”
“Yeah, we need organic food,” your son Leo pipes in from the seat next to her. At three years old, he is currently in the copy everything big sister says or does phase.
“So, what do you want as a snack in your lunch box then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Uhhh… banana?” Luna shrugs, “Daddy wasn’t very specific on what I should eat instead.”
“Okay but get your breakfast eaten before your cereal gets soggy,” you say, pointing at both before starting on the dishes.
Of course Dieter would be the one to tell the kids not to eat certain foods. The man scolds you every time he sees your Bluetooth headphones – droning on and on about the effects it’ll have on your brain waves and how it’s going to damage your mind. Your relationship with Dieter was a bit of a chaotic whirlwind, meeting randomly on the set of one of the movies he starred in, one your friend was working on the set of.
“Well, hello there,” Dieter had said, standing next to you by the craft table. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Excuse me?” you asked, looking around to see who he was actually talking to.
“Or should I walk by again?” he said with a smile.
“Is that how you get all the girls?” you asked, picking up a piece of cheese and pointing it at him, “Because that shit was pretty cheesy if you ask me.”
“No, trying something new,” Dieter said, cracking up into a giant fit of laughter. “Sorry, sorry. That– yeah, that was pretty good.”
“Bravo needed on set!” someone with a headset shouted in the distance, frantically waving at him.
“Guess that’s my cue,” he sighed, “Hope to see you ar– wait, what’s your name?”
You introduce yourself and he takes your hand, kissing the back of it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, repeating your name and winking, “Hope to see you around.”
That was the conversation that started it all nearly eight years ago. Within the first year of knowing Dieter, you were married and pregnant – and no – it wasn’t a shotgun wedding, as much as the tabloids tried to pin it as one.
“Dieter Bravo and Mystery Woman Seen Leaving Las Vegas Wedding Chapel”
“Dieter Bravo Expecting First Child with New Wife – Shotgun Wedding?”
“How Long Before Dieter Bravo Gets His First Divorce?”
You both just knew you were meant to be together. With the birth of Luna, he had sobered up completely. These days he hardly even drinks beer. It’s weird in a way, that he’s changed so much from who you first met, but still the same Dieter in every other aspect. Wild, spontaneous, creative, romantic, chaotic at times, and so loving.
–
“Good morning, my babies,” Dieter says, waltzing into the kitchen, giving each of his kids a kiss on the top of their heads.
“Hi, Daddy,” Luna and Leo exclaim.
“Hello, my love,” Dieter smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist giving you a sloppy smooch on the cheek.
“Ew,” Luna shouts, making gagging noises.
“Yeah, what Luna said!” Leo says, copying his older sister with fake gagging.
“Stop with the fake gagging,” he replies, looking at them, “You’ll make mommy sick.”
“Hi, babe,” you laugh, “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
“I want to start doing my own stunts like Tom Cruise,” Dieter explains excitedly, “And I think I’m going to crush it today! I’m supposed to scale a building, don’t worry, everything is going to be totally safe.”
“Seriously, Dieter?” you sigh, “You may say that it’s safe but I’m still going to worry – please be safe.”
Dieter gasps, putting his hand to his chest as if he were clutching a set of pearls. “Babies, I don’t think mommy trusts daddy!”
“Momma,” Leo laughs, perching up on the chair more, “Daddy be fine!”
“Yeah, momma,” Dieter says with a grin, “Daddy be fine.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, snorting and shaking your head, looking at your watch you realize you’re going to be cutting it close in getting Luna to school on time. “Shit!”
“Mommy,” Luna scolds, “You shouldn’t say bad words like that!”
“Luna, hurry up with your cereal or else you’re going to be late for school again,” you say as you turn to Dieter who is rummaging in the fridge for his own breakfast. “What time do you have to be on set?”
“In about an hour, get her to school. My favorite son and I will be fine here at home. If need be, I’ll tell the director that I’m going to be late. Family first,” he says, “Not like they’d fire me at this point. I’m the entire reason people are going to want to see this movie.”
“I love you so much,” you say, giving him a kiss before ushering Luna out the door.
“Love you too, baby!” Dieter shouts.
–
“I’m back,” you announce from the front door.
“That didn’t take as long as I expected,” Dieter chuckles, “I gotta get headed to the studio though.” He scoops Leo up into a tight hug, “We'll play superhero when I get back home, okay?”
“Otay,” Leo says, pouting.
“Poor baby,” Dieter coos and glances up at you with a smirk, “You sure you don’t want another one?”
“Dieter,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, “We’ve talked about this. If it feels right, then maybe, but right now? No.”
“Fine,” Dieter groans, “But the moment you think it feels right, tell me?”
“Promise,” you smirk.
Dieter tells Leo goodbye with the promise of playing superheroes when he gets back home. Your mind begins to wander back to Dieter’s question about another baby as you go about your chores. You start smiling thinking back to when you first decided to start trying for a baby – lying in bed together shortly after getting married.
“How many kids do you want?” Dieter asked, playing with the wedding band on your finger.
“I’d always imagined three honestly,” you smiled, “Why?”
“I want whatever you want,” he grinned, slotting himself between your legs again. “But if you wanted at least one I wouldn’t mind trying now.”
“D, we just got married a month ago,” you said, shaking your head, “Is that the only reason you married me? To have a baby?”
“Of course not, baby,” Dieter said, linking his fingers with yours and pinning them above your head, “I just know I really, really want them with you.”
“Oh yeah?” you whispered, tilting your head up to capture his lips. He moaned into your mouth, slowly grinding his stiffness against you.
“Yes,” he panted, breaking the kiss.
“Let’s do it then,” you said, nipping his bottom lip, “Fuck a baby into me, Dieter.”
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he groaned.
“Momma!” Leo shouts, pulling you from your thoughts, “Your phone.”
You had been so deep in the memory you didn’t even notice your phone ringing. It’s just Dieter, probably checking in to see how your day is going. He tends to do that while he’s on breaks at work.
“Well, hello, Tom Cruise,” you answer, giggling – except it isn’t Dieter on the other end.
Instead, you hear his assistant, Andy, saying your name before, “Dieter’s been in an accident. I’m almost to your house, I’ll watch Leo so you can go to Cedars-Sinai medical,” quickly spills out of his mouth, “It’s not good.”
–
It’s been two weeks that you’ve sat beside his bed in this damn hospital, waiting for him to wake up. The doctors are all hopeful that he’ll wake up at any minute, but it’s been two days since he’s been off the ventilator, and nothing has happened yet. The kids keep asking where their dad is, and you don’t have any other answer than he’s sick.
“Dieter,” you beg, holding onto his hand, “Babe, please wake up. We need you. Luna and Leo miss you – I miss you. Please just wake up.”
The nurse comes in to check Dieter’s vitals for the third time today. Since she’s keeping him company, you decide to head to the cafeteria to get some food, grabbing something simple before heading back to Dieter’s room. When you return, you notice a flurry of activity.
“Mr. Bravo, can you tell me what year it is?” a doctor asks, shining a small flashlight in his eyes.
“Of course I can, dumbass! It’s 2016,” Dieter snaps. “Now will you stop shining that light in my eye?”
“What’s going on?” you ask hesitantly.
“He woke up while you went to get food,” a nurse explains, “We’re trying to make sure mentally he’s with us.”
“Oh, for fuck sake!” Dieter cries out, “I’m fine, never felt better! There, she must be my new assistant.”
All eyes turn to you. This was a possibility the doctor had talked about before – temporary amnesia. Hopefully that’s all it is. The doctor motions you to follow him out of the room.
“He seems to have hit his head harder than we thought. In all honesty, I would try to play pretend with him for a little bit. Try thinking of things that might remind him of who he actually is today,” the doctor suggests. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Bravo.”
Dieter is having a conniption in the room while nurses are trying to calm him down. As you step back in, you see your husband frantically disconnecting and throwing the wires off of his body and onto the floor.
“Where the fuck is my assistant?” Dieter yells.
“Dieter, D, baby – Mr. Bravo!” you shout and Dieter immediately freezes, eyes wide as saucers. “You need to calm down before you hurt yourself.”
“What happened?” Dieter asks, looking around at everyone.
“We’ll give you guys some space,” a nurse says quietly while ushering the others out of the room. You grab the chair next to his bed and sit down, reaching for his hand but stopping yourself as you notice your ring. Right now, this isn’t your husband. This is Dieter Bravo who believes it’s the year 2016.
“You were in an accident, you hit your head pretty good,” you start explaining to him, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks now.”
“So, who are you?” he asks, looking you up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I knew my team wanted to hire me a new assistant since things didn’t work out with the last one – didn’t realize they’d pick someone so hot. Would you wanna have sex with me?”
“Dieter, I don’t think you’re cleared for those types of activities,” you chuckle, “I’m here for whatever you might need though.”
“Can you get me my phone?” he asks with those puppy-dog eyes he does best.
“Sure,” you reach for your purse digging around and find his phone, handing it over to him. “The passcode is 332016”
“The fuck? Why would I change it from the classic 42069?” he asks, looking at you with confusion.
“It’s uh… an important day to you,” you say, looking away, not wanting him to see the tears forming in your eyes. The day you met.
“So, did I have an accident on set?”
“Yeah, you were scaling a building and the cable holding you snapped. You fell a good distance and smacked your head on the ground.”
“Wait,” Dieter says looking at his phone calendar, pointing it towards you, “Why does this say it’s 2024?”
“Because it’s not 2016,” you shrug, “It’s 2024.”
“How long have I been in a fucking coma?” Dieter asks, starting to panic again, frantically searching through the contacts in his phone, “Why can’t I find my dealer's number? I need coke. Wait, you’re my fucking assistant – go get me coke!”
“You’ve only been in a coma for two weeks and the only coke I’ll get you is Coca Cola,” you say crossing your arms, “I won’t let you have drugs in m– the house, Dieter.”
“Wait, my assistant lives with me?” he gasps, “You’re just supposed to come when I call you.”
“Different kind of assistant here.”
“Wait, I can’t have you in my house! I see that ring on your finger – I don’t want to get in between a marriage,” Dieter says, pointing at your left hand.
“It’s– it’s complicated right now,” you shrug.
“Fine, stay in my house, but stay out of my way,” Dieter sighs in frustration.
This is going to be a lot harder than you thought. He doesn’t remember who you are to him. He doesn’t remember getting clean when he married you. He doesn’t remember anything. Going home that night doesn’t help either because Luna wants to know what’s going on with her dad.
“Andy said that daddy woke up!” Luna says vibrating with excitement, “How come he’s not home?
“I had to leave him at the hospital because he’s still sick, honey.” You sit down on the plush couch in the living room, “Come here. I wanna talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Luna hesitantly says, coming to sit next to you.
“Daddy is still sick. He looks fine but his brain is sick right now.”
“What’s that mean?” she questions, looking at you with the same eyes as her father.
“He doesn’t remember some stuff about his life right now,” you continue, “But we are gonna try to help him get it back. We have to think of the best memories we have with daddy so that maybe he’ll remember better.”
“So, we have to fix daddy?” she asks with tears in her eyes as you grab her into a hug, stroking her hair.
“Yeah, sweet girl, we have to fix daddy,” you say, trying not to cry yourself.
–
What was supposed to only be a few days turned into a week at the hospital. A week of playing Dieter’s assistant and having him boss you around. He was still adamant on getting drugs, but you put your foot down on that one. You weren’t going to let him ruin his seven years of sobriety just because he lost his memory.
“Alright Mr. Bravo looks like you’re all set to leave. Just need you to sign a couple of papers here and then you can be on your way,” the doctor says, handing him the papers.
“Fucking finally,” Dieter groans, “Not that this isn’t a wonderful hospital, but I’d much rather be home.”
“Of course,” the doctor says.
“Will you go ahead and bring the car around? I’d rather not walk too much considering my condition,” Dieter asks, looking at you.
“Of course, D– Mr. Bravo,” you grit through your teeth with the most customer service smile you can muster. That was a new development, Dieter wanting you only to refer to him as Mr. Bravo. You rush out of the room so that it doesn’t blow up into another argument. He’s already tried to fire you twice because of the no drugs thing. You had to make up some story of how you’re in a five-year contract that cannot be broken and tell him three times before he finally bought the story.
Pulling the car around to the front of the hospital, you see him being wheeled out.
“Thank you again so much for taking care of me,” he says, winking at the nurse, “Best care I’ve ever received!”
“No problem at all, Dieter,” she giggles.
“Could I possibly get your number?” Dieter asks, looking expectantly at the nurse after getting settled into the passenger seat of the car. She shakes her head violently.
“No, sorry,” she says before running off wheeling the wheelchair back into the building.
“Well, that was fucking weird,” Dieter says, looking at you. “Did I do something wrong? Most women don’t literally run from me like that.”
“No, Mr. Bravo, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you growl, “Nothing at all.”
You begin to play a song you hope might bring back some sort of memory of you. With all the hope you can muster you hit play and hear Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz, one of the songs you guys would listen to while you got high together. Dieter starts to chuckle listening to the song.
“What?” you snap at him.
“It’s just this song,” Dieter said grinning, “It reminds me of someone.”
“Oh?” you ask, trying not to pry too much hoping he’ll just continue talking.
“Yeah, I can’t remember what her name is, though. Good lay, that’s for damn sure,” he says, laughing a little, “All I remember is she wasn’t even in the business, she’d call me out on all my shit, and we would smoke weed together listening to this song a lot. I think that’s why I liked her. Wonder what she’s up to these days?”
“Oh um… who knows, maybe she’s still in town?” Your heart swells realizing he’s talking about you, that he remembers some remnants of you.
“No way!” Dieter says and sighs, “Way too fucking good for someone like me anyways. Probably found some nice guy, got married, has kids, the whole white picket fence shit and everything. She was way out of my league.”
Pulling up to the house you don’t even know what to say to him. He looks almost defeated in a way and then looks confused when he sees the front door opening.
“Oh no,” you whisper, watching Luna run to the car, “Dieter, wait here. Do not move!”
“Why the fuck are there children at my house?” he asks while you’re getting out, but you shut the door behind you, ignoring him.
“Luna, baby, I need you to go back into the house. Daddy’s sick, remember?” you say, trying to usher her back up the driveway.
“Mommy!” Leo shrieks, running to you.
“Fuck – I mean fudge,” Andy says, frantically running out to the driveway, “I was in the bathroom. She must’ve heard the car, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“The hell is going on here?” Dieter’s voice booms while getting out of the car, “I asked you why there are kids in my house.”
“Da–” Luna starts, but you cut her off.
“You two, inside. Now,” you say, ushering them towards Andy. Once they’re inside you whip around to look at Dieter standing by the car.
“You,” you snarl, walking towards him, “Screw what the doctor said. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m not your fucking assistant so stop bossing me around. I’m your wife – those two are our children!”
“Wha–” Dieter stares at you with wide eyes, “D– DNA Test, I want a fucking DNA test!”
“Dieter, there isn’t a need for a DNA test because they’re your kids. I mean, did you even look at them?”
“Those are not my kids, they look Latino,” he argues.
“Dieter!” you yell, “You are Latino.”
“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, looking down. “So, you’re my wife?”
“Yes, Dieter, I’m your wife. I’m the girl that would get high with you listening to Clint Eastwood.”
“Wild,” he says looking at the house, the ground below him, the yard, anywhere but you “Wild.”
–
It’s been a week at home now, but Dieter is trying his hardest to regain his memory after you lay everything out on the table for him. You show him pictures of your Las Vegas wedding, your pregnancy photos, the kids’ births – he finally relents to the truth when you show him their birth certificates with his name listed under Father. Luna has been trying to show him drawings that she’s done for him, but nothing is working. Poor Leo just wants to play superheroes, but at just three years old, he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.
One night, after you put the kids to bed, Dieter comes to your bedroom.
“What if we had sex?” he suggests.
“Dieter, I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” you groan, flopping onto the bed rubbing your eyes.
“I’m just saying, what if we did?” he shrugs, “Was just a suggestion, but I get it.”
“Come here,” you say, patting the spot next to you in bed. He reluctantly sits down next to you as you open your arms as an invitation. “How about we cuddle?”
He nods, setting his head on your chest. You can tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands because he’s so tense. You grab one of them and push it around your back, hoping he’ll understand your silent suggestion.
“Like this?” he whispers, carefully adjusting both arms to wrap around you.
“Just like that,” you hum, stroking the curls at the base of his neck, breathing his scent in for the first time in weeks. Clean laundry, a hint of eucalyptus, and something that’s so specifically Dieter.
“I like this,” Dieter purs, rubbing his head against your chest, “I wish so badly I could just remember everything.”
“I know D, I know,” you sigh, continuing to gently stroke his head, “We’ll get there.”
Dieter moves so his head is in the crook of your neck. You feel his lips begin to place soft kisses against your skin.
“Dieter,” you gasp, turning your head to look at him, “What are you doing?”
“I wanna make you feel better,” he says, giving you those puppy dog eyes you can never refuse. “You’ve had to deal with a lot and this is the only way I know how to try and make things right.”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head. As much as you’ve avoided intimacy with Dieter while his memory was gone, he’s still your Dieter and you miss him.
He starts nipping along your jaw and down your neck. One of his hands moves to your breast gently kneading it. His lips move down your throat to your chest, making his way down to your stomach and pushing your shirt up. He places several kisses around your navel down to the top of your underwear, looking up at you again for confirmation. “It’s okay,” you nod, giving him the go ahead. He peels them off your hips and down your legs, throwing them to the floor.
Without warning he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe up your seam. Working his tongue against your clit and back down to your entrance. Up and down, up and down.
“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this,” you cry out, running your fingers through his hair, “Feels so fucking good!”
Dieter starts humming, loving the praise you were giving him. His tongue continues circling your bundle of nerves, hoping to hear more words of praise.
“Taste so fucking good,” he says breaking away, “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”
You grip his hair tightly and shove his face back to your core. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you can feel your orgasm approaching.
“Please don’t stop,” you moan, “I’m so fucking close!”
Dieter doubles down his efforts after hearing those words. He’s determined to get you off now. One of his hands makes its way to your center, teasing your entrance before plunging two of his thick fingers inside, curling them up to hit that spot only he’s ever been able to reach.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, back arching, “Y– yes, just like that!”
He starts grunting, rutting into the mattress, so badly needing to make you come. He knows you’re close, listening to your breathing and hearing the pitch of your moans.
“D,” you moan, while he grabs your thighs, pulling you unbelievably closer to his face to completely devour you before sliding his fingers back into you. “I’m gonna come!”
“Give it to me, baby, come on,” he says, pulling away panting before diving back in for more, “I need it”. He feels the way your legs begin to shake, your walls fluttering around his fingers.
“Fuck,” you hiss, head thrown back against the pillow closing your eyes, “I– I’m gonna… god.”
Dieter feels your walls constrict around his fingers and hums, collecting your release slowly. He takes his time licking you clean before you push him away, feeling overly sensitive. When you finally open your eyes to look at him, you notice his smile and a glint in his eyes. He crawls back up the length of your body and you grab his face, kissing him deeply tasting yourself on his tongue.
“I can’t believe you married me,” he says, breaking the kiss and wrapping his arms around you again, “Love me forever?”
“Dieter, I’m pretty sure I’ve already proven that I’ll love you forever,” you softly chuckle, beginning to stroke his back.
–
The doctor keeps saying to just be patient, that it’s going to take time for Dieter’s memory to return. But it feels like it’s been forever as another week passes. Everyone is getting frustrated, especially Leo.
“Why is daddy broke?” Leo screams at the top of his lungs, “He no play with me!”
“Leo, Daddy just doesn’t feel good,” you try to explain.
“He no like me!” Leo wails, “He only likes Luna.”
“Leo, daddy does too like you,” you try telling him, “He loves you very much.”
“No,” Leo cries as you scoop him up as he buries his face into your shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” you soothe.
It wasn’t that Dieter wasn’t trying with the kids, he just didn’t know how. His dad instincts hadn’t been brought back full-force. He was great with Luna – engaged in conversation with her, drew pictures with her, watched her put on fashion shows. With Leo though, he didn’t know how to interact with a toddler. Leo would get upset and Dieter didn’t know what to do besides call you for help. Before Dieter’s accident Leo was his little buddy, followed him everywhere, would play with him for hours being superheroes or whatever Leo decided on that day.
You were able to get Leo to calm down and because of his tantrum he wound up falling asleep. After putting him in his bed for a nap you went to search for Dieter.
“Hey,” you sigh, seeing him standing by the window looking into the backyard.
“Hey,” he says sniffling, wiping his sleeve against his nose, “I’m so sorry.”
“Dieter, I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to. Leo misses you! I know that you’re trying, I do, but I need you to try harder for him,” you sigh, “I can’t pretend that I even know what you’re going through, but our baby boy is hurting because he misses his dad!”
“I know,” Dieter says turning around, you could now see the tears falling down his face, “It’s just… he scares me! It’s easier with Luna because I can understand every word she says, she can show me things, she doesn’t throw a tantrum every five minutes.”
“Dieter, he’s your son! Not some little monster to be scared of! He’s three and doesn’t know any better,” you scold him, “Like I said, I just need you to try.”
“Okay,” Dieter agrees, wiping the tears off his face, “When he wakes up from his nap, I’ll try.”
Dieter could hear Leo awake in his room as he slowly made his way there.
“Dad-Bomb an’ dude-bomb! To rescue!” Leo says, jumping off his bed with a cape around his shoulders. Dieter stands in the doorway observing him. Why did that sound so familiar? Dad-Bomb.
“Hey Leo,” Dieter says cautiously, “What are you playing?”
“Superhero,” Leo smiles, “Want to play with me?”
“Can I?” Dieter exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to be a superhero!”
“Yeah!” Leo shouts, running to his closet to grab something. He comes back out with a big purple cape with D-B on the back, handing it to Dieter. “Put on your cape.”
Dieter pulls the cape around his neck, tying it so it wouldn’t fall off. He notices Leo’s little green cape he was wearing also had D-B on the back.
“Do we have names, Leo?” Dieter asks, “I can’t help but see we have stuff on the back of our super-awesome capes!”
“I’m Dude-Bomb, you’re Dad-Bomb!” Leo gleefully exclaims
“Dad-Bomb?”
“Yeah, like ‘da-bomb’ – means super cool,” Leo giggles.This was starting to feel extremely familiar to Dieter.
Leo scampers off to his closet again, rummaging through it trying to find something. He comes back holding a piece of paper and hands it to Dieter. Dieter holds it up, staring at it. His drawing of Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb, fighting crime together, and it all comes rushing back.
“Oh my god, Leo,” Dieter yells.
He picks Leo up, swinging him around. Hearing the commotion, you start running towards Leo’s room fearing the worst. Rounding the corner into the room, you saw Dieter crying, hugging Leo tightly and swinging him back and forth.
“Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb!” Dieter exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, that’s you an’ me!” Leo announces proudly.
“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, looking at both of them.
“Yeah. March 3, 2016 – that’s the day I met you,” Dieter says, tears rolling down his face.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Baby.”
“Yeah, baby. It’s all back,” he says, setting Leo back down and rushing to grab you in a tight embrace, “I’m back.”
Hahahahha! I can assure you reader definitely wanted to smack him with a frying pan 🤣😂
I’m glad you liked it! 😍
Memories
Summary: What happens when your husband, Dieter, forgets who you are?
Warnings: 18+ minors get outta here! Cursing, fluff, smut, feel good, oral(f receiving), fingering(f receiving), probably not like realistic medical knowledge but it’s fiction 🤷♀️
A/N: Thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. @jay-zzle for the idea AND the mood board 😍❤️ I really liked writing this and had a lot of fun with it. Hope y’all like it! @schnarfer(it's here!)
Masterlist||AO3 Link
“Wait, who said we can’t have fruit bars anymore?” you ask, turning from the pantry to look at your seven year old daughter, Luna, sitting at the kitchen island.
“Daddy,” Luna states matter of factly, “He said that it’s fake food and we should only eat organic stuff.”
“Yeah, we need organic food,” your son Leo pipes in from the seat next to her. At three years old, he is currently in the copy everything big sister says or does phase.
“So, what do you want as a snack in your lunch box then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Uhhh… banana?” Luna shrugs, “Daddy wasn’t very specific on what I should eat instead.”
“Okay but get your breakfast eaten before your cereal gets soggy,” you say, pointing at both before starting on the dishes.
Of course Dieter would be the one to tell the kids not to eat certain foods. The man scolds you every time he sees your Bluetooth headphones – droning on and on about the effects it’ll have on your brain waves and how it’s going to damage your mind. Your relationship with Dieter was a bit of a chaotic whirlwind, meeting randomly on the set of one of the movies he starred in, one your friend was working on the set of.
“Well, hello there,” Dieter had said, standing next to you by the craft table. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Excuse me?” you asked, looking around to see who he was actually talking to.
“Or should I walk by again?” he said with a smile.
“Is that how you get all the girls?” you asked, picking up a piece of cheese and pointing it at him, “Because that shit was pretty cheesy if you ask me.”
“No, trying something new,” Dieter said, cracking up into a giant fit of laughter. “Sorry, sorry. That– yeah, that was pretty good.”
“Bravo needed on set!” someone with a headset shouted in the distance, frantically waving at him.
“Guess that’s my cue,” he sighed, “Hope to see you ar– wait, what’s your name?”
You introduce yourself and he takes your hand, kissing the back of it.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, repeating your name and winking, “Hope to see you around.”
That was the conversation that started it all nearly eight years ago. Within the first year of knowing Dieter, you were married and pregnant – and no – it wasn’t a shotgun wedding, as much as the tabloids tried to pin it as one.
“Dieter Bravo and Mystery Woman Seen Leaving Las Vegas Wedding Chapel”
“Dieter Bravo Expecting First Child with New Wife – Shotgun Wedding?”
“How Long Before Dieter Bravo Gets His First Divorce?”
You both just knew you were meant to be together. With the birth of Luna, he had sobered up completely. These days he hardly even drinks beer. It’s weird in a way, that he’s changed so much from who you first met, but still the same Dieter in every other aspect. Wild, spontaneous, creative, romantic, chaotic at times, and so loving.
–
“Good morning, my babies,” Dieter says, waltzing into the kitchen, giving each of his kids a kiss on the top of their heads.
“Hi, Daddy,” Luna and Leo exclaim.
“Hello, my love,” Dieter smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist giving you a sloppy smooch on the cheek.
“Ew,” Luna shouts, making gagging noises.
“Yeah, what Luna said!” Leo says, copying his older sister with fake gagging.
“Stop with the fake gagging,” he replies, looking at them, “You’ll make mommy sick.”
“Hi, babe,” you laugh, “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”
“I want to start doing my own stunts like Tom Cruise,” Dieter explains excitedly, “And I think I’m going to crush it today! I’m supposed to scale a building, don’t worry, everything is going to be totally safe.”
“Seriously, Dieter?” you sigh, “You may say that it’s safe but I’m still going to worry – please be safe.”
Dieter gasps, putting his hand to his chest as if he were clutching a set of pearls. “Babies, I don’t think mommy trusts daddy!”
“Momma,” Leo laughs, perching up on the chair more, “Daddy be fine!”
“Yeah, momma,” Dieter says with a grin, “Daddy be fine.”
“Yeah, okay,” you say, snorting and shaking your head, looking at your watch you realize you’re going to be cutting it close in getting Luna to school on time. “Shit!”
“Mommy,” Luna scolds, “You shouldn’t say bad words like that!”
“Luna, hurry up with your cereal or else you’re going to be late for school again,” you say as you turn to Dieter who is rummaging in the fridge for his own breakfast. “What time do you have to be on set?”
“In about an hour, get her to school. My favorite son and I will be fine here at home. If need be, I’ll tell the director that I’m going to be late. Family first,” he says, “Not like they’d fire me at this point. I’m the entire reason people are going to want to see this movie.”
“I love you so much,” you say, giving him a kiss before ushering Luna out the door.
“Love you too, baby!” Dieter shouts.
–
“I’m back,” you announce from the front door.
“That didn’t take as long as I expected,” Dieter chuckles, “I gotta get headed to the studio though.” He scoops Leo up into a tight hug, “We'll play superhero when I get back home, okay?”
“Otay,” Leo says, pouting.
“Poor baby,” Dieter coos and glances up at you with a smirk, “You sure you don’t want another one?”
“Dieter,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, “We’ve talked about this. If it feels right, then maybe, but right now? No.”
“Fine,” Dieter groans, “But the moment you think it feels right, tell me?”
“Promise,” you smirk.
Dieter tells Leo goodbye with the promise of playing superheroes when he gets back home. Your mind begins to wander back to Dieter’s question about another baby as you go about your chores. You start smiling thinking back to when you first decided to start trying for a baby – lying in bed together shortly after getting married.
“How many kids do you want?” Dieter asked, playing with the wedding band on your finger.
“I’d always imagined three honestly,” you smiled, “Why?”
“I want whatever you want,” he grinned, slotting himself between your legs again. “But if you wanted at least one I wouldn’t mind trying now.”
“D, we just got married a month ago,” you said, shaking your head, “Is that the only reason you married me? To have a baby?”
“Of course not, baby,” Dieter said, linking his fingers with yours and pinning them above your head, “I just know I really, really want them with you.”
“Oh yeah?” you whispered, tilting your head up to capture his lips. He moaned into your mouth, slowly grinding his stiffness against you.
“Yes,” he panted, breaking the kiss.
“Let’s do it then,” you said, nipping his bottom lip, “Fuck a baby into me, Dieter.”
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he groaned.
“Momma!” Leo shouts, pulling you from your thoughts, “Your phone.”
You had been so deep in the memory you didn’t even notice your phone ringing. It’s just Dieter, probably checking in to see how your day is going. He tends to do that while he’s on breaks at work.
“Well, hello, Tom Cruise,” you answer, giggling – except it isn’t Dieter on the other end.
Instead, you hear his assistant, Andy, saying your name before, “Dieter’s been in an accident. I’m almost to your house, I’ll watch Leo so you can go to Cedars-Sinai medical,” quickly spills out of his mouth, “It’s not good.”
–
It’s been two weeks that you’ve sat beside his bed in this damn hospital, waiting for him to wake up. The doctors are all hopeful that he’ll wake up at any minute, but it’s been two days since he’s been off the ventilator, and nothing has happened yet. The kids keep asking where their dad is, and you don’t have any other answer than he’s sick.
“Dieter,” you beg, holding onto his hand, “Babe, please wake up. We need you. Luna and Leo miss you – I miss you. Please just wake up.”
The nurse comes in to check Dieter’s vitals for the third time today. Since she’s keeping him company, you decide to head to the cafeteria to get some food, grabbing something simple before heading back to Dieter’s room. When you return, you notice a flurry of activity.
“Mr. Bravo, can you tell me what year it is?” a doctor asks, shining a small flashlight in his eyes.
“Of course I can, dumbass! It’s 2016,” Dieter snaps. “Now will you stop shining that light in my eye?”
“What’s going on?” you ask hesitantly.
“He woke up while you went to get food,” a nurse explains, “We’re trying to make sure mentally he’s with us.”
“Oh, for fuck sake!” Dieter cries out, “I’m fine, never felt better! There, she must be my new assistant.”
All eyes turn to you. This was a possibility the doctor had talked about before – temporary amnesia. Hopefully that’s all it is. The doctor motions you to follow him out of the room.
“He seems to have hit his head harder than we thought. In all honesty, I would try to play pretend with him for a little bit. Try thinking of things that might remind him of who he actually is today,” the doctor suggests. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Bravo.”
Dieter is having a conniption in the room while nurses are trying to calm him down. As you step back in, you see your husband frantically disconnecting and throwing the wires off of his body and onto the floor.
“Where the fuck is my assistant?” Dieter yells.
“Dieter, D, baby – Mr. Bravo!” you shout and Dieter immediately freezes, eyes wide as saucers. “You need to calm down before you hurt yourself.”
“What happened?” Dieter asks, looking around at everyone.
“We’ll give you guys some space,” a nurse says quietly while ushering the others out of the room. You grab the chair next to his bed and sit down, reaching for his hand but stopping yourself as you notice your ring. Right now, this isn’t your husband. This is Dieter Bravo who believes it’s the year 2016.
“You were in an accident, you hit your head pretty good,” you start explaining to him, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks now.”
“So, who are you?” he asks, looking you up and down with a raised eyebrow. “I knew my team wanted to hire me a new assistant since things didn’t work out with the last one – didn’t realize they’d pick someone so hot. Would you wanna have sex with me?”
“Dieter, I don’t think you’re cleared for those types of activities,” you chuckle, “I’m here for whatever you might need though.”
“Can you get me my phone?” he asks with those puppy-dog eyes he does best.
“Sure,” you reach for your purse digging around and find his phone, handing it over to him. “The passcode is 332016”
“The fuck? Why would I change it from the classic 42069?” he asks, looking at you with confusion.
“It’s uh… an important day to you,” you say, looking away, not wanting him to see the tears forming in your eyes. The day you met.
“So, did I have an accident on set?”
“Yeah, you were scaling a building and the cable holding you snapped. You fell a good distance and smacked your head on the ground.”
“Wait,” Dieter says looking at his phone calendar, pointing it towards you, “Why does this say it’s 2024?”
“Because it’s not 2016,” you shrug, “It’s 2024.”
“How long have I been in a fucking coma?” Dieter asks, starting to panic again, frantically searching through the contacts in his phone, “Why can’t I find my dealer's number? I need coke. Wait, you’re my fucking assistant – go get me coke!”
“You’ve only been in a coma for two weeks and the only coke I’ll get you is Coca Cola,” you say crossing your arms, “I won’t let you have drugs in m– the house, Dieter.”
“Wait, my assistant lives with me?” he gasps, “You’re just supposed to come when I call you.”
“Different kind of assistant here.”
“Wait, I can’t have you in my house! I see that ring on your finger – I don’t want to get in between a marriage,” Dieter says, pointing at your left hand.
“It’s– it’s complicated right now,” you shrug.
“Fine, stay in my house, but stay out of my way,” Dieter sighs in frustration.
This is going to be a lot harder than you thought. He doesn’t remember who you are to him. He doesn’t remember getting clean when he married you. He doesn’t remember anything. Going home that night doesn’t help either because Luna wants to know what’s going on with her dad.
“Andy said that daddy woke up!” Luna says vibrating with excitement, “How come he’s not home?
“I had to leave him at the hospital because he’s still sick, honey.” You sit down on the plush couch in the living room, “Come here. I wanna talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Luna hesitantly says, coming to sit next to you.
“Daddy is still sick. He looks fine but his brain is sick right now.”
“What’s that mean?” she questions, looking at you with the same eyes as her father.
“He doesn’t remember some stuff about his life right now,” you continue, “But we are gonna try to help him get it back. We have to think of the best memories we have with daddy so that maybe he’ll remember better.”
“So, we have to fix daddy?” she asks with tears in her eyes as you grab her into a hug, stroking her hair.
“Yeah, sweet girl, we have to fix daddy,” you say, trying not to cry yourself.
–
What was supposed to only be a few days turned into a week at the hospital. A week of playing Dieter’s assistant and having him boss you around. He was still adamant on getting drugs, but you put your foot down on that one. You weren’t going to let him ruin his seven years of sobriety just because he lost his memory.
“Alright Mr. Bravo looks like you’re all set to leave. Just need you to sign a couple of papers here and then you can be on your way,” the doctor says, handing him the papers.
“Fucking finally,” Dieter groans, “Not that this isn’t a wonderful hospital, but I’d much rather be home.”
“Of course,” the doctor says.
“Will you go ahead and bring the car around? I’d rather not walk too much considering my condition,” Dieter asks, looking at you.
“Of course, D– Mr. Bravo,” you grit through your teeth with the most customer service smile you can muster. That was a new development, Dieter wanting you only to refer to him as Mr. Bravo. You rush out of the room so that it doesn’t blow up into another argument. He’s already tried to fire you twice because of the no drugs thing. You had to make up some story of how you’re in a five-year contract that cannot be broken and tell him three times before he finally bought the story.
Pulling the car around to the front of the hospital, you see him being wheeled out.
“Thank you again so much for taking care of me,” he says, winking at the nurse, “Best care I’ve ever received!”
“No problem at all, Dieter,” she giggles.
“Could I possibly get your number?” Dieter asks, looking expectantly at the nurse after getting settled into the passenger seat of the car. She shakes her head violently.
“No, sorry,” she says before running off wheeling the wheelchair back into the building.
“Well, that was fucking weird,” Dieter says, looking at you. “Did I do something wrong? Most women don’t literally run from me like that.”
“No, Mr. Bravo, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you growl, “Nothing at all.”
You begin to play a song you hope might bring back some sort of memory of you. With all the hope you can muster you hit play and hear Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz, one of the songs you guys would listen to while you got high together. Dieter starts to chuckle listening to the song.
“What?” you snap at him.
“It’s just this song,” Dieter said grinning, “It reminds me of someone.”
“Oh?” you ask, trying not to pry too much hoping he’ll just continue talking.
“Yeah, I can’t remember what her name is, though. Good lay, that’s for damn sure,” he says, laughing a little, “All I remember is she wasn’t even in the business, she’d call me out on all my shit, and we would smoke weed together listening to this song a lot. I think that’s why I liked her. Wonder what she’s up to these days?”
“Oh um… who knows, maybe she’s still in town?” Your heart swells realizing he’s talking about you, that he remembers some remnants of you.
“No way!” Dieter says and sighs, “Way too fucking good for someone like me anyways. Probably found some nice guy, got married, has kids, the whole white picket fence shit and everything. She was way out of my league.”
Pulling up to the house you don’t even know what to say to him. He looks almost defeated in a way and then looks confused when he sees the front door opening.
“Oh no,” you whisper, watching Luna run to the car, “Dieter, wait here. Do not move!”
“Why the fuck are there children at my house?” he asks while you’re getting out, but you shut the door behind you, ignoring him.
“Luna, baby, I need you to go back into the house. Daddy’s sick, remember?” you say, trying to usher her back up the driveway.
“Mommy!” Leo shrieks, running to you.
“Fuck – I mean fudge,” Andy says, frantically running out to the driveway, “I was in the bathroom. She must’ve heard the car, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“The hell is going on here?” Dieter’s voice booms while getting out of the car, “I asked you why there are kids in my house.”
“Da–” Luna starts, but you cut her off.
“You two, inside. Now,” you say, ushering them towards Andy. Once they’re inside you whip around to look at Dieter standing by the car.
“You,” you snarl, walking towards him, “Screw what the doctor said. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m not your fucking assistant so stop bossing me around. I’m your wife – those two are our children!”
“Wha–” Dieter stares at you with wide eyes, “D– DNA Test, I want a fucking DNA test!”
“Dieter, there isn’t a need for a DNA test because they’re your kids. I mean, did you even look at them?”
“Those are not my kids, they look Latino,” he argues.
“Dieter!” you yell, “You are Latino.”
“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, looking down. “So, you’re my wife?”
“Yes, Dieter, I’m your wife. I’m the girl that would get high with you listening to Clint Eastwood.”
“Wild,” he says looking at the house, the ground below him, the yard, anywhere but you “Wild.”
–
It’s been a week at home now, but Dieter is trying his hardest to regain his memory after you lay everything out on the table for him. You show him pictures of your Las Vegas wedding, your pregnancy photos, the kids’ births – he finally relents to the truth when you show him their birth certificates with his name listed under Father. Luna has been trying to show him drawings that she’s done for him, but nothing is working. Poor Leo just wants to play superheroes, but at just three years old, he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.
One night, after you put the kids to bed, Dieter comes to your bedroom.
“What if we had sex?” he suggests.
“Dieter, I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” you groan, flopping onto the bed rubbing your eyes.
“I’m just saying, what if we did?” he shrugs, “Was just a suggestion, but I get it.”
“Come here,” you say, patting the spot next to you in bed. He reluctantly sits down next to you as you open your arms as an invitation. “How about we cuddle?”
He nods, setting his head on your chest. You can tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands because he’s so tense. You grab one of them and push it around your back, hoping he’ll understand your silent suggestion.
“Like this?” he whispers, carefully adjusting both arms to wrap around you.
“Just like that,” you hum, stroking the curls at the base of his neck, breathing his scent in for the first time in weeks. Clean laundry, a hint of eucalyptus, and something that’s so specifically Dieter.
“I like this,” Dieter purs, rubbing his head against your chest, “I wish so badly I could just remember everything.”
“I know D, I know,” you sigh, continuing to gently stroke his head, “We’ll get there.”
Dieter moves so his head is in the crook of your neck. You feel his lips begin to place soft kisses against your skin.
“Dieter,” you gasp, turning your head to look at him, “What are you doing?”
“I wanna make you feel better,” he says, giving you those puppy dog eyes you can never refuse. “You’ve had to deal with a lot and this is the only way I know how to try and make things right.”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head. As much as you’ve avoided intimacy with Dieter while his memory was gone, he’s still your Dieter and you miss him.
He starts nipping along your jaw and down your neck. One of his hands moves to your breast gently kneading it. His lips move down your throat to your chest, making his way down to your stomach and pushing your shirt up. He places several kisses around your navel down to the top of your underwear, looking up at you again for confirmation. “It’s okay,” you nod, giving him the go ahead. He peels them off your hips and down your legs, throwing them to the floor.
Without warning he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe up your seam. Working his tongue against your clit and back down to your entrance. Up and down, up and down.
“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this,” you cry out, running your fingers through his hair, “Feels so fucking good!”
Dieter starts humming, loving the praise you were giving him. His tongue continues circling your bundle of nerves, hoping to hear more words of praise.
“Taste so fucking good,” he says breaking away, “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”
You grip his hair tightly and shove his face back to your core. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you can feel your orgasm approaching.
“Please don’t stop,” you moan, “I’m so fucking close!”
Dieter doubles down his efforts after hearing those words. He’s determined to get you off now. One of his hands makes its way to your center, teasing your entrance before plunging two of his thick fingers inside, curling them up to hit that spot only he’s ever been able to reach.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, back arching, “Y– yes, just like that!”
He starts grunting, rutting into the mattress, so badly needing to make you come. He knows you’re close, listening to your breathing and hearing the pitch of your moans.
“D,” you moan, while he grabs your thighs, pulling you unbelievably closer to his face to completely devour you before sliding his fingers back into you. “I’m gonna come!”
“Give it to me, baby, come on,” he says, pulling away panting before diving back in for more, “I need it”. He feels the way your legs begin to shake, your walls fluttering around his fingers.
“Fuck,” you hiss, head thrown back against the pillow closing your eyes, “I– I’m gonna… god.”
Dieter feels your walls constrict around his fingers and hums, collecting your release slowly. He takes his time licking you clean before you push him away, feeling overly sensitive. When you finally open your eyes to look at him, you notice his smile and a glint in his eyes. He crawls back up the length of your body and you grab his face, kissing him deeply tasting yourself on his tongue.
“I can’t believe you married me,” he says, breaking the kiss and wrapping his arms around you again, “Love me forever?”
“Dieter, I’m pretty sure I’ve already proven that I’ll love you forever,” you softly chuckle, beginning to stroke his back.
–
The doctor keeps saying to just be patient, that it’s going to take time for Dieter’s memory to return. But it feels like it’s been forever as another week passes. Everyone is getting frustrated, especially Leo.
“Why is daddy broke?” Leo screams at the top of his lungs, “He no play with me!”
“Leo, Daddy just doesn’t feel good,” you try to explain.
“He no like me!” Leo wails, “He only likes Luna.”
“Leo, daddy does too like you,” you try telling him, “He loves you very much.”
“No,” Leo cries as you scoop him up as he buries his face into your shoulder.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” you soothe.
It wasn’t that Dieter wasn’t trying with the kids, he just didn’t know how. His dad instincts hadn’t been brought back full-force. He was great with Luna – engaged in conversation with her, drew pictures with her, watched her put on fashion shows. With Leo though, he didn’t know how to interact with a toddler. Leo would get upset and Dieter didn’t know what to do besides call you for help. Before Dieter’s accident Leo was his little buddy, followed him everywhere, would play with him for hours being superheroes or whatever Leo decided on that day.
You were able to get Leo to calm down and because of his tantrum he wound up falling asleep. After putting him in his bed for a nap you went to search for Dieter.
“Hey,” you sigh, seeing him standing by the window looking into the backyard.
“Hey,” he says sniffling, wiping his sleeve against his nose, “I’m so sorry.”
“Dieter, I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to. Leo misses you! I know that you’re trying, I do, but I need you to try harder for him,” you sigh, “I can’t pretend that I even know what you’re going through, but our baby boy is hurting because he misses his dad!”
“I know,” Dieter says turning around, you could now see the tears falling down his face, “It’s just… he scares me! It’s easier with Luna because I can understand every word she says, she can show me things, she doesn’t throw a tantrum every five minutes.”
“Dieter, he’s your son! Not some little monster to be scared of! He’s three and doesn’t know any better,” you scold him, “Like I said, I just need you to try.”
“Okay,” Dieter agrees, wiping the tears off his face, “When he wakes up from his nap, I’ll try.”
Dieter could hear Leo awake in his room as he slowly made his way there.
“Dad-Bomb an’ dude-bomb! To rescue!” Leo says, jumping off his bed with a cape around his shoulders. Dieter stands in the doorway observing him. Why did that sound so familiar? Dad-Bomb.
“Hey Leo,” Dieter says cautiously, “What are you playing?”
“Superhero,” Leo smiles, “Want to play with me?”
“Can I?” Dieter exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to be a superhero!”
“Yeah!” Leo shouts, running to his closet to grab something. He comes back out with a big purple cape with D-B on the back, handing it to Dieter. “Put on your cape.”
Dieter pulls the cape around his neck, tying it so it wouldn’t fall off. He notices Leo’s little green cape he was wearing also had D-B on the back.
“Do we have names, Leo?” Dieter asks, “I can’t help but see we have stuff on the back of our super-awesome capes!”
“I’m Dude-Bomb, you’re Dad-Bomb!” Leo gleefully exclaims
“Dad-Bomb?”
“Yeah, like ‘da-bomb’ – means super cool,” Leo giggles.This was starting to feel extremely familiar to Dieter.
Leo scampers off to his closet again, rummaging through it trying to find something. He comes back holding a piece of paper and hands it to Dieter. Dieter holds it up, staring at it. His drawing of Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb, fighting crime together, and it all comes rushing back.
“Oh my god, Leo,” Dieter yells.
He picks Leo up, swinging him around. Hearing the commotion, you start running towards Leo’s room fearing the worst. Rounding the corner into the room, you saw Dieter crying, hugging Leo tightly and swinging him back and forth.
“Dad-Bomb and Dude-Bomb!” Dieter exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.
“Yeah, that’s you an’ me!” Leo announces proudly.
“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, looking at both of them.
“Yeah. March 3, 2016 – that’s the day I met you,” Dieter says, tears rolling down his face.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, “Baby.”
“Yeah, baby. It’s all back,” he says, setting Leo back down and rushing to grab you in a tight embrace, “I’m back.”
This is absolutely beautiful!!!
I love soft!Dieter so much 🥲
can you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills?
rating: T (this is the tamest thing I’ve written in years)
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8K
summary: a year into secretly dating, you are overwhelmed by your feelings for Dieter Bravo, confident and resigned to the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way. But on Oscar’s night, drunk on sparkling wine and a terrific win, Dieter gives you a reason to doubt your fears.
warnings/tags: age gap, self-aggrandizing rumination on our public vs private personas, a stupid amount of kissing, angst but soft angst, angst that is resolved, this is very different from anything i’ve done recently, and there’s no smut? just kisses? What have you become Taylor? one very very very soft Dieter, waxing shamelessly poetic about being in love and being loved by Dieter Bravo
a/n: this comes from the same request by two of my LOVELY followers ( @tvversionperson and @bitchwitch1981) from my 100 followers event: “I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?” “You’re not doing anything.” “But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?” with Dieter Bravo. this is so wildly different from anything i've done before, i'm flinging this into the internet like a goddamn trapshooter of emotional angst
shout out to @iamdesibell for the visuals of Dieter at the party. She spoils me with all of her incredible Dieter artwork.
🤍Masterlist
Every artist knows it's about the looks. The aesthetics of it all, the internet’s new favorite buzzword. Increasingly too often, the merit of the artwork is equated to the moral merit of the artist; it’s not so much about selling the image you create, it’s about selling the image of yourself. Does the artist fit into the image of what the masses imagine when they hear what the artist offers? Can the artist balance both the expectations and provide something new? When is the right time to break the mold, and be different, or when is it best to follow the crowd? Keep your head down and make more content than art. When does the aesthetics of a thing matter more than the thing itself?
For Oscar’s night, often there is nothing more important than the look of things. The elegance. The allure but approachability of the stars. Beautiful but obtainable. Handsome but effortless. But beneath all the veneer, all the lights, and gold and glitz, there is a yearning, an animalistic hunger, for a quite literal shiny object waved in their faces to clamor and push and shove for. The beauty is a mask that covers fragility and fear and anticipation – and that mask must remain firmly in place, no matter the outcome. Remember, they’re watching, always watching, and you cannot want a thing too much, lest you become conceited or conniving. You cannot love in a way that scares them.
And sometimes, you think you love him in a way that scares yourself.
His warm palm grips yours over your knee. He, along with the other nominees, wait patiently as the names are read allowed from the gilded stage. His face, a mask – of curiosity, of wonder – but only you, perhaps because you are so close to him, can see the fraught want in his eyes. You know how much he wants this, how much you want this for him. He wants it so much he’s trembling. Microscopically. Barely at all, barely a flinch of genuine human emotion, it makes you sick. Because Dieter, the Dieter you’ve come to know in the past year, is so wonderfully unpolished, such a sterling testament to the beauty in the raw, it makes a spot behind your sternum ache to watch him hold himself back.
You want to give him a smile of encouragement, to kiss his knuckles and soothe his hammering pulse with your thumb, but you can’t. You can’t even look at him, any movement immediately flagged by the cameras. Always watching.
But behind the rows of seats, they can’t see your clasped hands. Can’t see his tapping foot. They can’t see how much he wants, how much he loves. As the names are read aloud for the category of Best Actor, you lift your thumbnail to the meat of his palm, between his own thumb and index finger. Gently, softly, quietly, so as not to startle the molecules of air around you, you draw a heart in his skin.
But by his rigid posture, you’re not sure he registers it. You can’t tell if he knows you’re there at all.
It began a year ago.
After a truly spectacular break up that left you bereft and aimless, you decided to quit. Quit it all. Quit and start over doing the one thing you actually had passion for: screenwriting. Was it risky and dumb as hell at your age? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you never ended up writing for a big Hollywood film, you told yourself, as long as you were writing, that’s all that mattered.
So you quit writing articles about car insurance, packed up everything, and moved to the City of Angels.
Two years later, you were still earning your dues. Still working from the bottom of the barrel up, climbing through muck and verbal abuse and emotional exploitation and the very dredges of the industry.
You tried to focus on your craft, on getting more than just getting coffee for the actual writers, but after multiple days spending nineteen hours on your feet, the capacity to be creative so rarely comes, your brain often sizzled and fried like the back end of a janky, unreliable toaster. The production company you worked for had just purchased the rights to a popular novelist’s book for a film adaptation. The party you were at was more of a “pat yourself on the back” sort of thing for the director and novelist to rub elbows while surrounded by beautiful people. Attending mind-numbing parties for the sake of building connections was one thing. You could actually have fun when you wanted, but this? This self-indulgent, ego-driven, flattery bullshit, when all you wanted to do was sleep?
You watch as Eliot Baker, friend of the director and whose house is currently being trashed by a bunch of dangerously drunk and high animals, steps up onto his kitchen table. His pupils nearly dilated to the size of quarters, he holds up a baggy of white powder.
“Anyone interested in Colombia’s finest, please join me in the bedroom. Beautiful women, please stay.”
The three shots you had done earlier had done nothing to dull your irritation, now amplified by the grating cheer that goes up from the crowd. Coke rarely puts you in a better mood, but at least it’s better than sulking by the stairs. Eliot leaps off the table and leads a gaggle of giggling women, and men with their hands all over their sparkly asses, down the hall and you try not to roll your eyes, your feet all but dragging beneath you.
Then someone catches you by the elbow.
And you wonder how a homeless man got past security.
A comically large green beanie on his head, a blindly yellow hood zipped up over what perhaps had been a white t-shirt – you are immediately arrested by his dark, soft eyes. Thick, furrowed brow. He hasn’t let go of your elbow.
“That guy is a fucker,” he tells you with vehemence.
“What?” He could have asked you your name and you would have said the exact same thing.
“Baker,” he sneers over your shoulder at the small crowd tumbling through the open door, Eliot’s too blue eyes watching like a farmer counts cattle to the slaughterhouse. “He laces his shit. Makes you too fucked up. He’s the kind of evil fucker who roofies drinks.”
The stranger looks at you, the twist of rage around his mouth fading, eyes softening again, as if he is worried about you.
“Don’t go in there,” he says.
His warm hand is still around your elbow.
“Okay,” you say because you haven’t come across anyone this earnest, maybe in your entire life, and certainly not since moving to LA.
He blinks, as if surprised, and slowly withdraws his hand. You stare at each other for perhaps too long before he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
“Wanna smoke some weed?”
The cool night air of LA always surprises you. It’s never cold, no, but the chill is noticeable, tangible, always right at the back of your neck when you least expect it. You stifle the urge to shiver as the man slides the glass door behind him, immediately deafening the party inside. You hadn’t realized it had been so loud until there is blissful silence, the sound of blood rushing in your ears replacing the trance music and the dull hum of overlapping voices.
The man straight off the set of The Big Lebowski unhurriedly digs around in the pocket of that obnoxious hoodie for a bit, as if he could lose an item in that small pouch.
He finds what he’s looking for with a grin on his face, and when he brings both the lighter and blunt to his lips, you realize his left arm is in a cast.
He sees you eye it, managing to light and hit the blunt with one hand before pocketing the lighter and offering the smoke to you. The browns in his eyes are overcome by the darkness surrounding you on the back porch overlooking the valley below, the skyline of Los Angeles winking in the far distance.
You notice something, not writing or words on his cast, more like a dark blot, but you don’t ask him about it. Most people in this business you’ve found are only on for the cameras and when it comes to personal, quiet moments, the less personable they have to be the better. You feel like you’re already pressing your luck by getting a few free hits off this guy so you wait your turn, ready to be as silent as he wants it to be.
Which apparently isn’t very much at all.
“How’d you end up here?” He asks with genuine interest and just a touch of weariness.
You shrug as you take the blunt from him again. “My boss is here to schmooze his new writer. As his assistant, I think I’m contractually obligated to be around him more than his own shadow.”
“You’re a PA?” He asks, voice strained and full of smoke, before he puffs out the side of his mouth. A considerate smoker, then.
“No,” you shake your head. “I’m whatever is lower than a PA. I think an actual bottom-feeder in a fish tank has more power than me.”
“So you’re new to the scene?”
You scowl, one arm tucked around your waist, the other tapping on your thigh. “Yeah, if two years is still new.”
He frowns. “What are you trying to break into?”
His fingertips brush yours over the next exchange and maybe it’s the earnest look in his eyes, or the bizarre fact that he actually smells good despite looking like he’d raided a garbage can, or maybe it’s the weed finally hitting, but you are honest with this complete stranger.
“I wanna be a screenwriter.”
Maybe it’s the drugs finally hitting him too, but the glossy shine to his eyes doesn’t seem to be from boredom as you explain to him the past few years of your life, starting from the breakup in Boston to getting a very specific brand of q-tips from a drugstore on the other side of town for your boss at midnight.
“I know I have to pay my dues, and I don’t mind that, but I just want to do something that matters, you know?” The unexpected chill of the night air curls around your neck as he listens intently to your uninterrupted ramble for ten minutes. “I don’t even care about big movies, or the awards, I want to write something that touches just one person. Give them something to think about for years to come. Comforts or encourages them to do the thing they’re scared of doing.” You feel heat climb up your ears as he watches as though you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s silly. It’s just a job, and I know I should treat it like that . . .”
You trail off, waiting for him to admonish you, but instead he grins. A smile that widens his whole face. On someone else it might look condescending, but he’s grinning wildly as he slides the joint back into his mouth with two fingers and leans back on his heels.
“So you’re a little dreamer, huh?” That faint blush now beats a harsh red. Fuck, you knew you sounded like an idiot – always opening up too soon and too fast to strangers who don’t really give a fuck. You were just supposed to have a conversation with this nice, albeit weird guy and go on your way and –
He cocks his head as he looks at you, takes in your beet-red ears and cheeks and that smile falters.
“You know that’s not a bad thing, right? The world needs more dreamers. People, who despite all the bullshit, continue to believe they can be happy.”
“You could also call that being delusional,” you mutter as you take the halfway-spent joint from him when he offers.
One of those thick eyebrows jerks as though thinking of a funny joke. He shrugs, his mouth twisting down in a disbelieving smirk. “Personally, I like to call it whimsy.”
Whimsy? Who talks like that?
You fight a giggle and find him looking at you again, that smile smoothed out and warm again. One glance and you snort loudly, then bust out laughing.
Those magnanimous eyes glitter as he watches you laugh yourself silly.
“Child-like, wondrous whimsy,” he teases and you laugh harder as though he tickled you. Another snort explodes out of you and you clap your hand over your mouth, finally hearing the noises you’re making and mortified beyond reason. You glance over your shoulder, worried someone else might have heard your donkey laugh. In fact, you wish anyone other than the gorgeous man standing next to you had heard it.
But if he finds it unpolished or annoying, he doesn’t show it. He just rolls on his heels, grinning and looking overly pleased with himself. When the giggles subside, you bite your lip at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Fire away, Pistol Pete.”
“How’d you break your arm?”
He looks down at it as he forgot it was there.
“Uh, it’s a long story.”
He finally pulls it out of the sleeve of his jacket. Your mouth drops.
You can’t even tell what medium had been used, either paint or sharpie or something else entirely, but the cast is a mosaic of some of the most gorgeous artwork you’d ever seen. Birds in gold and blue hues, flowers and leaves in stunningly rendered detail, the curves of anonymous noses and lips and teeth and earlobes – all wound together in collage by someone with an eye for detail and a precious reverence for the mundane.
But for all the artwork, designs you fully believe should be in a museum, you realize no one has signed it. Maybe only twelve year olds sign each other’s casts, you think harshly to yourself. Grow up.
But still, the sight makes you a little sad.
“Did you do these?” You ask quietly.
He nods, turning his arm to give you a better look, as if eager for your approval. You think you see the horns of Goya’s El Gran Cabrón before he pulls his arm back.
The man hasn’t answered your original question, watching your face for every microexpression. Finally, you do glance up and he has his bottom lip in teeth, as though preparing to be scolded.
At that moment, you want nothing more than to kiss those plush lips. You swallow, feeling rather lighted-headed and capable of making terrible decisions, so you take a clear step back.
“I got daydrunk and fell in my pool wrong.”
You frown at him. “That’s not a very long story.”
He drops your gaze, suddenly bashful, and shakes his sleeve back over his cast. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t come up with a better story that makes me look really cool, or makes you laugh, so I went with the lame truth.”
You don’t remark that it sounds like he wanted to impress you so you go for the easy alternative.
“Why would I laugh at you?”
He flops his arms in half-shrug. “I don’t want you to laugh at me. I just want you to laugh. I like your laugh.”
How does someone who wears their heart so openly on their sleeve survive in a place like this? You want him to swallow you down so you can count the rings in his stomach, learn his history like oak trees.
“Who are you?” You blurt out, your mouth full of cotton and brain somewhat disconnected from your brain stem.
At that, he laughs. “Gimme your number and you’ll find out.”
His smile elongates the longer you stare at him. “It’s not a line. I mean, it is, but not like that, if you don’t want it to be. This fucking industry is built on who you know and I know a couple of people to know. You can call me if you have any questions or need a reference.”
The whiplash between flirty tease and professional contact is jarring. Your fingers shaking from shock, you take your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him.
He taps away, bobbing his head to some tune only he can hear, before lifting it up to his face and snapping a selfie – tongue out and eye squinting into the flash.
He tosses your phone back and you learn his name for the first time.
The shock wears off immediately and you roll your eyes.
“Okay, my turn.”
He digs into his back pocket and slides a bright pink 2007 motorola flip-phone into your outstretched hand.
Full – chock full, in fact – of surprises.
“I’m not gonna get tracked,” he says seriously, eyes narrowed. “You really should think about giving up your iPhone. All kinds of bad vibes.”
You eagerly look forward to him explaining the Big Foot Conspiracy and his theories about the magic silver bullet.
It takes you a second to type out your name with the multiple buttons, some old sense memory from seventh grade coming back like a grumpy, displeased ghost, but finally, you snap the phone together and toss it back to him.
With the nub of the smoking joint poking out of his mouth, he frowns when he looks at the phone screen.
“Dolly Parton?”
You pluck the joint out of his mouth, a surge of playful confidence keeping your eyes locked on his. You nod. “Since we’re doing the whole fake name thing . . .”
You want to wink, with your hand on your hip, so clever to have figured out his little game, but when he continues to frown, that rush of bravery fizzles out.
“But the name I put in your phone is actually my name?”
You chuckle, surprised and confused he’s still committing to the bit, a little frustrated at this point because you are actually starting to like this guy and . . .
Unless . . .
“You’re actually Dieter Bravo? The actor? Three-time Emmy nominated actor Dieter Bravo?”
He loops his finger through one of the free-roaming curls from under the beanie and twists it. “That’s what it says on my underwear . . . when I remember to wear it.”
The blush on your face now scalding, you dart across the space between you and him and snatch his phone back. You can literally feel the shameful heat in your spine, your lower back, as you delete Dolly’s name and frantically type in your own.
“I’m so, so, sorry. I was just trying to be funny. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you but it’s dark and, um, you don’t look like I thought you would and I-I had no idea – I’m so sorry –,”
“Girlie, take a breath,” he chuckles and strokes your fingers as they tremble over the keypad. “I’ve never seen someone so stressed out after smoking half a joint before.”
You’ve gone stock still as he bleeds the panic out of you with just his touch. You watch as his warm hand, dwarfing yours in size, slowly moves up to your wrist, your pulse point. His thumb presses into the vein and gently rubs. You can’t help the sigh that eases out of your throat as all the tension in your arm collapses into that one focal point, that one place he presses against you. You inhale, not realizing you had stopped breathing for a second and he releases gently, the ache in your body left over from the rigidity gone.
A brief dark haze passes over his eyes when you sigh, but gives you space easy enough when you settle.
He takes the phone out of your limp hands and reads what you’ve typed out.
“Cute name. But I think I’m still gonna call you Dolly.”
Humor is your gut instinct. Defuse a situation or calm your nerves, sometimes the best you can do is crack a (often poorly timed) joke. You feel all fluttery inside, partially because you’d been talking to Dieter “I know people who know people” Bravo all night and partially because you’re about 86% sure he’d been flirting with you. And so, without thinking, you say:
“Because of my massive tits, right?”
His eyes flit up from his phone screen to, presumably, your tits. Which are very much not Dolly-Parton-comparable.
But he grins. He actually giggles, pressing the back of the hand holding his phone against his lips as if trying to hide his smirk.
“Yeah, that’s definitely it.”
It is the kind of laugh that you know he’s laughing with you and not at you and he’s still staring when his laughter subsides.
He is still staring at your tits.
Just as your face flushes what feels like the hundredth time tonight, he glances up at you. He offers you the last puff, you shake your head, so he sucks in down before flicking the nub over the railing of the patio. His hands sit heavy in his front pocket, the frown on his face contemplative, eyes searching the horizon.
“I think you’re going to text me . . . on a Tuesday,” he says, like he’s divining portents from the shapes of the clouds.
You swallow, trying to purge yourself of this whiplash embarrassment, but you can’t quite decide what exactly to make of this man or this conversation. “What makes you say that?”
His smile is so genuine it rattles something inside you. “It’s my favorite day of the week.”
This feels too good, too real, too intense, too fast. It was a quiet, but familiar story passed around in writer’s rooms or on the back lots of sets: an older man seduces a young girl, promising the world, and then offering nothing once he had gotten what he wanted.
You beg your heartbeat to slow down.
But Dieter Bravo doesn’t seem capable of that, not with his honesty, his open heart, but then again none of them ever do.
That’s the whole point.
“So, um, I should go. My boss is probably out back, breaking things, pissed off because I’m not behind him with a fresh macchiato.” Your phone feels absurd in your hands, as if it now carries something vital inside of it. “But, uh, thank you – for everything. The smoke, the advice, listening to me ramble endlessly –,”
“You weren’t rambling,” he says, arms crossed and finger tugging at an errant curl again. “You were talking about what makes you happy and I was listening. I like listening to you.”
You wanted to believe him. You really did.
“I’ll call you sometime, okay?”
He nods, raising a hand in a wave, but as you turn away, something final, the last piece of the puzzle, pops into your brain.
“Why me?”
Dieter looks at you, big brown eyes confused like a puppy whom you scolded for chewing on your shoe.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s gotta be at least fifty people here. Why did you stop me from going into Eliot’s room?
Dieter shrugs, that easy smile returning. “You looked like the only other person who didn’t want to be here. And you’re really pretty,” he adds casually and your heart launches itself into your throat. “I’ve got a thing for really pretty girls. Gets me into a lot of trouble.”
There comes that heat, that flare in his gaze that makes you wonder how someone like him fucks, all proof necessary that he has a working cock, and he’s not some mystical, Willy-Wonka-esque Ken doll.
It’s a look that makes you wonder if he wants his cock in you.
“Good night, Dieter.”
“Night, Dolly.”
Weeks passed and immediately you were so drowned in work, Dieter Bravo occasionally slipped your mind, falling back on your list of things to do when a deadline was approaching.
But when a contract for a position in a new writer’s room passes over your desk, you pause, and immediately think of him. The offer is unbelievable. More money than you thought possible working as an underling. The channel set to produce was the real deal, likely to order more seasons if the first went well.
“Saw your writing,” your boss told you by way of explaining your dreams falling directly into your lap. “Good work. I sent some of it off, and the studio came back with this. Don’t take too long signing the dotted line, okay?”
You nod, dumb-founded as he walks off, and you glance back at the contract.
And, despite your almost desperate elation, something felt off. But you didn’t know enough about the industry to confidently say if this is a bad deal or not.
So, with a glance down the hall, you call the only person you know who would.
He is immediately livid. Not that you haven’t called, of course, but that someone has clearly tried to take advantage of you.
“Do not take that deal. That corporate bullshit means they’ll own your IP for years to come. I can’t believe they’d do that to you. Stay right there and whatever you do, do not sign that. I’m calling someone at the studios.”
“Yeah. Uh, okay, Dieter, I won’t,” you murmur, half-expecting your hand to burn if you picked the contract up again. “But, um, thank you, for being honest with me. It felt weird, but I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity and I was freaking out that this was the only one I was gonna get but I didn’t want to be rash,so I, um, . . .”
You trail off, the sudden silence on the other line only making your panic and shame more pronounced. You cringe inwardly – Dieter Bravo had better fucking things to do than console a baby screenwriter out of her first mistake – and Jesus, if there was ever a chance he was going to sleep with you, it’s long gone now – it must be, no one willingly sleeps with someone so goddamn gullible.
“Dolly?” His voice is quiet, but with a certain edge that makes you picture that implish little smirk. “Do you know what day it is?”
“No?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
That phone call turned into a new job with a female-led production team, thank yous over drinks, late-night dinners at obscure and dark Chinese food restaurants, movie nights at your shamefully small apartment, and then . . . a kiss.
Which led to all the rest.
A year later and you’re so in love with Dieter Bravo, you crank up Beyonce’s Countdown and belt it from the top of your lungs every time you hear it on the radio.
There’s a new irritant, a new agitation that can only be soothed by him. He’s remade you, changed you, reformed your very being to be missing a piece when he’s not around. He’s made space for him inside you, there was no life – not a real one, not a happy one – not before him and there won’t be anyone or anything after him. No one else fits with you anymore. Ever again.
Your blood runs hot over the ridges of his fingerprints, stamped deep on your soul and your bones.
Trouble is, he’ll never know.
“And the award for Best Actor goes to . . .”
His grip is almost painful and you return it with everything you can, your jaw drawn tight.
The pause feels like it lasts forever.
You hear his name and you think for a second you’ve blacked out, that you’ve somehow missed the moment, or you’ve somehow slipped into a pungently real dream.
And the crowd erupts.
The spotlight finds him in the crowd and you’re being pulled into his chest.
The cologne he wears costs more than your car payment but the instant you’re crushed up into his silken shirt, it’s him. Beneath all the layers, beneath the veneer, the man with the green beanie and fervent yellow jacket is still there. Somewhere. You love them both.
“You did it, darling, you did it,” you whisper into his ear and that’s all you can say before you know you have to tear yourself back, because every second you linger on him, the harder it becomes to quell this rising tide inside you that increasingly tastes like salt water whenever he’s around. It’s become so obvious his name resides in the cup of your mouth.
But when you do pull out of his embrace, in the ringing shout of the crowd, the sparkle of the spotlight, his hand lingers on your elbow, and in a space of a heartbeat that lasts impossibly longer in your memory, you’re met with such a look of profound regret you feel it take up room in your chest.
And in an instant, it’s gone. Grinning broadly, he drops your elbow and moves on down the line, cheered on by his peers, the white light from above illuminating his broad back, the bits of gray becoming ever more present in his beard. You cheer and you cheer and you cheer and you hope it’s from all the cheering that your voice grows hoarse and the tears start to trickle out of the corner of your eyes.
You’re trembling visibly as he accepts his award, showing just the right amount of awe, and appreciation, and excitement. He glances up into the spotlight and there’s the real Dieter for just a split second before he humbly gawks at the golden statue in his hand.
The clock begins.
Make your speech thoughtful and poignant – relevant to what is close to people’s hearts right now.
Be profusive with your thanks. Better start with that, actually. Lower yourself at the height of your glory.
Mention family, friends, names and faces that the masses don’t know because it makes you appear connected to a reality those watching on the television can only speculate about. Say something kindly about how this means so much to you.
Cry a bit, but not too much. Keep your voice steady but with tears in your eyes. Cut yourself off, the emotion too much, and say thank you again.
And anything more than three minutes, they start to play you off.
You’re mentally going through the notes on a potential acceptance speech his PR manager gave him on the drive over, but in the end, it’s clear he doesn’t need it.
Dieter’s speech is excellent.
Really good. Really, really, really good. It has a flare of genuinity, but not the bite of vulnerability that makes people uncomfortable.
He’s been practicing for weeks now, editing as he talks, in the mirror, while driving home from the grocery store, before he goes to sleep. Tonight’s speech, a compilation of all that you’ve listened to time and time again, is the best version of all of them.
He’s soft when he needs to be and excited when he can. He’s onto the gratitude bit, going through the director, the writers, the cast and crew, even his costar, whose beautiful face is shown on the twenty foot screen above the stage, joyful tears in her eyes. And as the applause dies down, his big hand dwarfing the tiny metal statue, his fingers flexing, Dieter’s back goes ridgid, his eyes downcast. A smile slips out infinitesimally.
Dieter clears his throat and looks up.
“And there’s someone else I’d like to thank. This, uh, this one goes to all the little dreamers out there. Working nine to five, to make your dreams happen. We did it, baby, couldn’t have done it without you.”
He stares into the camera and you swear, you fucking swear, he’s looking right at you.
It’s a drowning sort of wave, this focal point that draws you down into him. It’s all consuming and it’s tender and it touches places you didn’t know could go this warm and what else could describe this but love? You resent the Academy, this place, these people for keeping him away from you. You think you’ll claw out the eyes of anyone who tries to separate you again.
You are crying – for your industry friend, his guest at the Oscars, so sees the cameras and the glitz and the glamor.
You’re crying because you’re in too deep.
The rest of the night is dipped into a champagne glass and swirled fast, catching like lighting in a bottle.
Gold dust falling fast, dizzily.
Bubbles, glinting green and pink in the light, rising and winking out of existence.
Golden bubbles in your drink, in your mouth. Your throat. Your stomach.
You feel lighter than air.
With him, you feel as bright and as strong as diamonds. As timeless and luminescent as pearl.
As beautiful as gold.
When the door finally shuts behind you in a darkened apartment, you’ve entered a secret, separate realm of domesticity: mismatched shoes, coffee creamer flavors you don’t like, and shampoo bottles that take up too much space in your shower.
It’s quiet here, blue and shadowed. The girl who left here hours ago to get ready in a hotel halfway across town forgot to leave on a light, rushing out in her haste.
Behind you, you hear him snicker, his tongue behind his teeth, champagne bubbles still in his nose, as he hangs his silk jacket on your coat rack, right next to your muddy raincoat and baseball caps faded with sweat.
“We gotta be quiet,” he hums, wobbling a bit as he toes out of his expensive loafers, pushing them near your off-brand birkenstocks. “Nala’s gonna hate me forever if we wake her up now.”
He is, of course, referring to your tabby cat, who hates everyone who isn’t you, and has a distinct requirement for twelve hour naps with no interruptions. Dieter swears he’s going to wake up one morning with that cat flexing her claws against his throat.
It takes you a moment to recognize and comprehend how your lives have melted together, how extracting you from him and him from you would be akin to destructive alchemy, the process of deconstructing two things causing both of them to oxidize and reduce to flaky rust. You’re drunk and you’re a little dizzy and you’re swaying slightly because your feet hurt but you are too consumed by introspection on your own feelings, what it means to love something other than yourself, to do anything about it.
You’re so far gone from your own body you float, untethered and lost in thought, right up until the moment his arms come around your waist and he pulls you into his chest, like slipping on a beloved coat.
“I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck like he is reciting Neruda’s poetry. You stifle a smile, your hands gripping around his elbows, as he sways with you. He does this a lot; thinks one thing, then two, then three, and by the time it comes out of his mouth, it’s nonsensical to anyone not strapped into his train of thought.
“Try again, darling.” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, his chin tucked over your shoulder, ear pressed to yours. “I think you missed a couple of steps.”
Your voice is gummy even to your own ears, the endless drinks at the afterparty stitching your syllables and consonants together into some freakish creature. He’s slightly blurry in your eyes, his presence overwhelming all of your senses as they try to keep you upright.
He chuckles and presses his face into your neck in what you believe is an attempted kiss.
“I mean, you glow,” he admits quietly to your skin. The grin falls from your face when your heart constricts. “You fucking shined tonight and I couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful and sweet you looked. Sweetness I wanna lick up.” He chuckles again, this time through his nose, laughing at his own absurdity. “And then I remembered cotton candy is sweet too and you can buy cotton candy at Coney Island for a quarter and. . . I think I can buy you for a quarter at Coney Island.”
He scrapes the back of your neck with his teeth as he nudges you forward down the hall, not sparing an inch between your bodies. Which makes for a disastrous time, both of you drunk, his socked feet slipping on the wood, and your heels and dress tangling up together.
“Baby, wait–,”
“We’re almost to the bedroom, we can make it–,”
“Not if we break our necks first. Gimme a second, I’ll just–,”
You slide out of his grasp, inching down the wall and tucking up the truly insane amount of tulle they managed to stitch into your dress. You feel like you’ve been digging for five minutes before you find what you're looking for.
You stick your heel in the air and fiddle with the clasp around your ankle, drunk and working in near total darkness.
Dieter huffs and slides to the floor next to you. He watches you struggle for a minute, nearly swallowed up by the layers and layers of tulle, before he squeezes the air with his open hand.
“Gimme. We’ll be here all night.”
You pout visibly and awkwardly rotate until your foot is in his lap. His fingers are warm as he plucks at the clasp.
“I am perfectly capable of getting dressed on my own.” You toss your hair indignantly.
“Yeah, but you’re always going to need my help to get undressed, right?” He smirks, eyes bleary, as he slides the heel off your foot and takes up the other one when you don’t move.
Always, he said.
Forever.
He’s being so soft, so gentle.
He sees the red marks left behind by the straps of your heels and frowns, displeased. Slumped over in the hallway of your tiny, pathetic apartment, his top few buttons of his pressed dress shirt hopelessly gone, tonight’s bow tie slung around his neck like a tipsy snake, Dieter gives you a foot rub by way of kneading out your pain.
He kisses your ankle with such reverence, adoration, the liquid in your mouth vanishes and ends up in the crotch of your tights.
You’re both too drunk for an actual fuck (“don’t make fun of my whisky dick, baby, it makes it sad,”) but you don’t want to be anywhere else but in your bed with him when you do sober up. So, you let the tulle drop, Dieter giggling as he gets hit with an avalanche of dress and you both clamor over each other to stand up.
Towering over you and smelling like rich, warm, leather and splash of something spicy, he raises an eyebrow at you. You scrunch up your face, your twisted-up mouth betraying the stern look in your eyes, and put your knuckles to your hips. He matches your stance, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us . . .
“You’re in my way,” he grumbles, his mouth twitching.
“Maybe you’re in mine.”
“Well, then it looks like we’ve got on our hands a good ol’ Mexican standoff.”
“By all means, pardner, stick ‘em up.”
You eye him like PopEye, cheek full of nothing but air, your one eye all squinty. At that, he completely breaks, going red as he laughs. You hold the pose for a second longer before you collapse against him, laughing until tears run out of the corners of your eyes. You press your forehead into his chest, his heartbeat like a homing beacon, as he nuzzles the back of your head, giggles escaping occasionally on puffs of air.
“That’s it!” He says after a moment of silence and tosses his hands into the air. “I’ve had enough! I can’t do this anymore!”
Without warning, he bends down and hauls you over his shoulder. He continues his tirade over your brief gasp of surprise – “Dieter!” – his finger indignantly in the air as he marches off towards the bedroom.
“I can no longer date a girl who is funnier than me and so goddamn, fucking pretty. Who let you do that, huh? Who taught you how to be so fucking adorable? Answer me, you sexy, little weirdo.”
He tickles you enough just to make you squirm before dramatically tossing you onto the bed. You assume your best heart-broken divorcé pose, hand draped over your forehead, one leg tucked under the other.
“Think of the children, honey! Nala needs a father’s influence, a lonely girl trying to survive in a man’s world! You can’t shoulder me with the responsibility of single motherhood!” You sit up, eyes fluttering up at him. “Everything I learned, I learned it all from you!”
Smirking, he kneels onto the mattress, your body folding back as he hovers forward, his nose inches from yours. You fight the shiver that arches up your body every time he gets that look on his face. He’s got your sanity between his teeth. “That child loathes me, darling,” he purrs. “She’s better off with you. She looks far too much like the milkman to be mine anyway.”
Your fake gasp is buried beneath the lunge of his mouth over yours. His hand cups your cheek as his mouth seeks out all its favorite places against your lips, your skin, your jaw. Your fingers dig into his wrinkled, once-starched shirt, the heat of his skin pricking your fingertips.
It’s right there, that knife edge between starting something there’s no going back from, no alternative path that ends in anything other than him buried deep inside you, filth that still makes you blush pouring from his mouth into your ear. A part of you, the part of you that’s been stalking behind every smile and touch he sends your way all night, the part of you that every nerve sing for him, is begging you to continue. To touch him in the right places that make his eyelids drop, mouth wrench open, to take on the animal that’s gnawing at you both.
But you don’t. You can’t.
The simple fact of the matter is – you’re exhausted. You know he is too. The Oscar statue sitting on your entryway is a culmination of dozens of exhausted nights that finally paid off.
He sighs when you pull back, there is no anger on his face, no disappointment that you’re ending things here. There’s only . . .
“You looked really, really pretty tonight,” he confesses to your nose with a smile. “Thanks . . . for coming with me tonight. You make everything better.”
You tuck his hair over his ear, feeling whole and small beneath the gentle search of his gaze. His hair is getting long and you love it, but you don’t want to nag him about it. The universe has finally balanced itself with him in between your legs, the foundations that make up the galaxy all settled in right here.
He takes it one step further, reaching back behind him to the comforter you keep on the end of the bed that inevitably gets kicked to the floor every time he stays over. You’d pick it up and put it back every day of your life without complaint if it meant him in your bed until the end of time.
Dieter tosses the blanket over both of your heads and crawls back in between your legs, elbows tucked by your ribs. All the champagne in the world couldn’t give you this same warm, bubbly feeling in your chest as his weight sinks into you.
He’s submerged you both in another realm, a deeper one than the one before, and in this one you have to whisper, even though the only other person in all of existence is inches from your nose.
“You’re drunk,” you murmur, hushed. You can barely find the outline of his chin, his lips, his nose. The steady drum in your chest misses a beat as you consider where he might be looking on you.
He awkwardly tugs your knuckles from both hands beneath his head, kissing them gently before allowing them to quietly slide into his hair. He’s so warm, nearly completely invisible to you in the blackness, the weight of his broad chest threatens to choke the air right out of you. But this exactly is how you want it to be. You want to be overwhelmed by Dieter Bravo.
“I’m not drunk,” he tuts, a soft slur still tucking his words together.
You reach down just inches to his temple, following the lines of his body that swear all lead to you, to find the arch of his cheek. He closes his eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your thumbs.
“Could a drunk person do this?” He asks quietly, as close as he could come to indignant in this special, dark little world.
You wait, for a sloppy kiss, for something hard to tap against your thigh, but nothing comes. In fact, he doesn’t move.
You inhale as best you can, grinning, ready to start another proverbial sparring match with him.
“You’re not doing anything, Dieter.”
His eyelashes stroke your thumbs again, a kitten lick, as he opens his eyes.
“I sent you my love. Did you not get it?”
All in the air in your lungs is purged in a heavy gasp as his words impact your chest the way comets collide with meteors.
He says your name, concerned by the wounded noise you just made, and when you don’t answer, he leans back, tugging the blanket as he goes.
It’s not until you’re looking up at him in your bedroom, his face blurry and your cheeks cold, that you realize you’re crying.
“Dolly, what did I do?” He sounds so concerned, so visibly shaken, you can’t help but cry harder. He only touches your wrist, as if he’d been banished from your body.
If you hadn’t had so much to drink, this wouldn’t be happening or at least you’d be able to get it to stop, reign in those explosive feelings that you had kept for so long deep and buried until he came along with a match in the dark.
You take a deep breath, eyes locked onto the ceiling, hands clenched in fists. You know he can feel the tension in your forearm beneath his thumb making circles inches below your pulsepoint. You thought you never, ever wanted to have this conversation, but now you understand this has been the only thing that’s been on your mind for months.
“You don’t mean that,” you croak into the darkness. You feel small and foolish, embarrassed for having a body that produces emotions.
“Don’t mean what, darling?” He’s still talking quietly, but firmer, providing a hook onto which you can grasp and fight the current in your mind. He knows this feeling, anxiety, and he hates how it looks on you.
“That you love me.”
Your words ring in the air, like the distinctive pitch of singing glass. You swallow that choking knot further down your throat and, wrenching your gaze down from the ceiling, finally look him in the eyes.
It’s the same look he blinked at you from the seats, there and gone so fast you partially convinced yourself you’d imagined it: profound, deep regret.
“You think I don’t love you?”
His tone makes you instantly feel guilty. Did you miss something? What if he texted it to you and you didn’t see it? Or wrote it in a note . . .
“You’ve never said it. At least not to me.”
And his face crumbles.
He slides off his haunches, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, his big shoulders curved.
Slowly, as if believing he has no right to, he touches your ankle, where he had rubbed away those painful marks in the hallway. He shakes his head, smirking darkly at himself.
“At the risk of sounding like a dramatic fucking actor, I didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”
You sit up, unable to help yourself from curling up next to him, his grip adjusting to your thigh, instantly finding the heat of it beneath all the tulle. Cutting right to the core of you.
He gets this furtive glance when he’s thinking about something unpleasant, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as though unable to choose the right course of action. How much does he say, how much does he give away?
He rubs your dress material between his fingers.
“I’m older than you,” is how he starts. When your mouth twists open, ready with a litany of reasons why you don’t care, why no one should – reasons you’ve already said to him a dozen times – he meets your gaze and silences everything in your head. “And it’s not me they’re going to come for.”
The weight, the finality to his voice shoves that knot right back up your throat, your eyes hot and tight.
“I . . . I didn’t say it, outloud, because then we’d have to do something about it. I don’t want to keep us in the dark, but . . .” he swallows as if choking too. “But after the dox two years ago and then the incident in Austin, I feel like I’ll be putting you in physical harm when they find out we’re together. And I would literally rather die than have anything happen to you.”
He kisses your temple, the touch a consolation.
You don’t want to turn away, you want every kiss he gives you, but all you can feel are the studio’s words, the words of your managers, pressing down on you:
You know how some fans get. For your safety, let’s give it two years.
We’re happy for you, we really are, but you can’t be seen together too much. Minimal instagram, rare public appearances. We’re just trying to keep up appearances until the fans settle.
Appearances.
Aesthetics.
Image.
You’d happily kill anyone who tried to take him from you.
But you know he’s right.
“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you, what I feel for you,” he promises, voice warm, dipped in honey. “I just . . . I can’t lose you.”
“Then can you say it just this once? Just to me?” You try to smile but the tightening of your skin only spills the tears. “Please, Dieter, I won’t ask again. I have to hear it once from you. After that, I promise I–,”
His great warm palm covets the back of your neck, rolling you into him like melting chocolate drips onto the floor. He stops, inches from your mouth, so close you can feel your neutrons mix with his.
“I love you.”
Earnest, genuine, real.
A green beanie and a yellow jacket.
Chinese food and dreams of a better life. Of a happy life.
You steady yourself, your spinning world, against his hand around your cheek, clutching onto his wrist like it’s the last great lighthouse at the end of the world.
You open your eyes and, yes, yes, there is adoration in his smile, in the way he watches his words soothe some ache inside of you with joy.
“I love you too,” you tell him, in case it wasn’t obvious. If somehow he couldn’t smell your obsession for him. “I love you,” you say again, firmly.
It’s an inevitable sort of fall, his mouth into yours.
Like neutron stars collapsing together, alone and quiet in the far reaches of space.
Like the stone bones of an ancient church cracking and tipping into the sea as time and erosion eats away at a once great monument.
Like the spinning metal within a compass, never failing to find north, to find home.
When you awake next to him the next morning, warm in a way that goes behind physical body heat, he kisses your nose.
I love you, he tells you, with his words, with his body. With the dozens of ways he’s been mulling over in his mind to keep you safe and make you his for everyone to see.
I love you, he tells you that morning.
And every morning after that.
Dieter pretending to be the Hallmark boyfriend for her?! 😍😍😍 YES. PLEASE.
i crawl home to her
rating: 18+ explicit
pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader
word count: 8.2K
summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.
warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands
a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!
🤍Masterlist
You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies.
And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.
And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet.
“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.”
You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year.
“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.
“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life.
The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel.
“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”
“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.”
“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”
“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”
You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.
“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”
There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him.
“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”
Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:
“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”
“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”
“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.”
He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin.
By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale.
“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.”
“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers.
“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?”
Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
History says no.
So, maybe you’d just carry everything.
You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.
“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now–
His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.
“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”
You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap.
You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house.
Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.
She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand.
“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”
She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face.
“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”
“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.”
As it is every year.
“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”
Here it comes.
“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”
“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”
“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”
Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.
Rings gone.
Earring gone.
Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.
His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.
Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe –
You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.
“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit.
To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers.
“Poinsettias! My –,”
“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”
Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money.
“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.”
The bastard winks at you.
Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived.
“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”
She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet.
“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”
A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling.
So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.
Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??
God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.
He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair.
And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with.
“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”
Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell.
“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”
“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point.
You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.
“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”
You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.
“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”
“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.
She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?
“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”
Schmooze he did.
From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world.
For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too.
In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren.
“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy.
“Mhmm hmm.”
“When are you going to have some of your own?”
And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.
It would be insulting to call it eerie.
It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .
You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee.
Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven.
This, this Dieter, feels wrong.
You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.
This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”.
Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:
Anger.
Shame. Guilt.
Hot embarrassment.
You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister.
You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage.
But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world.
A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral.
“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in.
“Dieter, what are you–,”
“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.”
White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye.
“I’m fine. Just needed some air.”
“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.
“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink.
“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.”
You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Dieter, please, just –,”
He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.
He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.
“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”
The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.
“This isn’t you.”
You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed.
“What’s not me?”
A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder.
“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”
Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back.
“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”
“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.”
And out of nowhere, he smiles.
Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.
“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”
You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue.
“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”
“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.”
Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”
You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara.
He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.
“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.”
You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth.
“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.
“Just . . .”
His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his.
That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back.
“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”
You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark.
“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans.
Oh.
Maybe he did mean it like that.
You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.
Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly.
“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs.
He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you.
“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”
You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.”
He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.
“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.”
The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror.
His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit.
With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself.
“No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?”
“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”
His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need.
This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.
You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms.
When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes.
“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold.
“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant.
He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to.
With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck.
“Face down, baby,” he says.
“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”
He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.
You do.
Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on.
He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.
“I’d rather just show you.”
Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw.
Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle.
But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you.
You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps.
“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades.
You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror.
The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.
“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring.
There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.
He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning.
You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.
“Hard, baby. Please.”
For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.
“Okay.”
He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.
His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb.
“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,”
He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back.
Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides.
“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?”
Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.
“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time.
“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.”
Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass.
“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”
Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter.
“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”
He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.
“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”
His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it.
You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him.
“Dieter, please –,”
“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”
The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.
“Fuck them. Let them hear.”
Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.
“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.”
He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then.
“Harder again, please.”
Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt.
You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.
“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade.
“Say it again.”
With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter.
“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”
The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.
He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.”
His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage.
“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life.
The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge.
“Oh – oh, shit –,”
The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.
“Wait – fuck,”
He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later.
The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth.
Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.
Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling.
You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder.
“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.
In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours –
And you’re laughing.
You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.
He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands.
“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.”
You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle.
He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest.
“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”
You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at.
“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”
Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant.
“Dieter, I –,”
“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?”
You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.
“Okay.”
The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach.
At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.
But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world.
Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on?
Your heart says yes.
Broken Hearts Mended
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader, Joel Miller x F!Reader
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC
a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!
Masterlist||AO3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.
Today is your wedding day.
In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.
“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”
“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”
“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”
“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”
“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”
“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”
“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I have to try, Mark.”
“Damn it, Dieter!”
More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.
“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”
—
Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.
He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.
“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.
“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.
“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.
“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“
“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”
Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.
In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.
“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.
“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”
“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.
“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”
“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”
“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”
You shake your head with a sigh.
“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.
“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”
—
You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.
He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.
“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”
Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.
“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”
Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.
“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”
“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.
“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”
Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.
“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”
“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”
Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.
The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.
“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.
“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”
She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.
“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”
“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.
“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”
Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.
“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.
“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”
Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.
“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”
“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.
“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”
“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”
“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”
Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.
“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”
Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.
“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”
“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”
Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.
“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”
Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.
The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.
“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”
“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.
“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”
“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”
“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”
He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?
“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”
She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.
“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”
Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.
“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”
He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.
“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”
“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”
Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.
Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.
“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.
“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”
- - -
The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.
Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”
You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.
“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.
“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.
“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.
Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.
“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”
He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.
“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”
“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”
“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.
You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.
“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.
“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”
Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”
“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”
He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.
“Please don’t leave me,”
“I need you,”
“I love you,”
“I won’t fuck up again,”
“I promise,”
“I love you.”
Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.
“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“
Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”
Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.
“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.
Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.
“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”
“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”
“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”
“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”
Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.
- - -
“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”
Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.
“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.
“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”
“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?
“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”
“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”
“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”
“What? No!”
“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”
“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.
“I gotta go see Willow.”
“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.
“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.
“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”
—
“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”
He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.
“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”
“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”
“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.
“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”
He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.
“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”
“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”
“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”
“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”
—
Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.
He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.
“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.
“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.
“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.
“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”
“Extra week?”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”
“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.
You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.
“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”
“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.
“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”
“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.
“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”
“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”
- - -
When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.
“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.
He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.
“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”
“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.
“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.
“Breakfast is ready!”
“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”
“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”
Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”
“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”
“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.
“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.
“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.
“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”
“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.
“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”
He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”
“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”
Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?
Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?
He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.
It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.
Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.
Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.
“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.
You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.
“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”
“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.
- - -
“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”
“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?
“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”
Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.
You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.
Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.
He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.
“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”
You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.
“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.
“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”
You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.
“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”
Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.
This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.
It was fun to write! 😍 I’m glad you liked it and thank you for sharing! ❤️
Broken Hearts Mended
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x You, Joel Miller x You
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC
a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!
Masterlist||AO3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.
Today is your wedding day.
In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.
“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”
“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”
“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”
“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”
“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”
“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”
“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I have to try, Mark.”
“Damn it, Dieter!”
More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.
“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”
—
Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.
He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.
“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.
“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.
“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.
“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“
“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”
Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.
In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.
“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.
“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”
“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.
“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”
“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”
“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”
You shake your head with a sigh.
“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.
“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”
—
You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.
He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.
“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”
Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.
“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”
Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.
“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”
“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.
“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”
Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.
“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”
“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”
Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.
The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.
“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.
“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”
She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.
“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”
“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.
“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”
Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.
“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.
“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”
Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.
“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”
“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.
“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”
“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”
“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”
Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.
“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”
Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.
“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”
“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”
Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.
“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”
Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.
The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.
“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”
“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.
“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”
“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”
“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”
He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?
“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”
She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.
“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”
Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.
“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”
He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.
“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”
“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”
Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.
Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.
“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.
“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”
- - -
The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.
Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”
You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.
“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.
“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.
“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.
Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.
“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”
He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.
“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”
“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”
“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.
You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.
“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.
“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”
Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”
“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”
He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.
“Please don’t leave me,”
“I need you,”
“I love you,”
“I won’t fuck up again,”
“I promise,”
“I love you.”
Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.
“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“
Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”
Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.
“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.
Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.
“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”
“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”
“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”
“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”
Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.
- - -
“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”
Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.
“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.
“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”
“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?
“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”
“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”
“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”
“What? No!”
“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”
“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.
“I gotta go see Willow.”
“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.
“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.
“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”
—
“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”
He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.
“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”
“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”
“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.
“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”
He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.
“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”
“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”
“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”
“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”
—
Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.
He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.
“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.
“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.
“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.
“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”
“Extra week?”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”
“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.
You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.
“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”
“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.
“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”
“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.
“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”
“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”
- - -
When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.
“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.
He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.
“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”
“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.
“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.
“Breakfast is ready!”
“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”
“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”
Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”
“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”
“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.
“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.
“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.
“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”
“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.
“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”
He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”
“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”
Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?
Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?
He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.
It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.
Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.
Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.
“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.
You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.
“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”
“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.
- - -
“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”
“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?
“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”
Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.
You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.
Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.
He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.
“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”
You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.
“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.
“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”
You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.
“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”
Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin. This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.
Hahahah it was the best way I could think to end it 🥰
Looooove yoooouuuuu!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Broken Hearts Mended
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x You, Joel Miller x You
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC
a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!
Masterlist||AO3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.
Today is your wedding day.
In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.
“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”
“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”
“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”
“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”
“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”
“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”
“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I have to try, Mark.”
“Damn it, Dieter!”
More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.
“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”
—
Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.
He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.
“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.
“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.
“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.
“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“
“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”
Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.
In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.
“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.
“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”
“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.
“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”
“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”
“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”
You shake your head with a sigh.
“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.
“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”
—
You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.
He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.
“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”
Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.
“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”
Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.
“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”
“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.
“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”
Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.
“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”
“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”
Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.
The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.
“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.
“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”
She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.
“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”
“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.
“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”
Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.
“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.
“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”
Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.
“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”
“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.
“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”
“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”
“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”
Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.
“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”
Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.
“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”
“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”
Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.
“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”
Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.
The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.
“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”
“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.
“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”
“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”
“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”
He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?
“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”
She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.
“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”
Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.
“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”
He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.
“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”
“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”
Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.
Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.
“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.
“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”
- - -
The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.
Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”
You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.
“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.
“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.
“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.
Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.
“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”
He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.
“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”
“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”
“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.
You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.
“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.
“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”
Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”
“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”
He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.
“Please don’t leave me,”
“I need you,”
“I love you,”
“I won’t fuck up again,”
“I promise,”
“I love you.”
Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.
“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“
Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”
Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.
“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.
Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.
“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”
“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”
“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”
“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”
Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.
- - -
“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”
Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.
“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.
“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”
“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?
“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”
“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”
“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”
“What? No!”
“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”
“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.
“I gotta go see Willow.”
“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.
“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.
“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”
—
“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”
He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.
“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”
“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”
“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.
“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”
He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.
“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”
“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”
“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”
“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”
—
Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.
He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.
“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.
“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.
“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.
“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”
“Extra week?”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”
“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.
You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.
“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”
“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.
“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”
“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.
“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”
“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”
- - -
When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.
“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.
He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.
“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”
“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.
“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.
“Breakfast is ready!”
“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”
“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”
Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”
“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”
“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.
“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.
“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.
“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”
“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.
“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”
He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”
“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”
Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?
Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?
He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.
It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.
Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.
Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.
“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.
You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.
“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”
“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.
- - -
“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”
“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?
“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”
Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.
You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.
Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.
He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.
“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”
You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.
“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.
“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”
You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.
“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”
Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.
This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.
When you need to brainstorm with friends on a story and then their idea just plays on loop in your head… windsock and all
NSFW under the cut all thanks to @beefrobeefcal ❤️❤️❤️
I too felt like it was the perfect ending for them 😍
Broken Hearts Mended
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x You, Joel Miller x You
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC
a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!
Masterlist||AO3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.
Today is your wedding day.
In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.
“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”
“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”
“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”
“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”
“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”
“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”
“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I have to try, Mark.”
“Damn it, Dieter!”
More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.
“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”
—
Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.
He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.
“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.
“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.
“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.
“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“
“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”
Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.
In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.
“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.
“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”
“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.
“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”
“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”
“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”
You shake your head with a sigh.
“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.
“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”
—
You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.
He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.
“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”
Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.
“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”
Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.
“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”
“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.
“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”
Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.
“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”
“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”
Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.
The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.
“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.
“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”
She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.
“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”
“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.
“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”
Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.
“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.
“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”
Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.
“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”
“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.
“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”
“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”
“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”
Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.
“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”
Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.
“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”
“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”
Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.
“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”
Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.
The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.
“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”
“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.
“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”
“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”
“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”
He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?
“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”
She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.
“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”
Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.
“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”
He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.
“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”
“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”
Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.
Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.
“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.
“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”
- - -
The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.
Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”
You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.
“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.
“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.
“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.
Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.
“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”
He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.
“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”
“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”
“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.
You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.
“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.
“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”
Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”
“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”
He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.
“Please don’t leave me,”
“I need you,”
“I love you,”
“I won’t fuck up again,”
“I promise,”
“I love you.”
Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.
“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“
Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”
Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.
“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.
Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.
“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”
“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”
“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”
“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”
Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.
- - -
“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”
Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.
“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.
“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”
“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?
“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”
“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”
“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”
“What? No!”
“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”
“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.
“I gotta go see Willow.”
“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.
“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.
“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”
—
“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”
He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.
“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”
“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”
“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.
“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”
He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.
“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”
“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”
“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”
“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”
—
Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.
He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.
“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.
“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.
“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.
“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”
“Extra week?”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”
“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.
You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.
“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”
“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.
“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”
“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.
“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”
“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”
- - -
When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.
“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.
He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.
“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”
“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.
“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.
“Breakfast is ready!”
“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”
“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”
Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”
“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”
“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.
“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.
“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.
“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”
“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.
“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”
He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”
“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”
Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?
Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?
He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.
It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.
Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.
Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.
“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.
You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.
“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”
“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.
- - -
“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”
“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?
“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”
Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.
You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.
Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.
He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.
“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”
You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.
“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.
“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”
You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.
“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”
Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.
This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.
Had to show Bestie your reblog since Willow is based off of her, you made the girl giggle and twirl her hair 🤣 I’m glad you loved her character as much as I do! 🥰
One of these days, I hope I’m brave enough to write more for them because they’re now on my mind a lot 🤣
Broken Hearts Mended
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x You, Joel Miller x You
Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC
a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!
Masterlist||AO3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out.
Today is your wedding day.
In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.
“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”
“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”
“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”
“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”
“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”
“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”
“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I have to try, Mark.”
“Damn it, Dieter!”
More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.
“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”
—
Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.
He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.
“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.
“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.
“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.
“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“
“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”
Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.
In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.
“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.
“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”
“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.
“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”
“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”
“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”
You shake your head with a sigh.
“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.
“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”
—
You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.
He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.
“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”
Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.
“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”
Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.
“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”
“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.
“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”
Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.
“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”
“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”
Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.
He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.
The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.
“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.
“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”
She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.
“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”
“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.
“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”
Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.
“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.
“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”
Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.
“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”
“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.
“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”
“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”
“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”
Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.
“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”
Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.
“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”
“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”
Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.
“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”
Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.
The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.
“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”
“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”
“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.
“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”
“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”
“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”
He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?
“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”
She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.
“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”
Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.
“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”
He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.
“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”
“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”
Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.
Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.
“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.
“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”
- - -
The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.
Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”
You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway.
“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.
“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.
“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.
Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.
“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”
He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions.
“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”
“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”
“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.
You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.
“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.
“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”
Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”
“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”
He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.
“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.
“Please don’t leave me,”
“I need you,”
“I love you,”
“I won’t fuck up again,”
“I promise,”
“I love you.”
Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.
“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“
Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.
“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”
Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.
“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.
Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.
“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.
“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”
“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”
“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”
“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”
Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.
- - -
“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”
Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.
“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.
“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”
“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”
He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?
“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”
“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”
“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”
“What? No!”
“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”
“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.
“I gotta go see Willow.”
“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.
“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.
“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”
—
“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”
He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.
“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”
“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!”
“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.
“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”
He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.
“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”
“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”
“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”
“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”
—
Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.
He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.
“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.
“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.
“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.
“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”
“Extra week?”
“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”
“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present.
You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.
“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”
“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.
“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”
“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.
“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”
“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”
- - -
When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.
“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.
He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.
“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”
“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.
“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.
“Breakfast is ready!”
“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”
“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”
Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”
“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”
“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.
“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.
“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.
“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”
“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.
“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”
He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”
“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”
Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?
Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?
He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.
It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.
Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.
Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.
“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.
You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.
“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”
“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.
- - -
“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”
“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?
“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”
Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.
You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.
Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.
He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.
“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”
You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.
“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.
“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”
You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.
“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”
Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.
This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.
AL!!!! OH MY GOD!!!
I finally got around to reading this and my heart!!!! 😭🥲 Absolutely breath taking!
Eros & Psyche: A Dieter Bravo Story (complete - series masterlist)
Dieter Bravo x f!reader
Rating: Over 18’s only please
Summary: Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually.
Header quote: By Marsad Aurangzeb
Series content: Vaguely inspired by the Greek myth of Eros & Psyche, soul mates, yearning, emotional torment, drugs and alcohol references, lots of swears, slow burn, discussions of death and mental health, eventual smut. Dieter is a walking red flag. Reader is named (Psyche) but physical descriptions are minimal. Time is meaningless but also always marching on. Lots of Dieter POV. Fleabag coded.
A/N: What is it about Dieter Bravo that makes me want to write emotional torment? I love him, yet I must torture him apparently. This started off as a bit of a modern retelling of the Eros & Psyche myth, but really it’s just my take on what the Greek god of love would be like if he was our beloved trash panda Dieter Bravo and reader was his soulmate, Psyche. I really, really hope that you like it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Originally part of Kel’s Greek pantheon challenge.
Mini Series:
✨ Part 1
✨ Part 2
✨ Part 3
✨ Epilogue
Moodboard
Original art by @yopossum
Thank you’s: I’m eternally grateful to @toomanytookas for being the most incredible beta reader and for encouraging my madness. To @luxurychristmaspudding and @pascalssbabyy for being the most wonderful, supportive pals who are always ready to scream with me. I really couldn’t navigate this without you guys. @mothandpidgeon for inspiring me with some yearning ideas via Twilight deep dive YouTube’s (for reals).
Tags for pals and Dieter fans - as always let me know if you’d prefer to be taken off or if you’d like to be put on:
@ishabull @futuraa-free @aurorawritestoescape @maggiemayhemnj @harriedandharassed
@milla-frenchy @undercoverpena @sawymredfox @secretelephanttattoo @hellfire-state-of-mind
@thundermartini @morallyinept @burntheedges @guiltyasdave @sp00kymulderr
@magpiepills @sugarcoated-lame @readingiskeepingmegoing @chronically-ghosted @beefrobeefcal
@jessthebaker @yopossum @ghotifishreads @katareyoudrilling @ozarkthedog
All images from Pinterest
You workin' the night shift?
PEDRO PASCAL as DIETER BRAVO The Bubble (2022) dir. Judd Apatow
Special Interview (Dieter Bravo x F!Reader)
Summary: quarantining in a hotel room with Dieter Bravo can get boring sometimes… especially when he has to give interviews. (word count: 1,9k)
Warning: 18+, explicit content, SMUT, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, swallowing
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️
Quarantining in a hotel room with Dieter Bravo was fun for most of the time; but when he had to give interviews for his recent Academy Award win, you had no choice than to stay in bed or to hide, away from the webcam of his laptop and the sharp eyes of the various interviewers who had already started speculating about him being involved in a secret relationship with a fellow actress.
He had just started giving another Zoom interview, the third in a span of two hours; he had been answering the same questions again and again. You knew he was tired, but he was hiding it incredibly well, courtesy of his ever present sunglasses.
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