#i can’t even explain what its doing to me

[auteurdelabre]

A LITTLE SUN PART 7 (part II) Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+

tags: SMUT. Penetration, Oral (m and f receiving), use of 'daddy' (but you ain't into it), use of 'baby', Dieter being Dieter, fluff, like such tooth-rotting sweetness its almost gross, idiots in love, pregnancy, talk of pregnancy body changes/self esteem, love love love, family issues, mentions of parental death.

a/n: Tumblr is dumb and won't let me post the entire chapter in one post. ARGH. So below is part two.

HERE IS PART ONE OF THIS CHAPTER.

series masterlist

Your mother is pacing around the kitchen when the doorbell rings. With a muttered grumble she strides to the front door, tugging it open with a flourish. She expects to see her pregnant daughter there, what she doesn’t expect is a six foot movie star she hates to be flinching at her.

He’s wearing a short sleeved linen shirt, freshly pressed slacks and his usually unruly hair has been combed neatly.  He even got Magda to trim his beard for him. He wants to make a good impression.

"Hi," Dieter says, his stomach churning anxiously as your mother stares him down. "I'm Dieter-"

"I know exactly who you are," the woman snaps, arms crossing over her front. "What do you want? I’m afraid I don't have any more daughters for you to buy babies from."

She tries to look around his broad shoulders. "Where is my daughter by the way?"

Dieter shuffles back and forth, his expensive dress shoes scraping the ground. Suddenly all his bravado has left him and he feels much like a chastised child. 

"I wanted to talk to you," Dieter explains. "Just you and me if that’s okay?"

Your mother's brows knit angrily. "So she couldn't even be bothered-"

"She doesn't know I'm here," Dieter interjects.

He goes to say something more when he thinks he notices a car slowing down up the block. Paparazzi. Your mother notices as well because she ushers Dieter into the house, closing the door behind him sharply. 

"You have five minutes." 

Dieter slips off his shoes and follows her to the couch, about to launch into his speech when he sniffs the air.

"Are you baking?"

"Cinnamon bread. My daughters favorite," your mother says, eyes misting. She regards Dieter a moment, softening. "Would you like a piece?" 

"I'd love one." 

He takes a seat on the couch as ordered, watching as your mother brings out a tray holding several slices of cinnamon bread, a tea pot and two mugs.

“This is so fuc- darn delicious,” Dieter corrects himself, wiping the crumbs from his fingers on his pants, much to your mother’s dismay. “I love it.”

Your mother offers a small grunt by way of reply, watching him eat and taking small sips of her tea. Dieter notices you both hold your cups the same way, forefinger and pinky slightly out. It makes him long for you, wishing you were here with him as he attempts this conversation.

But you can’t be, he knows you’re too stubborn for it. Judging by how your mother is looking at him now, it’s a familial trait.

“I wanted to come over and try to explain things.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” your mother snaps, her teacup placed on the coffee table. “You and my daughter made a baby, she’s selling it to you and she never told me.”

"I'm sorry it was a secret for so long,” Dieter says. “It's just because of my notoriety that we had to keep it under wraps.”

“From the world, I understand, but from her own mother?” She shakes her head. “Do you know how hurtful that is? To find out your only child is pregnant because of the tabloids? To think you’re going to be a grandmother and then find out she’s selling the baby off?”

“She signed an NDA," Dieter explains with a wince, knowing how awful it sounds. "I'm so sorry. She hated to do it. It was my fault."

"And your mother?" Your mom huffs. "I bet she knew she was going to be a grandma before the tabloids di-"

She breaks off, irritated when she sees the hollow look in Dieters eyes.

"My uh, my mom isn't alive," Dieter says, fingers tapping anxiously at his side. "She died when I was in my twenties."

"Your father?"

Dieter shakes his head, wincing. Your fierce mother immediately softens her tone, her shoulders lowering.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry to me about anything,” Dieter says in a soft rasp. “I’m the one who you should be mad at. Not your daughter.”

Your mother wraps her arms around herself. "How is she?"

"Hurt. She misses you."

"Must not miss me much. She's made no attempt to call."

"She's worried about what you'll say. Your opinion matters so much to her, you know that. Especially with her dad gone."

Your mother swallows. "They were so similar. So stubborn and..."

Suddenly the dam behind the woman's eyes breaks and Dieter watches her face crumple. 

"I just wish he was here," she says, shoulders shaking. Dieter feels his own eyes filling with tears, his heart aching in tandem. He can't help but reach out and cover her hand with his. 

"I’m so sorry."

"If he was here he would know exactly what to say," your mother continues, allowing his hand to remain over hers. "Michael could always get through to her when I couldn't."

“My mom knew me in a way my dad never did,” Dieter offers after a moment. “Knew exactly the right thing to say at the right time. It’s hard not having that. But you still have time with your daughter. Time that’s wasting with you two being mad at each other.”

Your mother blinks up at Dieter, a slow understanding reflected in her swimming eyes. As if she’s seeing him properly for the first time. He continues on, encouraged that it’s been over five minutes and she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“And I know you think this whole thing with the baby is a spontaneous decision and that I’m massively immature and yeah, I can be. But you need to know that when your daughter told me she was pregnant it was the best day of my life," Dieter says, his voice thick with emotion.

He takes a moment, swallowing and blinking furiously. His hand tightens around your mothers’.  

“But I’m not that guy anymore. I’ve changed. She’s changed me, my son has changed me. I’m not perfect, but I also don’t think there’s anyone in the world that will love your da—grandson more than me.”

Your mother blinks rapidly, her weathered face softening further. “My grandson?”

“If you want him to be,” Dieter explains, suddenly unsure. “If your daughter is okay with it. I don’t have any parents in my life. It would be nice for him to have a grandmother.”

Any lingering distaste your mother may have held for Dieter is wiped away in that moment. The sincerity in his wide dark eyes and the nervous way he twists the rings on his fingers endears her further.

“And I know you’re upset with her about all of this but I promise I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life,” Dieter finishes, his eyes glassy. “Even if she’s in Sacramento doing school. Even if she never wants to see me or our son. I want to make her happy and that means taking care of you too. The house is paid for; your daughter will be taken care of.”

Your mother’s hands move from under Dieter’s to over, clasping his wide hands tightly. She has a gentle smile on her face now, the anger gone from her voice.

“I thank you Dieter. That is a kindness that touches my heart. Knowing I can remain in the same house I raised my family in means more to me than you realize. But it wasn’t your place to do it.”

“I know.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“Please,” Dieter begs with his big brown eyes so round and sorrowful your mother has to blink back a new onslaught of tears. “She’s giving me the world. The rest of your mortgage is nothing in comparison to that.”

Your mother can’t help but laugh out loud at the earnestness in his expression. He grins crookedly as she laughs, wiping tears from her lash line. He waits until she sobers, shaking her head with a small smile on her face.

“Alright, I accept it. But only if you’ll let me cook you dinner every once in a while.”

“And cinnamon bread?”

“And cinnamon bread,” your mother says laughing again.  “As for taking care of my daughter? That is something you’ll have to take up with her. But be warned she’s even more stubborn than me.”

“Don’t I know it,” Dieter grins shyly, causing the two of them to chuckle between themselves softly.

“I’ll call her,” your mother says resolutely. “I need to apologize and tell her she can move back home if she wants.”

Dieter immediately stiffens. He hadn’t thought about this part.

"Actually if its okay I want her to stay with me until the baby is born," Dieter explains, curls falling into his eyes, his mannerisms anxious. "I like having my son nearby."

"And perhaps having my daughter nearby too?" Your mother peers into his face with a small curl of her lips.  “You care for her. More than a boss for an employee. Or a father for a surrogate.”

Dieter looks overcome for the moment, his dark eyes on the floor. He doesn’t know how to respond.

“That’s between you two,” your mother acknowledges. “It’s not my place to say anything.”

Before Dieter can say anything in reply he hears the sound of a frantic key turning in the lock and the front door is thrust open. 

The two of them whip their heads in the direction of the front door to see you stumbling into the house, slamming the door behind you. Your hair is wild, your face flushed and you look extremely pissed off. You look at the two of them on the couch and your brows knit.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

"How did-"

"Magda," you answer before Dieter can finish the question. "Why the fuck are you here at my house with my mom?"

You watch as your mom rises from the couch next to Dieter. Her eyes are wet and when she gazes at your very full stomach she gives a soft little gasp. 

"Honey-"

"Don't honey me," you snap, feeling angry tears welling in your eyes as you glare over at Dieter. "Let's go, Dieter."

"Baby, wait-" Dieter starts, pausing only when you whip back around to fix him with a leveling glare.

He looks so sorrowful standing there between you and your equally broken-looking mother that you find yourself relenting. You have an idea on why he’s here and even if it wasn’t his place you can’t deny that it was kind of him to try.

"Go wait in the kitchen, please."

Dieter opens his mouth to suggest something else but the glint to your eyes has him slamming it shut and nodding. You wait until he's shuffled into the next room before looking back at your mother. 

"Baby?" Your mom ventures gently. 

"He calls everyone that," you lie. 

She nods slowly but you know she doesn't believe you. Your mother also knows you well enough that she doesn’t attempt to sway you.

"Here, come take a seat," she offers motioning to the couch. "Your ankles must be swollen."

You lift a surprised brow but you waddle over to her, settling into the seat with an exhale. You look at Dieter’s leftover cinnamon bread crumbs and frown. How long was he here for? You look back to your mother, shocked at her gentle countenance. You’d expected anger or frustration, instead you see only regret.

"How did you know about the ankles?"

"I was the same when I was pregnant with you," she says coming to sit on the other end of the couch. "I carried high like you as well."

"Really?" You absently drape your fingers over the curve of your stomach.

"Oh yes," your mother smiles, eyeing your bump.

As you sit there discussing this with shy smiles you wish that this pregnancy was normal. That you had a husband and excited family that threw you a baby shower for a child you'd be able to bring home and care for at the end of it all. 

You wish your mom felt comfortable to place her hands on your stomach and to care for this little boy you carry. But she’s holding back her emotions, not wanting to get attached.

After several moments your mom shuffles closer to you on the couch, her hand coming to cup not your stomach, but your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” your mom says, and you’re shocked at the tears pooling in her eyes. “I never wanted… I just… I acted shamefully.”

“I don’t understand why,” you explain, chin wobbling. “We’ve always had a great relationship. Or I thought we did.”

“I thought we did too,” your Mom acknowledges. “But considering you kept this a secret I think I might have done something wrong along the way. You never should have been afraid to come to me with this.”

You don’t know how to answer that.

“You won’t understand until you’re a -” you mom catches herself. “A parent provides for their children, not the other way around. I felt ashamed that you felt you needed to take care of me.”

For a moment you look at her not as your mother, but as a woman. A tired woman who sacrificed so much to see you taken care of and your heart cracks. 

“I like taking care of you Mom,” you explain, swallowing the tears there. “I love you. You’re all I have left. Fighting with you these past few weeks has been awful.”

“I know honey,” your mom says and now she pulls you into her arms, rocking you as if you were still that child who ran to her with a scraped knee or boy troubles. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

“Of course I do,” you say, burying your face in her shoulder as you let the tears flow. For the first time since your father died the two of you cry together, arms wrapped around one another, your son nestled between the two of you. Finally sniffling you pull back, wiping at your eyes.

“Were you mean to Dieter?”

“Tried to be,” your mother replies with a grin. “Impossible to be though. He’s very sweet.”

“He’s been amazing through this whole thing,” you answer honestly, feeling the need to sing his praises to the woman who usually derides him. “He’s been the most supportive, caring version of himself I’ve ever seen. Sober, sweet and I love being around him.”

Your mother’s eyes search yours intensely, so much that you blink wondering what she’s looking for.  Her gaze breaks when a shy Dieter knocks on the wall separating the two rooms.

“Uh, is it okay if I come in?”

Your mother laughs. “We’ll come to you. My daughter needs some cinnamon bread.”

The two of you stand, your mom helping you before letting her hand fall briefly to your swollen belly. You watch her face beaming as she does before her eyes go to yours.

“My baby having a baby,” she murmurs.

The two of you enter into the kitchen hand in hand. Dieter is standing by the sink, his hair even more wild than usual. He was obviously running his hands through it anxiously.

Dieter approaches you both slowly, as if he’s concerned one of you will be furious. When he sees the easy smile in both of your faces and your clasped hands he feels the tightness in his chest release.

“Thank you, Dieter,” you tell him gently as he approaches. He doesn’t push it, doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He just nods his head, smiling and coming to stand next to you. Your mother releases your hand, coming to stand in front of you both.

“Now you can retire,” Dieter offers with a hopeful look in your mother’s direction.

“No,” your mom says shortly, drawing both sets of eyes her way. You feel yourself deflate, closing your eyes for a steadying moment. You can’t stand the cruelty she’s still holding in her heart for Dieter after everything.

“Mom-“

“No, I like my job,” your mother tells Dieter, ignoring you. She comes to stand in front of him, having to look up due to her short stature. “I enjoy it. So I won’t retire. But I will work less and try to enjoy more of my life.”

You both break into easy grins.

“Yes ma’am.”

Your mother’s smile dims a fraction as she gazes between the two of you.

“Dieter has offered me a chance to be the baby’s grandmother,” your mother says quietly. “But that will be your decision my love. I won’t do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

You swallow. “Do you want to be his grandmother? Even if I’m not in the picture? Even if we have no legal right?”

“I would,” your mother replies without hesitation. You turn your head to face the taller man to your left.

“And you’re really okay with it, Dieter?”

“More than okay.”

Dieter’s eyes are on the ground, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. He wishes his own mother was here, wishes she could have met you. He knows that she would have loved you.

“Then I’m okay with it,” you murmur.

He’s so grateful that his baby will have a grandmother. Even if you want nothing to do with him he’ll forever have this tie to you.

Your mother glances over at Dieter before stepping towards him. 

"Let me see your face," your mother demands cupping Dieter's stubbled cheeks in her hands and forcing his eyes to hers. A few quiet minutes pass, their eyes in silent communion before you see both sets watering.

You watch in shock as your mother leans forward and in an act so naturally maternal kisses Dieter's forehead gently.

"You're a good man," she tells him gently. "A good man who acts silly sometimes."

When tears slip down Dieter’s cheeks you feel your jaw drop.  Your mother pulls him into a tight hug, rocking him as they stand, murmuring something into his wild hair. You breathe unsteadily when his own arms go to wrap around her waist, clinging to her. He looks like a lost boy finding harbor in the embrace of his mother, his shoulders shaking gently as she soothes him in her arms.

She looks over at you, smiling gently. She tugs you over into her arms as well and before long the three of you are embracing standing in the middle of your mom's messy kitchen.

"Will you two stay for dinner?" Your mother asks eyes hopeful when the three of you break apart, all sets of eyes glassy.  

"That would be so great," Dieter says excitedly before you can answer, rubbing at his wet eyes. He wants to take advantage of being in your home. He wants to see where you grew up, where you exist when you're not with him. 

"You're Chilean right?"

"Part, yeah."

"Right, I'm going to pop out to the market," your mom says with a wide grin as she picks up her car keys. "I'll be back in a flash."

Your mother is gone excitedly out the door before you can even process what’s happening. That you’re having dinner with your boss and your mom and your unborn child. It’s all a bit much. And yet the thought warms you.

“So do I get a tour?”

“Sure,” you say grinning. Without thought you take his hand, guiding him through the hall pointing out the rooms, giving small synopsis like “this is where I was standing when my first boyfriend called and broke up with me” and “this is where I fell in the tub and cracked my tooth”

“And you know my bedroom,” you tell him with a smirk. “Very acquainted with the closet, I believe.”

He grins before taking his time looking around your room. Last time he’d been in a rush, but today he looks at everything. He sees the framed photo of you on horseback, the science ribbons for first and second place. He notices a trophy for high school tennis. He grins at the poster of Cillian Murphy behind your door. He sees the Polaroid’s of you and your friends stuck to your mirror.

“You never mention your friends,” Dieter observes pointing at the photo. “How come?”

“I never see them,” you shrug coming over to peer at them. “They all got married, had kids. I was in school and then I was working and we kind of just lost touch.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Honestly? Sometimes. But school and my career just always seemed more important.”

“You don’t think you could have both? A career and a family?”

“Not really,” you shake your head. “Can’t have it all.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno,” you shrug again. “Something has to give.”

“Only if you have a shit partner,” Dieter offers.

Before you can say anything more he’s gone to your bookshelf, looking at the tomes that reside there and muttering their titles under his breath. You watch him just existing in this room, before your reason for rushing over here affronts you.

“Did you pay off my Mom’s mortgage?”

“Yeah,” Dieter replies after a beat, twisting to face you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

You stare at Dieter as he says this, the passion in his voice overwhelming you. Since when was this his plan? You’re supposed to take the three hundred grand and go.

“Why do that? You knew I was going to do it.”

“I wanted that money to be for you,” Dieter explains. “Not taking care of the mortgage and everything else. I’d pay for your school too but something tells me you’d refuse that.”

“Correct.”

“Your mother was right, you are stubborn.”

This gets a shocked laugh out of you. “What else did you two talk about?”

“That’s between her and me,” he says with a supercilious look on his face. “I think she might like me better than you at this point.”

Affection swims through your limbs and it carries you to him. Without warning your hands go to his shoulders, mouth pressing gently to his. He accepts this eagerly, his wet tongue dabbing against yours gently.

"Thank you," you whisper against his full mouth. "But you don't have to take care of me."

"I like taking care of you," Dieter murmurs, his nose tracing yours. "You spent so long taking care of me and everyone else; let me take care of you now."

You nod; kissing him again and feeling him slowly back you towards your bed.

“Mia,” you remind him.

“Its fine,” he assures you, hands tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m not going to sleep with you when you’re in a relationship, Dieter.”

“I’m not,” he promises you, “I swear.”

You want to press him for more information. But more than that, you just want Dieter. You need to be as close to him as possible. You need to feel his bare skin on yours, inhale the crook of his neck, taste his lips.

And when he gently urges you onto your back in your childhood bed you don't fight him. You allow him to bring down your shorts and panties and even though you can't see anything other than his hair over your belly you can't stop the gasp that escapes you when his mouth begins to work over your core.  

Moments later after you've come spectacularly for him, groaning out his name with your thighs quivering against his ears and your hands fisting through his hair, he crawls up next to you on the bed. 

He traces over your abdomen, his dark eyes ever widened in wonder as he feels his son underneath his palm. Sunlight filters in through your bedroom window, giving him a haloed effect as he gazes down at you, his mouth swollen and damp.

"I don't know how I'm going to go back to normal life," you smile sleepily as you run a finger along his lower lip. "After being spoiled by Dieter Bravo school is sure going to pale in comparison." 

Dieter keeps the smile frozen on his face but inside his stomach drops.  Your schooling is going to start soon. He’s going to be separated from you. He feels his sons foot kick him and you both giggle. At least he’ll have this part of you.

He helps you into your panties and shorts before your mother returns shortly after. If she notices your flushed cheeks and Dieters extra mussed hair she doesn't comment on it. 

"I cheated," your mom says with a mischievous little smile that Dieter thinks looks identical to yours as she hands you both your plates when you come to sit at the dining table. "There's a wonderful Latin restaurant in town. They make the best palta." 

The food is just as good as she made it seem. Between the palta and the Estofado and variety of empanadas you’re quickly overwhelmed with taste. You take your time savoring it though, making a note to try more Chilean food in the future.

“So I guess I’ll move back tomorrow,” you say after a hot bite of your stew. “I only have the two suitcases.”

Nothing about moving back appeals to you, aside from seeing your mother on a regular basis. You know for a fact that being away from Dieter will hurt, but perhaps that’s for the best. You need to separate yourself from this silly fantasy.

"You can move back here at any time my love," your mom enthuses before casting a quick look at Dieter's downturned face. "But I think it would be best if you stayed at Dieter's. He has all that space and a pool and that chef-"

"But I don't like to think of you here all by yourself," you insist.

"Honey, don't worry about me. I lived with your father and then you for over thirty five years. I need a break."

You sputter a surprised laugh at this. This whole time you had been painting your mother as this sad tragic figure, when really she's a woman coming into her own just as much as you are. You swallow your mouthful, eyes darting to the man at your left.

"Is it okay if I stay at your place a little longer, Dieter?"

"Of course," Dieter enthuses through a mouthful of avocado. "I told you, stay as long as you like. And now your Mom can come visit whenever she likes."

You smile at this, holding in the urge to kiss him.

When Dieter rests his arm on the back of your chair during the rest of dinner you don't even register it happening. When his fingertips absently trace your upper arm as he listens to your mom talking about her job you don't notice. 

But your mom notices. She notices it all.

On the drive back home your mind is a muddle of things. But mostly your heart swells with the knowledge that Dieter, a man you always thought was chronically selfish did this for you at no gain for himself.

"You didn't have to do that for me," you tell him as you walk back into Dieter’s home a short while later. He’s quiet with a faraway look in his eyes.  

"I know. I just wanted to help."

The two of you are heading to the kitchen, about to put away the leftovers your mother insisted on sending home with you. Dieter takes them from your hands with a soft “I got it” before popping them in the fridge.

Dieter had always struck you as self-centered, the entire time you worked for him. From the flippant way he spoke to people in the industry he disliked, to the cavalier attitude towards other PA’s.

But right now all you can think of is the way he's continually showed up for you. The way he supports you in not only this pregnancy but your schooling, your family, your goals. You see a change in him, one that takes your breath away.

“Dieter?”

“Yeah?”

He sees your eyes and the way they go dark the longer you stare at him. The desire is so clear in your expression.  

He crosses the room and his mouth comes to yours, petal soft. He sighs, hands coming to either side of your neck, thumbs propped against your jaw. You lean into the kiss, your belly sandwiched between the two of you.

"Take me to bed, Dieter."

Dieter doesn't hesitate, his arm bands around your waist guiding you to the bedroom. 

He takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your flesh he uncovers. He kisses the stretch marks on your belly, and he caresses the extra flesh that pads your body with a reverence that makes you teary.

Your stomach is getting too large for missionary so he sweetly urges you to roll onto your side, not doing anything until you’re comfortable. Only then does he makes sweet and gentle love to you, your head on his arm as he fills you slowly, watching the way your body responds to him.

He holds you delicately at first, not wanting to be too rough. But you’re eager, so fucking eager, and your hand goes to his hip, urging him to go harder, to go faster.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, your thigh over his, your body slowly being pumped into by him. You’re arching, whimpering his name as he holds you against him. Every stroke feels like adoration, every graze of his fingers against your clit feels like more than just desire.

“I need to hear you come, baby,” he murmurs, his nose running along your temple. You turn your face to him, kissing him gently as his thrusts deepen, his lips hot and needy.

“Wanna come for you,” you gasp, your body starting to clench around him tighter and tighter before your head is tilted back against his throat as you cry his name. Your body spasms as arousal coats his cock still buried within you.

“So good for me, so fucking good,” Dieter groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. Before long his eyes roll back and he’s emptying himself into you, hands gripping your chest and cunt, needing you as close as possible.

Slowly your breathing slows and you both grow drowsy. But before you fall asleep you roll until you’re facing him. He looks so beautiful staring back at you with sleepy eyes and his curls spread out on his pillow.

You kiss him gently, hand at his collar before pulling back.

"Dieter, I think you're gonna make an amazing father."

Something about the sincerity in your voice moves him to tears that he has to blink back. He draws you closer to him under the duvet, needing the warmth of your skin, the closeness of your body.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Every word."

Dieter is on a unicorn floaty, half dozing in the late morning sunshine when you ask him.

"Dieter, will you tell me about your mom?"

It comes out of nowhere one day in the pool. You're half stretched out on a purple pool noodle, your lower half submerged in the clear water as you kick lazily. Dieter turns his head when you ask him. 

"What about her?"

You shift on your pool noodle, getting comfortable. "What was she like?"

Dieter takes a moment to compose his thoughts. His lower lip tends to stick out when he does it. 

"Funny. Smart. Dramatic like me." Dieter grins. "She died when I was in my early twenties and sometimes I wanna be furious about all the time I didn't get to spend with her. But then I count myself lucky I had two decades." 

You don't say much to that. You don't know why but you crave more knowledge about Dieter that isn't surface level. You crave more from him, almost like you need to know him better than anyone. 

"She's the one who encouraged me to go into acting," Dieter continues. "She worked two jobs so she could pay for my acting classes."

"Really?" 

"Yeah. She was so excited when I got the scholarship to RADA," Dieter says dragging his hand through the water. 

"She sounds amazing."

"She would have loved you," Dieter says before he can stop himself. For some reason this comment causes your heart to flip. 

He looks momentarily lost in thought before turning his gaze to you. His eyes scan the freckles starting on your shoulders, the light that shines in your hair. He's dazzled for a moment before he remembers that he wanted to ask you something. 

 "What about you? What was your dad like?" 

A little smile breaks out over your features. You rarely talk about your father but right now all that comes to you are good memories. 

"Smart. Scary smart actually. Like, every time we played wheel of Fortune he'd guess it within like the first two letters," you laugh gently. "He was the first person I told about my Masters program. The first person I told about a lot of stuff. He was always my cheerleader." 

"Sounds like a great dad."

"He loved your movies," you say, kicking your feet in the water gently. "He made me sit through a Cliff Beasts marathon one year for his birthday."

Dieter almost falls off his floaty in shock. 

"No shit. Really?"

"Yeah," you give a giggle before turning a bit reserved. "He and your mom would have gotten along, I think.”

"Bet they would have been the most amazing grandparents," Dieter says in a faraway voice.

"Definitely."

Dieter shifts in the unicorn, causing it to squeak. His sunglasses are slid back up his nose and he grows somber. 

"You must be excited about starting school again," Dieter says tightly hoping the disapproval in his voice isn't obvious.

He looks over at you when you don't reply right away. You look conflicted, almost guilty as you glide a hand through the water in front of you. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm continuing on with school and everything because that's what I was doing when my dad died," you offer solemnly. 

"Are you?"

"Not sure. When he died I thought it was such a natural next step to use my biology background and go into research." A niggle of doubt is there at the back of your head. "But I'm not sure that's what I want anymore."

"So you might not go back?"

Dieter hopes the eagerness in his voice isn't too obvious. 

"I don't know," you answer honestly before sliding off the pool noodle and paddling in place. "I'm tired. I think I'm gonna have a nap."

Dieter watches you walk up the steps of the pool, ass twitching as you grab a towel and head into the main house. But that's not what causes the grin to start on his face.  

You're not sure about going back to school. 

There's hope. 

"Just this once," Dieter murmurs, his teeth skating along your pulse point. "C'mon baby." 

You’re on all fours, your stomach supported by a variety of pillows. Dieter is behind you, hands on your hips, his body tilting over yours. It’s a Saturday night and he’s just got back from a particularly boring table read.

His hands found yours without question when he got home not long ago, pulling you along with him to bed and whispering into your ear the one thing he’s wanted to hear since he got you pregnant.

You sigh heavily, eyes closed as he sinks into you.

"Please make me come… Daddy.” 

Dieter groans lowly in his throat, his cock driving into you deeply. You're too overwhelmed by the sensation to be turned off by the honorific. And if he’d just left it at that, you could have continued without further distraction.

But Dieter is completely turned on by the expression, his hands coming to hold yours to the mattress as he tilts his mouth to your temple.

"Yeah, you made me a Daddy," Dieter breathes against your ear as he thrusts. "You like that? Huh? Daddy fucking you?" 

“Not at all,” you cringe, unable to help yourself from laughing. The entire ‘Daddy’/‘Mommy’ thing has never turned you on.  “I hate it worse than baby mama.”

Dieter sighs, his motions slowing. "C'mon."

"It's creepy," you tell him. "I don't like the Daddy thing."

"Fine," Dieter grumbles as his motions slow further. "Just wanted a little dirty talk is all."

Dieter’s thrusting has gone from staccato-ed to completely still. You glance over your shoulder at him with your brows raised. His cheeks are red, he’s embarrassed. Dieter rarely gets embarrassed like this and you find it completely endearing.

 “I was just trying to have a little fun,” Dieter pouts, about to pull out of you.

“Hey hey, I like fun,” you tell him, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck so he can’t leave in a huff. You start to push back against his length, gratified when you hear him give a muffled whimper into your shoulder.

“Like maybe you tie me up sometime?”

“You’d let me do that?” Dieter asks in awe, his cock slipping further into you. You groan at the sensation, arm dropping as you gain purchase on the mattress once more. His thrusting is increasing in tempo again, stoking that pleasured spot within you.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly. “Yeah, I would.”

And you mean it. You’ve never done it with anyone else, but you would with Dieter. He doesn’t do things harsh and cruel. He touches you reverently. You trust him. “I’d let you tie my wrists and ankles,” you tell him, body arching as he continues to thrust. “Let you have your way with me.”

Dieter gives a guttural choke at the very thought of it. You tied up, spread eagle on his bed so he could go down on you for hours. Pulling delicious fucking noises from you as you writhe for him.

“Would you want that?” you tease, knowing very well he would.  “Having me at your mercy, Dieter?  Fucking me exactly how you want?”

“Yes,” Dieter almost shouts, “fuck yes I would. Please…. Fuck I…”

His forehead dips to your shoulder blade as he pulls you back and forth against his length, jutting his hips forward. You feel so good, so silken and tight and perfect and he can’t believe this is happening. That you’ve fallen into this comfortably rhythm of give and take. That you can be vulnerable with him like this.

“How would you fuck me?” you ask, feeling your climax approaching. “Tell me, Dieter, I’m so close.”

“Would eat you out for hours. Wouldn’t…. wouldn’t be able to help myself,” Dieter grunts, his cock quickly pressing into you over and over. “Then I’d turn you over...a-and I’d tie your wrists together, mmmph…. And I’d…I’d-“

Dieter doesn’t get to finish that thought because he feels you hit your peak, whining out his name as you climax. Dieter feels your cunt milking his cock and his voice croaks out some garbled gibberish as he empties himself into you.

You fall asleep not long after that, your naked body glowing in the moonlight like some goddess of myth. He realizes he would do anything to keep you like this. Happy and sated and with him.

But mostly, he wants you to want him. 

"You said you got into RADA right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't go," Dieter says as he goes over his latest script suggestion from his agent. "Got a reoccurring part in a soap opera a few weeks before I was starting and then the first Cliff Beasts and then, well, you know the rest."

"Do you still have your audition tape?" 

"It's on YouTube. Some asshole uploaded it when I got nominated for my Oscar."

"Really? Can we watch it?"

"Knock yourself out."

Dieter watches you waddle to the tv room, excitedly bringing YouTube up on the television and typing Dieter Bravo RADA audition. 

You sit on the couch, looking eagerly up at the screen. A very fresh-faced Dieter pops up. 

"Oh my gosh you're so young!" You say with a girlish giggle. "So weird to see you without a beard."

Dieter can't help but casually make his way over to the couch, plopping down next to you and watching his younger self. 

"Hi my name is Dieter Bravo and I would like to submit myself for acceptance into your program," the young Dieter says, eyes bright and smile big. "Today I'll be performing Gloumov’s monologue from The Diary of a Scoundrel” by Alexander Ostrovsky."

"Your voice is so different."

The young Dieter positions himself slightly to the left of the screen. 

"Barely out of puberty." Dieter casts a critical eye over his formerly svelte frame. "And about fifty pounds lighter."

"I like how you look now," you answer honestly. "More manly."

Before Dieter can accept that compliment his younger self is starting the scene. 

"Look into my eyes. Can’t you see there that I’d rather die than cause you a moment’s pain?"

Young Dieter takes a moment, his dark eyes beguiling as he stares into the camera, overcome, before continuing. And there on the screen You see the same transformation that you saw back on set in Ireland. Where Dieter becomes the character. 

"Oh, if you only knew how many times your sweet, gentle smile has stopped me on the very brink of impropriety," the young Dieter pauses, his eyes shiny. 

"But even that day when I forgot myself, you didn’t turn me from the house! Oh, my God, what happiness you’ve given me. What happiness, what happiness!"

A tear is shining on young Dieter's cheek as he gives a soft smile into the camera, a look of relief on his face. 

"Holy shit," you breathe, eyes wide. "Dieter that was ... Really good."

"You sound surprised."

"Well I guess ... I've only really seen you in the Cliff Beasts movies. I didn't know you could, you know, act-act."

"You thought I won an Oscar for having a great personality?"

You give him a playful shove as Dieter's younger self comes back to the screen. 

"Thank you for your time. Hope I see you in the fall."

Dieter plucks the remote from the coffee table about to change it to something less him. He tires of seeing his face on televisions and phones and sides of buses. 

Something captures his attention though, one of the suggested videos on the right. 

"Hmmm, there's a video on home births," Dieter says as he navigates the screen. "Wanna watch? Might prep us."

"Sure."

Thirty minutes later Dieter pauses the television, both of you sitting shell-shocked next to one another. 

"That was a terrible idea."

"I agree."

The camera had captured everything. In HD detail. Up close. Including a very vivid image of a baby crowning.

"That's what's gonna happen to me?" You say in a high pitched voice, struggling to your feet. "I can't do that!"

You've been reading books ever since the strip turned pink, but actually seeing it is totally different.

"A little late for that," Dieter says from the couch watching you begin to pace back and forth in front of the television. 

"That was disgusting," you say with a particularly aggressive jab of your finger towards the television. "Did you know about the placenta? It's like I have to give birth twice!"

"At least it's not twins," Dieter offers weakly. He doesn't miss the irritation that flashes in your eyes. 

"Should we watch the rest?"

"Your call," Dieter shrugs. You take a moment, looking at the television paused on a serious looking doctor. 

You take your seat next to Dieter once more. "Okay. I'm ready."

Twelve minutes later the movie is shut off indefinitely.

"An episiotomy?" You practically shriek before leaving the room. "If that happens I'm charging you extra, Bravo!"

Your mother starts to come over weekly for coffee. The first time she does you show her the nursery. She's all smiles and wet eyes as she walks around the space. You know she's marveling at the high-end designer items, the impossibly soft sheets and ornately carved crib. You never grew up with expensive things like that. 

When the two of you make your way into the kitchen and you make her a coffee she smiles up at you. 

"Dieter told me about the charity he's thinking of creating."

You almost drop the espresso cup that you're holding. "You talk with Dieter?"

"Of course," she nods. "He calls me to update me on the baby and texts the odd photo every now and again."

"What?!"

You're struck dumb by this. Your mother barely texts you, and now she's best friends with your boss? She smiles at your discomfiture.  But you’re blown away, and a little irritated since you also send your mom updates via email almost daily when she’s not here for her weekly (decaf) coffee checkups and snuggles.

"You fit right in here."

"I'm just part of the scenery until the baby gets here" you smile pouring her the coffee and sliding the mug towards her across the counter. "Then it's back to school and on my way to a PhD for research."

You slice up the carrot cake that Petra made for your visit (along with your help), sliding a plate to your mother and taking one for yourself.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," your mom says, gaze curious. "Why are you doing the PhD thing?"

You sit across from her, brows raised. "You know why, Mom."

"It’s just you never wanted one before your father passed," she says lightly. "You said your Masters was enough."

You don't know why but you feel defensive. 

"Well when he died I wanted to do something to honor him I guess. What better way to do that than by helping with the research?"

"Your father was a smart man, he was amazing at his job and so proud of you, you know that," your mother tells you before placing a dry hand over yours. "But his biggest joy in life was being a father."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying I don't want you to dedicate your life to something because you feel like you should. This is your life, my love. You only get one."

"I know."

"There are plenty of ways to give back, to honor your father and still be around to watch your son grow up."

Your hackles immediately rise and she can tell the second they do. 

"I'm sorry," she says quickly when she sees the expression on your face. "Never mind. Let's talk about something else."

The rest of the visit flows smoothly, but you can’t ignore the way your mother looks at you whenever you mention Dieter.

"Taco Bell."

Dieter is woken out of a deep sleep by your lips at his ear. You're curled up together in his bed, your belly prodding his lower back. 

"A Burrito supreme and a large Baja blast… And Cinnamon Twists…And four fire sauce packets."

You're warm against his spine, voice a soft whisper huffed along his earlobe. He’s dazed, his eyes blurry as he attempts to understand what’s happening.

"Huh?"

"I need Taco Bell," you urge. "Please?"

A quick glance at his phone tells him that it's nearing 2:00 a.m.

"S'too late for the delivery apps, baby," he murmurs, patting your thigh companionably as if the conversation is now over. 

For the most part, Dieter can anticipate and appease your cravings. Usually through Petra or food delivery apps. But at almost two in the morning he has access to neither. 

You don't care. 

You've been tossing and turning for hours because all you can think about is the beans and tomato and beef... You're practically drooling already. You pat his bottom politely, trying to signal he needs to get out of bed.  

"The drive thru is open."

"It's late."

"But I need it," you whine. 

You have no interest in attempting to drive one of Dieter's fancy foreign cars he keeps in the large garage. And it's too late to call a town car so you're stuck. 

"No one ever needs Taco Bell. Bringing that shit in here is offensive," he mutters into his pillow. "S'full of filler and chemicals."

You give a soft exhale through your nose, about to flop onto your back in defeat when something occurs to you. Something else that you're craving as well.  

Dieter is drifting back to sleep when he feels the light graze of your hand sliding over his hip. He thinks he's imagining it, but as the sensation continues his cock begins to stir. He goes rigid as your hand slides under his boxers, fingertips teasing his warm length as he groans. 

"You do this for me and I'll do something for you when you get back," you purr, tongue coming to trace his lobe. "Daddy." 

Dieter jumps out of the bed and nearly trips in his pursuit to grab his car keys as he simultaneously tugs on his sweatpants. 

"You want cheesy potatoes too?"

When you wake up at seven months pregnant and see your reflection one morning you almost burst into tears.

You’re standing in front of the dresser mirror in your bikini, the only one left that fits. Your tits are practically bursting out of the cups, the bottoms tie at your hips dig into your flesh. You feel huge, you feel ugly and you feel not yourself.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door. Dieter peeks around, already dressed for the pool, a pink towel slung over his freckled shoulder.

“Swim time?”

Usually you swim by yourself, but Dieter has a rare free morning this week and he wants to take advantage. It had seemed like such a nice suggestion at breakfast, but now you balk, wishing you had anything else to wear but your fucking bikini.

Before it hadn’t mattered, but today you feel gross. You want to cover up as much as possible and you reach for your towel. But Dieter’s eyes are already drifting over your body, his cock stirring.

Dieter takes in the way your stomach protrudes out in the bikini, a beacon of fertility; his son nestled there safe within your body. He moves into the room, the towel dropping without thought onto the floor behind him.

"You're exquisite," Dieter breathes, his hand coming to rest on your belly. You feel his thumb gently rub, his eyes sparkling as he continues to stare at you.

"I look disgusting," you say cringing away from him. Dieter won't let go of your wrist as you try to flee. 

"Are you fucking insane?" 

“Dieter stop,” you say, wincing away from him and trying to pull your wrist out of his warm grip.

"You don't believe me," Dieter states flatly. 

"No I don't," you reply sharply. "It's what everyone tells pregnant women so they don't feel shitty about looking like a house."

Dieter blinks at you as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing before he’s shaking his head. His hands slide to your plush hips, turning you back to face the dresser. His eyes have blown pitch black, and his hands can’t stop from running along your body. 

"Look at her," Dieter groans into your ear. "Look at that sexy thing in the mirror."

"Dieter-"

"Keep looking," he urges you, hand gently forcing your face in the direction of the mirror before his hands slide up your bikini top over your breasts, pebbling the nipples. You swallow at the sensation, not even protesting when he unties it at the back, letting the colorful fabric drop to the ground.

You stand there in nothing but your bikini bottoms, cheeks flushed as Dieter groans deliciously behind you.  His hands come to cup your tits, thumbs grazing the protruding nipples.

“See her gorgeous fucking tits?”

You cringe away from the mirror, hating how you look. But if Dieter is lying about how turned on he is, he’s a better actor than you ever gave him credit for because his cock is swelling against your lower back, stiff and pulsing.

You let him untie your bikini bottoms, finding yourself already slick between your legs when they drop to the ground along with everything else. You watch in the mirror as Dieter sheds his swim shorts before gently urging you to place your forearms on the dresser.

You can only watch his face as he notches his cock at the entrance to your pussy, rubbing the head there and gathering the copious amounts of slick. His eyes flick from your face to your cunt as if he can’t decide which he needs to see more.

“Keep watching yourself, beautiful,” He rasps as he sinks into you, cock thick and full as you gasp. You’ll never tire of that sensation, the first thrust of his cock inside you. Your head falls forward but Dieter’s hand is there, gently making a fist in your hair and urging your face to the mirror.

"See how beautiful she looks when she's taking my cock?"

You can't see shit. Your belly is ballooned so far out you can barely handle it. But you look at your face and you see the heavy eyes and parted lips. You see the way you arch into Dieter’s body and how he towers over you and yeah... It's hot. 

"Cock drunk," Dieter tells you with a swell of pride. "All sexy and sleepy looking." 

His hands come to brace yours on the dresser, his dark eyes fixed on yours in the mirror.

"You see her?" Dieter pants, teeth gritting. "You see her tits bouncing? Feel her sweet pussy taking my cock? She's fucking magnificent. How can you say she’s not the sexiest thing alive?"

The way he talks about your reflection makes you almost jealous until you remember that it's you he's talking about. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Dieter babbles as he nears his orgasm. “Never been more turned on in my fucking life.”

And he means it. He means every fucking word. He can’t stop touching you, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, your mouth when you tilt back to face him. You whimper his name when he starts to fuck into you harder and harder.

“Come deep, Dieter,” you grunt. “Fuck me full.”

He does with one final thrust, painting your insides as he cries out your name.  

Despite this interlude you still suffer with crisis of confidence at times in the coming weeks. Your back is in constant pain. You waddle when you walk. You've never felt less attractive. 

Dieter is obsessed. He can't stop finding reasons to touch you, brushing your lower back when he passes you in the hall.

All pretenses of employer and employee are gone. You’re basically in his bed every night, fucking him whenever you get the chance. Neither of you observe it outright, but it’s there lingering under the surface every time he asks if you’re ready to go to bed. It’s there when you shower together, washing each other’s hair. It’s there when you both murmur good morning and let him kiss you languidly over coffee.

When he catches you napping in the sunshine on his couch he's so taken with you that you wake up to find his curly head between your legs and his mouth bringing you to a gentle orgasm. You keen against his lips, hands going to card through his hair as you come. 

You know why he's like this. It's because things are coming rapidly to an end. Once the baby is here this all ends. This ready access to sex, you lounging around his house. He'll have a newborn and you'll have a new life. You won't see him. You'll have your money, you'll be going back to school, and your mom's mortgage is paid off. 

Dieter knows how you feel about snuggling and he goes to pull away. 

"Don't," you say, arms outstretched, mouth twisted into a pout. Dieter stares at you in surprise, big puppy dog eyes wide. It makes you melt. He wraps himself around you, face nuzzling into your neck. The two of you snuggle there as you flick on the television to a Christmas special.

Just when you think Dieter is becoming a mature and sensible adult you feel him sigh heavily behind you.

“I'm not watching that depressing Christmas movie!" Dieter insists when It’s a Wonderful Life starts up. "I wanna watch the Muppet Christmas Carol!"

He can’t understand why you can’t stop laughing.

One quiet morning with Dieter filming audio reshoots for the Rogue Duchess you sit at the kitchen table, pensive. You stare at the pro and con list you've made sitting in front of you. 

Ever since the conversation with your mother you've been second guessing your next steps post birth. Are you just doing it because you think you should be? Are you doing it because that's what you were doing when your dad died? Are you doing it because of misplaced guilt?

Your dad had been so proud of you, telling everyone about your Masters problem and how you were well on your way to a PhD like him.  

He talked fondly about having two doctors and a nurse in the house, joking that your home would become like Grey's Anatomy. 

Even then you'd felt a bit of the pressure to perform. To pursue a PhD to make him proud. In all your focus and pursuit you'd never really stopped to ask yourself... Is this what you want? 

Pros - honor dad - get to be called doctor at the end Cons  - no social life - have to move to Sacramento for several years - not guaranteed a job I like when I graduate - away from mom  - STRESS - possible burnout - job market is competitive - won't necessarily make me happy

You need to add something else. Something that's been in the back of your head screaming for your attention. You raise your pen to the paper, adding your final item to the con list. 

- Too far away from Dieter and Bubble. 

And then a sentence you write and then immediately erase before crumpling the entire paper up in a ball.

- I'm in love with Dieter. 

[8:43am] D: It hasn't even started and I'm bored out of my fucking mind

[8:44am]: Dieter it'll be fun.

[8:44am] D: no it won't. I HATE these fucking marathon interview days 

Hours and hours of sitting with Mia and the rest of the crew talking about the upcoming film being released in a few months. He's covered in concealer and powder, his stylist has him in some absurdly patterned shirt that itches and he desperately needs a cigarette. 

[8:45am] D: I wanna be at home with you---

He hesitates before deleting that last message. He can't send you messages like that. You're not dating, no matter how much it feels like you are. He feels twitchy now, all out of sorts as he thinks about you home and waiting for him.

He sneaks off to the corner of the hotel, hoping he can get off a few puffs before Diane wrangles him back inside. 

He lights his cigarette, puffing away. He scans the space to make sure it's just hotel employees before he brings out his phone, going through his photos. He lands on the one from the other night, you mid laugh as the Jenga tower falls. You look so happy, so at ease. 

He’s so ridiculously in love with you.

How can he let you go? How can he go from seeing you every day to you becoming a stranger? You've got one foot out the door at all times and he doesn’t want to hold you back from your dreams. 

It was so easy to play house these past few months. To pretend like you were his. He was such a fool.

"Spare one?"

Dieter fumbles the phone, shoving it a hastily back into his jacket pocket. Its Mia dressed in a sleek black number, her makeup and hair perfect. She motions to the cigarette between his long fingers. 

"My last one," he says ruefully. 

Mia holds out her manicured fingers in his direction. "A quick puff then."

Dieter relents, handing it off to her. She takes a long drag, enjoying the curl of the smoke as the two of them stand shoulder to shoulder in silence. It feels awkward being together alone, the two of them haven't spoken since Prague. Dieter feels the need to fill the silence. 

"How's Sam?"

"He's good," Mia nods. "He's not secretly in love with his assistant so it's already much better than my last relationship."

Dieter can't help but let out a small chuckle at that.  Mia has been seen all over the tabloids in recent weeks with her hunky new Scottish co-star. Mia looks at Dieter with a small tilt of her head, squinting up at him.

"You tell her yet?"

"Tell who what?"

Mia takes another drag off the cigarette, giving him a leveling look.  "You know who and you know what."

Dieter says nothing, watching as Mia holds the cigarette aloft. She gives a dramatic sign when she sees. He's going to make her have to say it.

"Have you told your PA that you're fucking crazy about her," Mia says flatly. "That you want to marry her and have tons of little Bravo's running around."

"I do not."

"Maybe just the one little Bravo then," Mia smiles, handing him his cigarette. He feels her heavy gaze on him and he knows that she deserves answers. He put her through a lot and she has been gracious as hell about it.

He sighs heavily before twisting to face her head-on. "No, I haven't."

"Why not?"

"It’s…complicated." 

"What's complicated about love?"

"She told me she doesn't want to be a part of the baby's life."

"Back when she thought you only wanted to be together because you got her pregnant."

"She doesn't want me."

"Dieter I see how she looks at you. The girl is utterly besotted." 

"Might want to tell her that," Dieter huffs in forced amusement. 

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you’ve really never made it clear how you feel about Dieter. Yes, you like the sex and you laugh with him. But you’ve never actually made overtures, talked about the future. You think of a future that doesn’t include him or your son.

Mia pauses for a moment, thinking about something. Her eyes scan the vicinity and before Dieter can do anything Mia grips him by the collar and plants a chaste kiss to his lips. Dieter pulls back immediately, his face cloudy.

"What the fuck-"

"You'll thank me," Mia promises.

He goes to say something to her about how uncool that was but a text from you sails in, almost as if fate is giving him the prompt he needs.

[8:58am]: If I wanted to postpone school for a little bit, do you think I could still stay with you? I could pay rent and everything. I think I just want to reconsider some things. Dunno if school is where I want to be right now.

“Fuck yes,” Dieter breathes, re-reading the message several times to make sure he’s not reading it wrong. You want to stay. You want to stay longer with him. He's still staring at your text with a goofy smile on his face when Mia’s voice sounds out beside him. 

“Dieter, c'mon! Interviews are starting.”

He shoves his phone into his pocket, his grin bright as he follows Mia back inside the hotel for the marathon of interviews.

You want to stay.

The alert comes through on your phone, the setting still stuck on sending you Dieter Bravo related news items. 

You're relaxing on one of the chairs in the backyard, one hand gently rubbing your belly, the other holding your latest crime thriller novel. 

When the alert goes off its instinct to shut the book and retrieve the phone from the table beside you. Normal to scan the links that show up. 

BRAV-ROWE ROMANCE BACK ON? 

You sit up slowly, holding your expansive belly and grunting angrily. You continue reading as you walk inside, pacing around the kitchen. 

Bravo, 40, and Rowe, 25, were spotted earlier today stealing kisses between interviews for their upcoming release The Rogue Heiress. What’s setting tongues wagging is that Rowe has also been recently seen getting cozy with Sam Heughen, 43, back in her native England only last week. Was Sam just a distraction from her real feelings for Bravo? Or is this just a cleverly executed publicity stunt for their upcoming film? 

You slam your phone down onto the counter, irritation flooding you all over. 

What the fuck?

Here you are pining over this guy and he's off kissing his ex? 

Even their couple name is adorable. It fits. Your cheeks are flaming red at the realization that you fell for it. You fell for his lines, for his sweet eyes and sweeter mouth. You let yourself get swept up in a romance that isn't even real.

Dieter is an actor. He knows how to fake anything.

"I'm so fucking stupid," you say shaking your head. Bubble gives a gentle kick, drawing your attention back to the present.

 “Sorry honey. Mom’s not stupid. Just fucking naive.”

It's dark when Dieter finally makes it home, shrugging of his jacket and toeing off his shoes. He wants to go to bed, to hold you after this long and boring day. 

But you're not in bed. You're seated on the couch with the TV off. Your crossword book is beside you but you don't look like you've been working on it. Dieter feels a smile break out over his features at the sight of you in his home. 

"Hi baby," he murmurs as he approaches, confused when you slowly turn to face him with a furious look on your face. "What’s wrong?"

“Have anything to tell me?”

“Uh…no?”

He watches you throw your head back and give an obviously false laugh. “No?”

“No.”

“Kiss any old girlfriends lately, Dieter?”

Dieter is stunned. How the hell did you find out about that? "How-"

"It's all over TMZ and now all the other news outlets," you say, teeth clenching. Dieter thinks about the way Mia checked around them before kissing him. You take a seat on the couch, arms crossed over your chest.

"I didn't just go kiss her," Dieter defends, coming to sit next to you. "She kissed me."

"Didn't really seem like you were fighting her on it."

You hold up your phone where the picture of Mia kissing Dieter is blown up. It's clear you've been studying the picture. Mia’s hand is on his collar, Dieter’s hand is on hers, but only so that he could pull it off. But to the outside viewer this looks very intimate.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“No? Because what it looks like is you kissing your ex girlfriend.”

Dieter takes in the red of your cheeks and the way you’re clenching your jaw and despite everything a little thrill goes through him. 

"Why are you so upset?" Dieter purrs.

"I'm not," you insist.

You feel furious and out of sorts and you can't tell him why because you'll sound like a jealous girlfriend which you absolutely aren't. 

"You sound upset."

"Well I'm not." You chew at your bottom lip angrily. "It's just rude you know? Sleeping with me and seeing Mia. Does she-"

"I'm not seeing Mia," Dieter interjects. 

"I have eyes Dieter," you scoff. 

"She gave me a quick peck after we talked about Sam Heughan, her boyfriend, who she is in a committed relationship with."

"Yeah right."

Dieter stops a moment to take in your flushed cheeks, bright eyes and the arms that cross in front of you. You don’t want him to be seeing Mia and that can only mean one thing and that makes Dieter feel warm all over. His arm is on the back of the couch, almost behind your shoulders.

"You're jealous."

"I'm not," you insist, face heating. 

"Then why are you acting like this?" He probes, shifting closer to you on the couch. "Tell me the truth."

He’s so close and he smells so good and you just fucking… you just…

"Because you're mine."

It comes spilling out of you like a dam, a rush, a torrent of words that once said cannot be taken back. But for once you don’t want them taken back. You want him to know exactly what you mean, especially as you launch yourself towards him, your arms going around his neck, your stomach plump between the two of you. Dieter is grinning so widely his face might crack as he gazes at you on his lap. 

"I'm yours?"

"Yes," you all but growl, pushing him backwards until his broad shoulders hit the seat cushions of the couch and you begin straddling his prone body. His cock is rock hard through his pants, pressing into your core through your panties. 

You tug them to the side, not even bothering to take them off. Dieter is already sliding off his pants and boxers, smiling up at you eagerly. He's pulsing between your thighs, hissing with pleasure as you notch him at your soaked entrance. 

"Not hers," you grunt, sliding down his length with an aching groan escaping both of you. "No one else's. Just mine. You understand me, Bravo?"

You're staking your claim and Dieter is turned on out of his mind. You've never been possessive over him before, never been so commanding. Never been so clear in your desire for him. 

"Yes!"

He wishes he could hold you in his arms, but being laid out flat on his couch while you ride him isn't exactly torture. Your pussy milks his cock, a vice -like grip around his thick length. 

"I'm yours," Dieter repeats, thrusting up into your wet heat. "Just yours, baby."

"You only fuck me," you command, starting to bounce up and down in his lap the best you can with your swollen belly. His expression is pure delight, his wide palm on your hips. 

"Yes."

"Only I make you c-come," you try to sound authoritative but your hips are rolling over his and he feels so good. You're barrelling towards an orgasm with every husky assurance from him. 

"Only you," Dieter assures you, hands tightening around your gyrating hips. "And I only wanna make you come, baby. Only want you in my bed. Only you."

He's rambling and your eyes are cheating to the back of your head. You crest so fast, hands flying to the back of the couch so you can steady yourself. His hands slide up under your shirt and go to your breasts, pinching your pebbled nipples as you keen. 

"C'mon baby," Dieter encourages as he watches your head tilt back. "Take what's yours."

"Mine," you pant as you start to come, head lolling forward. Your body starts to give small little twitches as you groan. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Yours," Dieter breathes, gazing up at you. "Only yours."

He feels you come, soaking his cock with your release. He groans at the sight of your fucked out expression, your hips still undulating. 

"Now you," you command in a soft mewl. "Come for me, Dieter. Give my what's mine."

Your hands go to brace yourself on his chest, your hips lifting only to slide harshly back down, taking him as deep as possible. He feels a pleasurable stripe go up his spine.  

"It's all yours," he offers before his own pleasure overtakes him at the sight of your heavy-lidded expression. He comes deep, deeper than he ever has and he does so whimpering your name. 

You're both panting and you groan slightly as you pull yourself off of him, sitting back against the couch. Dieter rests there a few moments, his softened cock resting against his belly. He's smiling up at the ceiling like a madman. 

Then he's stripping off all his clothes and standing before urging you to do the same. 

"I'm fucking you in the shower," Dieter tells you as he pulls your t-shirt up over your head. "I want you to give me another one."

But you don't just give just him another one because it doesn't end in the shower. Or on the kitchen counter after a midnight snack. But in his bed where he urges you to the end of the bed and fucks you slowly standing next to the mattress, your thighs spread beautifully for him as his cock lazily saws in and out of you.

His hands grip your thighs tightly, urging you to bounce against his hips. Your bodies move together, the pleasure increasing.

“So good,” you croon, your forehead dotted with sweat. “You feel so perfect, Dieter.”

You’re babbling, high on the pleasure of his cock and his nearness. Dieter revels in it, the way you’re unabashedly giving him praise, the way you don’t stop him or shy away from him whispering sweet nothings into your neck.

“And I’m all yours,” he promises. You almost think you can read love in his eyes as they gaze down at you.

 “I’m all yours,” you tell him back without thought.

His thrusts increase, his hands holding you tightly, fingers splayed over your clit. He teases and rubs until you’re on the brink of another orgasm and you finally come in tandem, both of you trembling.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, kissing behind your ear as you shiver.

You don’t tell him you’re not his girl because right now you feel like you could be.

You wake up the next morning in Dieter’s bed with one of his legs wedged in between yours, his arm draped over your middle and his forehead against your neck. It feels right and it feels perfect and as your sleep clears…A mixture of shame and disbelief overtakes your body.

What the fuck was that last night? 

You'd been almost mad with rage at the sight of that TMZ pic. And when he'd come onto the couch you'd just felt this strange possessiveness overtake you. 

Just want you in my bed. Only you. 

Those words were so nice to hear. So gratifying. And you believed him about Mia and the photo. It had been all too easy to move past it, to allow him to lick into your mouth as he fucked you. You glance over your shoulder to see him sleeping, his hair falling into his closed eyes. 

Mine. 

No. Not mine. 

He's not yours. He can't be.

He's Dieter Bravo and you're you. Thinking that somehow you could be together is a delusion.  Dieter just hates being alone. And he knows that being a father is a huge deal. He knows that it's all going to rest on his shoulders and he's looking for a lifeline as your due date grows rapidly closer.  

He doesn't actually have feelings for you.

It's just that Mia might be out of the picture and he's clinging to whatever is in the vicinity - today it happens to be you. Tomorrow it'll be whatever model he's paired with at the next photo shoot. 

You've known him long enough to know his moods and his ever changing interests. In a couple of months when the baby is here and you're in Sacramento he'll probably have forgotten your name. 

The thought hurts if you linger on it. He's just clinging to a lifeline and you can't be around when he does inevitably move onto the next woman because it'll break your heart. 

You need to get the apartment now. You need to find out where you're going to be staying next semester. You need to be planning your life post birth. 

He didn’t even write back to your text yesterday even though it said he’d read it. The one asking if you could stay longer, that you were considering postponing school. And you know why – because this wasn’t the plan. Because Dieter’s interest is waning and you know it.

You pull yourself from the bed, out of Dieter’s warm arms and you try your best not to look back at his still sleeping form as you tiptoe out of the room.  

You return sometime in the afternoon to Dieter storming around the kitchen, looking frantic. He barrels towards you, tugging your hands that you quickly slide out of his grip.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?"

“I had it on silent.”

"Where were you?"

"I was at the library," you say as if it were the most obvious answer. Dieter looks like he’s been fisting his hands through his hair all day.

"You're not supposed-"

"I know I’m not supposed to leave, but I wore sunglasses and no one recognized me." You put your purse down on the ground. "I just needed somewhere quiet to organize my thoughts. I needed to research apartments without distractions."

"Apartments," Dieter repeats slowly. 

"Yeah, for next semester," You say breezily as you push past him and make your way into the kitchen. He follows hot on your heels like a desperate puppy all big eyes and furrowed brows.

"Next semester? I thought you were thinking of postponing?"

He watches you glance around in the fridge before pulling out a bowl of blueberries that Petra has left for you. 

"No point," you say, popping one in your mouth. "I decided I need to get focused and start as soon as possible. That reminds me though; I don't think I can really stay long after the baby is born. I'll want to get to Sacramento as soon as possible."

Dieter looks as if you've punched him. He's gone pale, his large eyes luminous. He's sagging against the counter as if his own body can't support him anymore. 

"What? Why?"

"I told you, I need to focus," you tell him, popping the blueberries back into the fridge. "And I know that I don't get paid until the Bubble is born but I'm wondering if I can get half now? I need to put a down payment on an apartment out there."

"You're buying an apartment in Sacramento?"

"Of course," you say, taking a deep breath. "I'll be in school for a few years; the rest of my Masters then the PhD, then my residency out there. Makes sense." 

"But ... You weren’t even sure about it," Dieter says weakly. 

"That was before I really thought about it," You say, shrugging. "I can't sit around my boss's house all day organizing his next manicure and making sure his latest fuck buddies sign NDA's."

Dieter straightens immediately, his jaw clenching.

Too far.

As soon as you say it you wish you could take it back. It's an ugly, unfair thing to say and you both know it.  But you feel exposed, like a raw nerve.

Dieter feels everything inside him twisting hideously. He was so fucking deluded to think you'd stay, to think you'd fallen for him the same way he has for you. He wants to scream at his idiocy. 

How are you just so okay with this? How can you walk away like the last several months have meant nothing?

Dieter can only stare at you, his eyes going from wide to narrowed. His hand curls into a loose fist at his side, the other still braced on the counter. 

“There's a contract," Dieter all but growls. "You get your money once the baby is born."

"I know,” you say quickly. “It's just that the tuition is due this month to hold my spot for next semester."

"That's not my problem."

You take a step back, brows knitted. You weren’t expecting that. 

“But-“

"You signed a contract stipulating that you wouldn't get the money until the baby is born," Dieter croaks. "So there's your answer."

He turns from you, heading down the hallway to his art studio. You follow close behind, waddling quickly to keep up. 

"Dieter I can't afford the place without that money."

"Read the contract," he snaps. "You signed it."

He quickly moves into the studio, slamming the door behind him.

He hears you on the other side of the door, breathing heavily. He’s worried you’re crying.

Finally he hears you shuffle away and he moves to the window, sitting in the chair he reserved for you when you return home with your son. He imagined painting both of you, the light bathing you both in a dreamy glow.

Dieter is devastated, his head resting heavily in his hands as he fights back the urge to sob.  

What the fuck happened? One minute you were insisting he was yours, your bodies working together beautifully. The next second you're telling him you're halfway out the door. 

You don’t want to be a mother. You never did. You always made that perfectly clear. He was just too besotted to understand.  He looks around his art room, feeling a fury building within him. What the fuck has this all been for? Why the fuck is he so fucking stupid? Why did he have to go and fall in love with you? 

He needs drugs. He needs alcohol. He needs something to take this stabbing pain away. And just as his trembling hand goes to his phone to call up Corey Brigham he glances up at the painting he's been currently working on. 

It's an oil painting image from a dream he had recently. One where he stands in the ocean up to his knees, the wind gentle and the day mild. Dieter is holding you back against him, his head over your shoulder, both of you gazing down at the tiny infant in your arms. 

And there's his son, eyes closed, a soft smile on his face. The image of what Dieter things he’ll look like.

My son. 

The cell phone is pushed back into his pocket. He's not living just for himself anymore. He's got a son he will put before himself in all ways. His son will not grow up with an absent father like Dieter did. 

All of a sudden his studio door bursts open. You look harried as you stride in, fixing him with a glare. He knows you want to tell him off and he wishes you didn't look so beautiful when you’re angry. 

"You're not supposed to be in here," Dieter insists, feeling a stab of anxiety go through him as you walk towards him. He leaps up from the chair, almost tripping over himself in his desire to usher you out of the room.

“We were in the middle of a conversation,” you snap. “You can’t just-“

Your cutting remarks die before they can be completely formed because as you glance around the room your eyes widen in shock. 

Dieter’s art room has always been a mix of canvas, paint spills, old coffee cups and grotesque sculptures. But right now all of the painted canvases are positioned around the room, sketches lining the drafting table under the window.

And they are all of you.

Ones of you with your belly swollen, sleeping on the couch. Others of you cross legged at the table hunched over your laptop. There's one of you with your face serene as you lay the bathtub, that night Dieter and you talked for hours. Snapshots of time, your belly at different stages. 

"Are these..." You go over to a stack of sketches. “Are these all me?”

Dieter is silent, his eyes drifting to your face when you take in the portrait he did of the three of you. Your hand goes to your belly instinctively as you take in the image.

“I always imagined he’d look like that,” you say with a soft little huff.

Your eyes go to the drafting table, sketches in charcoal sticking out to you. Some are dated as far back as Ireland, some even before that. Your fingers linger on one in particular of you chewing your bottom lip in thought, a pencil raised between your fingers. You glance at the date. 

“This was before I was pregnant.” You trail off, gaze moving back to his face. "How long have you been sketching me?"

Dieter shrugs and for the first time since you've known him he looks truly embarrassed. 

"A while." 

You move slowly towards him. "Why?"

He sighs, only steps away from you now.

"Isn't it obvious?" 

You swallow, feeling your heart pound a devastating rhythm. No, this can’t be real. He can’t be suggesting what you think he is.  And yet as he stands there, dark eyes wet you can’t help but wish for it to be real.

“I'm crazy about you,” Dieter confesses.

No, not confesses. That would suggest he wanted to keep it hidden, when it’s anything but.

“I just want to be with you all the time. I want to share everything with you. My life, my home, my everything. I want you here in this house with our son. I want to support you going back to school. I want to make you happy in any way I can but I want you to do it as mine.”

You want to say something, to say anything to this grand romantic speech, but your throat has tightened and your mouth gone dry. All you can do is stand there, staring at him like a pregnant idiot.

“And I know that’s selfish to say and I know it’s useless because you don’t love me back but I-I just needed you to know before you left,” Dieter continues, tears wetting the side of his cheek.

“You don’t need to love me back. Our son is a piece of you and if that’s all I can have of your love, that’s enough for me. He’s more than enough. I just. . . I needed you to know the truth, all of it. I fell for you way before you got pregnant, but after this time together I just, I’m...I love you.”

And now his tears are brushed away by the back of his hand and he looks as if he’s going to turn away from you, overcome with everything that he’s just admitted.

You can barely see through the tears in your eyes. All the feelings that have been swirling within you compel you to pitch forward, your hands outstretched, his name on your lips.

You’re about to cross the room, desperate for his touch when a stab of pain goes through you sharply, causing you to almost come to your knees.  You begin doubling over with a cry as Dieter runs to close the distance between you, his hand immediately on your back.

“What is it, baby?”

Dieter is confused when he sees an overwhelming amount of clear liquid running down your legs. Your eyes are round, wide and terrified when you look up to him.

"Dieter, I think I'm going into labor." 

taglist: @caramilena @lovely-vamp-princess @annieispunk @lu62 @getitoutofmymindwrites @noisynightmarepoetry @lizzie-cakes @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @missladym1981 @tammythr @swankyorange @jupiter-soups @dontknow446 @fluffygoffpanda @doblasftcisco @sunnysinbar @dinomecanico @eff4freddie @fancypants1215 @moel-jiller @picketniffler @khxna @spookyxsam @fancypants1215

@getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392

#dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[1for5]

yes im changing

paige bueckers x reader

(paige x uconn psychology student!reader)

synopsis: with y/n being in a new environment, still facing rejection, how can she bounce back?

masterlist

chapter 8

uconn freedom wall entry #2205

paige and y/n are dating. the uconn wbb went to the football game, and y/n was with them. she was wearing paige’s jersey shirt. they weren’t seated beside each other, but they kept on glancing at each other, i was near their seat. can’t believe a freshman bagged paige bueckers 🤷‍♀️

comments:

huzkieeees: explained their nonstop bickering

paigefan: NOOOOO

y/n’s heart was beating fast as she read the post. have they not have heard of privacy? what do you mean they kept on glancing at each other?

kk and azzi waited for y/n to respond, getting more curious for what she would say. “its okay y/n we already know.” kk said, to give y/n a “safe space,” with azzi agreeing to her.

“i dont know where to start.” y/n said, she planned on telling the two about what she felt different about paige. “i know ive disliked her, but im not gonna lie, i like her attention. i felt rewarded when she replies back to my shit talking.. and yesterday.” y/n briefly explained.

“WHAT YESTERDAY?” both azzi and kk asked, with their eyes growing bigger with y/n confessing about what she feels toward paige. “when you guys asked me who would i kiss on the team, i thought about paige. it was so weird though, since ive disliked her. i literally can’t sleep yesterday since i kept on thinking about her. maybe my petty acts were disguises to get her attention. i dont know.” y/n explained further.

“the psychology student is finally psychology student-ing!” kk joked, azzi slapping her arm. “seriously though y/n, the others have been noticing about your actions toward paige. you may like the basketball player.” azzi places her hand on y/n’s left shoulder.

“we’re not asking you to make a move quickly, but you should reflect on your actions first boo.” kk added. “maybe, but you and i aren’t always correct. i might just let the flow go. and plus, i do not have energy to respond to any of the rumors. whats true is true and whats false is false.” y/n said, getting up immediately stretching her whole body.

“that’s true. this rumor might be a plus even, paige always gets bombarded with crazy girl and boy fans thinking that they can get a shot with paige.” azzi agreed. after the conversation, the three waited patiently for the others to comeback with their breakfast.

when the rest of the team arrived, they all gathered around the living room or the kitchen area to eat. they opened the tv to watch an nba game. y/n could feel paige’s eyes on her, and paige could feel y/n’s eyes on her. it was a weird feeling for them both, not bickering to each other the second they are in each other’s presence.

everyone’s laughing around, but even to them it was obvious that there was a tension between paige and y/n.

“oh y/n uh here’s a coffee. aub said that you will need it.” paige handed y/n a spanish latte, which was her absolute favorite. when paige gave y/n the drink, their hands touched, which weirdly gave both of them an “electric feeling” the two just shrugged, thinking that maybe it was from the freedom wall post and they just felt overall weird after that. y/n then replied with to paige with a “thank you”, and went to kk and azzi’s corner in the living room.

after eating their breakfast, they all decided to get ready to walk around the campus as their “saturday not-so workout.” it takes 2 hours for the whole team to get ready, hence there is no need to worry about how they just ate.

it was always tradition for the team to walk around the campus during saturdays. they get to visit the buildings and other parts of campus that they dont normally go.

people then started to get ready, with paige announcing to everyone that she has dibs first to her own shower. she got responded with “GIRL JUST SHOWER!” “SHOWER NOW! NOT LATER THEN IF YOU DONT WANT PEOPLE STEALING YOUR SHOWER TIME!” by her teammates. paige rolled her eyes, and walked into her room and closed her door to get ready. the team huddles into the dining area.

“so, what’s our plan for next week?” nika asked the team.

“what’s going to happen next week?” y/n responded with another question.

“paige’s birthday! october 20.” ice answered.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wlw #paige bueckers x reader

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

If it’s alright, I have a question about Vil and Epel’s relationship. I understand that the accent changing plot line is just a cultural politeness thing that didn’t carry over outside of Japan, but the other parts of changing Epel’s behavior don’t quite make sense.

Why exactly is Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food? And act very soft-spoken? I can’t see how these fit in with the politeness aspect of the table manners, no abrasive language, etc. It just doesn’t give a very good impression, especially in combination with the unfortunate implication of giving Epel a Southern accent for the “change your accent” plot point.

Before I get to responding to the questions posed by this ask, allow me to explain for those who may not be familiar with this controversy! This is so we can all go into reading this post from the same starting point.

I've made titles to denote the explanation of background knowledge and to denote responding to the questions actually asked to me! If you're already familiar with the Vil-Epel-accent debacle then feel free to skip the first section!

Disclaimer: I’m speaking on these concepts as I personally understand them. However, I am not a native Japanese speaker so I’d advise that you consult additional resources with a better understanding of the language and culture. Two resources I enjoy are Yuurei and MysteryShopTLs, who have both also addressed Epel’s accent and how it was localized.

The Accent, EN vs JP

It’s well-known that Epel is a character with a heavy accent who has been explicitly told by Vil, his dorm leader, to alter the way he speaks. In EN, Epel speaks with what appears to be a southern (as in, “from the southern United States”) accent. Therefore, when Vil tells him to stop speaking in the accent, it feels as though Vil is shaming him for his southern roots and culture. This has also led to fans (especially of the EN-only sphere) thinking that Vil believes Epel’s accent is “unrefined” and “makes him sound uncouth/uneducated”, which is why Vil tells Epel to cover it up. I have even received asks conveying as much in the past (here is one example).

In the original JP, Epel speaks in a way that does not closely resemble any real-world Japanese dialect but rather a blend of them. If you ask a native Japanese speaker, they would likely tell you that it is difficult to understand what Epel is saying and that it sounds as though he is speaking rudely or too casually. People could genuinely take offense to the accent because it can be mistaken as something else entirely. This is obviously very different than the real-world accent (which many people can still understand and wouldn’t perceive as rude) that Epel was localized to have. The decision to give him a southern accent, then, does not completely carry over its original JP connotations into EN.

What remains the same in both EN and JP is the reason Vil provides for telling Epel to adjust the way he communicates. As he says in EN, “Speak properly" to which Epel immediately assumes the command comes from a place of elitism/classism and Vil thinking Epel's manner of speaking is beneath him. Vil responds with, "Stop misinterpreting my instructions. I have nothing against your home or its dialect. What I object to is your attitude. Being proud of your home is all well and good, but there is a time and a place for that. The way you address your superiors is entirely unacceptable." (Keep in mind that before this, Epel was the one instigating a fight with Vil and subsequently got his ass whooped for disrespecting an upperclassman. As the victor, he declares that Epel must do as he says--that's the "culture" of NRC. The weak obey the strong, so if Epel wants to do whatever he wants, then Vil challenges him to beat Epel in a fight. Until then, the loser must obey the winner. Epel agrees to these conditions.) This may be a little hard for western English speakers to wrap their heads around, but MANY Asian countries, Japan included, run on a hierarchical system which is embedded even into their languages. Japanese, for example, has honorifics to denote the relationship between the speaker and the listener, as well as variations on the same word depending on the context ("boku", "ore", "watashi", "atashi", etc. are all valid ways to refer to oneself, "onii-san", "onii-sama", "aniki", "kyodai", etc. are all ways to refer to a brother, whether blood-related or not). In some cases, it's considered rude to call others by their first name unless you know them well, and even then it's not common to see a first name without an honorific. This is not as strictly adhered to in English, which is perhaps where a cultural disconnect occurs. What Vil is referring to in his instructions to Epel is what is known in the world of linguistics as "code switching", or changing how one communicates to suit the situation. Part of code switching is changing one's "register", or the level of formality you use. So for example, I could use a colloquial/casual register when I speak with my friends, but I may shift to a more polite and formal register when I speak with my professors, a boss, or an older relative. Vil, then, is critiquing Epel for not speaking politely to his seniors (something which is expected in Japanese culture, but not expected among those in similar grade levels in western cultures).

In the Harveston Sledathon event, we get to venture to Epel's hometown and hear how the locals speak. Indeed, we get more instances of people who speak in the same way Epel does. It's the Harveston dialect, which is so distinctive that it basically sounds like a whole different language. (There are also languages like this in real life; consider Mandarin and Cantonese; technically they are both "Chinese" but Mandarin and Cantonese speakers would not be able to comprehend one another even if they use the same written language). However, it's notable that Marja (Epel's grandmother) and the mayor of Harveston are able to code switch flawlessly into a more standardized tongue. They explain that this is a skill they have developed because it helps in communicating with tourists/visitors to the village and for whenever they travel to the nearby city to sell their wares. This reinforces Vil's point that there is a "time and place" for certain ways of speaking, which Epel needs to consider.

Macarons and Soft-Spokeness

Accent thing aside, some English-speaking fans take issue with Vil's stern treatment of Epel, particularly in instances in which Vil seems to be exerting significant control over his underclassman's behaviors. (Japanese-speaking fans largely do not hold the same sentiment.) Examples of this include Vil forcing Epel to state that his favorite food is macarons, as well as making Epel present as soft-spoken even when he's just among his peers. I will now be addressing both of these points. TO BE CLEAR, I am NOT trying to defend Vil but rather I'm just going to speculate about why the circumstances are the way that they are and/or why perceptions of his attitude may differ.

Starting with macarons! It is stated in Epel's official profile and by Epel himself in his Birthday Boy vignettes that his favorite food is yakiniku (Japanese grilled meat). However, macarons are also listed as his favorite food, and this is notable because he's the only character with two foods listed instead of just one. In the aforementioned Birthday Boy vignettes, Epel is quick to qualify his love of meats with, "Well, I do have one thing I like even more. It's, ah, macarons." When asked what he likes about them, he says, "They're... cute. And sweet! And they come in lots of different flavors." His voice here sounds hesitant, so it's not clear whether he's being entirely honest or not. He even admits in a whisper that, "[Macarons] are not very filling, but still." Epel again complains about macarons being good but not very filling when he has some in the City of Flowers/Fleur City. To this, Azul asks, "Why do you look so unimpressed, Epel? I thought macarons were your favorite food. [...] But was my intel mistaken? Would you prefer something with a stronger flavor profile?" Epel insists he is fine, and Azul responds with, "Excellent, then my intel bears out." This creates some confusion over whether Epel actually likes macarons or not. I doubt that the information Azul has on others is inaccurate. Plus, Epel states of his own free will to the player (who is interviewing him) that he also likes macarons. This leads me to believe that while Epel doesn't outright hate macarons, he does like them alright (but still prefers grilled meat more). The only thing he seems to have an issue with is how unsubstantial macarons are as a food item.

Now... why does Vil make him state that macarons are his favorite food instead of grilled meat? It's sort of touched on in Epel's Ceremonial Robes vignettes. In them, Vil chides Epel for his poor table manners and asks him to state his favorite food. Epel responds with grilled meat/barbeque, which earns him a smack from his dorm leader. (Vil actually smacks Epel multiple times in these vignettes as punishment, which ended up being another source of ire in the English-speaking part of the fandom; such a thing is more common in Asia and its media, so it's not seen as too outrageous in Japan.) "Do my ears deceive me?" Vil says. "I could've sworn I heard a word unfit to be spoken in this noble dorm. I will ask you again. As a student of Pomefiore–a dorm founded upon the tenacity of the Fairest Queen–what is your favorite food?" From this dialogue, it can be surmised that Vil's reasoning for drilling the macarons in as Epel's favorite food is because it is something that is more befitting of the regal "image" of the Fairest Queen and the dorm made in her honor. Vil seems to regard grilled meat as an inelegant food which does not suit the Fairest Queen nor Pomefiore.

The second thing the asker brought up is Epel's soft-spokeness. I guess I'm a little confused by this??? Soft-spokeness is a part of being polite; it ties back to volume control (ie "indoor voice" being softer than "outdoor voice"). I also don't recall a specific instance of Vil chastising Epel for NOT being soft-spoken at all times. He allows Epel to be loud sometimes and raises his voice himself. I feel like volume is not something that Vil harps on as much as other things like cursing or speaking politely to the correct authority figures (unless, of course, volume is important to the level of politeness required for the current conversation). I could be wrong on this though, so please let me know if you know of any specific instances of Vil being mad about Epel speaking loudly that I may have missed! What I do find odd is how... consistently (?) Epel tries to keep polite even when Vil is not around to monitor him. When Vil and Epel first met, Vil makes it clear that there is a "time and place" for Epel's accent, and it's not when addressing seniors. So... by the logic, shouldn't Vil be okay with Epel acting more relaxed or rowdy around first years or more casual settings in general? Why does Epel need to maintain the facade of being polite even when not in the presence of his superiors? Why does Epel seem to even act fearful about word of his misbehavior/rudeness getting back to his dorm leader and even make others swear they won't divulge the incidents to Vil?

One theory I'll propose is the entirety of book 5. Vil was insistent then on having Epel in the NRC Tribe. He wanted to weaponize Epel's cuteness, which he believed could compete with his long-time rival, Neige. This probably fed into Vil's demands for Epel to appear and act dainty and innocent, traits which Neige effortlessly possesses. Vil literally even refers to Epel as his "Poison Apple" that will help him defeat Neige. After book 5, Vil seems to have eased up on his rigidity. However, I will caution that this explanation may or may not align well with vignettes and/or event stories, which do not always work in a cohesive timeline with the main story.

Perhaps a more all-encompassing explanation is... this is probably because Vil is just very strict about how his dorm members present themselves at all times, since they are expansions of Pomefiore and of himself as the leader. Both the macarons and Epel's attitude are reflections of the dorm he (a celebrity who is very aware of the public eyes on him + his reputation) is affiliated with, and Vil won't have them poorly represented. He is the dorm leader, so he has the "right" to rule and impose his ideals as he sees fit. It's a similar situation to Riddle forcing the Heartslabyul students to follow silly, nonsensical rules (because they're tradition) or risk a scolding or a beheading. And again, Epel is following along because (as established in book 5), he has agreed to submit to Vil’s orders until he beats Vil in combat.

At the end of the day, I don't think Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food is a huge deal. Is anything that big lost in claiming you like something that isn't your actual favorite food? It's not like Vil is forcing Epel to claim he likes eating something that would actually harm him (like, if Epel had an almond allergy or something).

What's more dubious is how VIl governs Epel's attitude and temperament at seemingly all times (to the point of eliciting some apprehension from Epel). Given the most generous reading, maybe it's Vil's way of teaching Epel maturity and how to keep his voice down since Epel had zero of it and acted loudly brazen when he first enrolled. It doesn't help Epel if he's quiet and well-mannered in very limited social situations; it has to be "generalized" or expand to other scenarios for Vil's lessons to truly be instilled in him. (Like... what would happen if Vil DIDN'T hold Epel in check? His classmates would not be able to understand Epel's speech, and he might get into trouble by picking fights with others.) This is a life skill that Epel lacks, unlike his grandma and the Harveston mayor, and Vil's teaching it to him via "tough love" (though whether you approve of his methods or not is up to interpretation). Recall that Vil also teaches Epel to embrace femininity as its own strength and to disregard outdated gender norms--this could be considered another "lesson". I doubt that anything Vil imposes is done maliciously, but rather comes from a place of wanting others to be better and to shine their brightest, even if that path is difficult or painful. Epel, as the rebel in this circumstance, of course does not enjoy being told what to do and misbehaves in small ways. There’s a limit on how much he can misbehave though, as it would hurt his pride to be reminded of his failure to one-up Vil. He's like a kid that doesn't want to be caught cussing or acting out by his parent. It can be seen as immaturity and an unwillingness to change or to grow up, but it can also be seen as someone who wants to freely be able to express themselves or to be their "truest" self. Epel is rowdy and headstrong, and it's difficult for him to repress these parts of himself. Given the least generous reading, Vil is oppressing and stifling Epel in many ways that extend beyond what his dorm leader position should reasonably allow him to do. In fact, a popular fan translation for book 5 is "The Beautiful Oppressor", as Vil is frequently shown limiting the liberties of his NRC Tribe members during their training arc, not just Epel's.

Which is the truth here? Why do those in the English side of the fandom decry Vil's actions and side with Epel whereas the Japanese side see little issue with this?

I wager that this predominantly comes down to, again, cultural differences. Many English-speaking fans are based in the west (particularly the USA and Canada, where the EN servers first launched), places which emphasize individuality and self-expression. Of course they would be more likely to take Epel's side, as he's the one trying to be himself and stand out in his own way. Meanwhile collectivism--an ideology which stresses conformity with a group--dominates in the east. They are more likely to see no problems with Vil's actions because, to them, he is acting in the ways he is to "guide" Epel and show him how to best "fit in" with Pomefiore and at NRC. I believe the whole "being soft-spoken" thing also ties back to cultural differences; speaking loudly is something else that can be considered rude in Japan, so it's entirely possible that Vil encouraging Epel to be soft-spoken is another element of politeness that did not translate well to English (as the western world tends to be much louder and more animated in their conversations).

What it boils down to is that the way Vil and Epel's relationship was written did not work well for a western audience, whose values and perspective is VERY different from the original audience TWST had. It appeals far more to a Japanese fanbase than a western one, and has resulted in many misunderstandings or anger about Vil's character because of this.

I'm not sure if I managed to adequately explain everything, but I hope that this at least helps you to see from a different perspective!!

#twst #twisted wonderland #Vil Schoenheit #Epel Felmier #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #harveston sledathon spoilers #Marja Felmier #notes from the writing raven #question #book 5 spoilers #twst en #twisted wonderland en #Neige LeBlanche #Azul Ashengrotto

[blackleatherjacketz]

Not Fair

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: You're there to see Elijah, but Klaus wants to play a game with you first.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Infidelity (Sort of), Competition, Sibling Rivalry, Typical Klaus Shenanigans, Mentions of Elijah, Neck Kissing/Biting, Ear Biting, Hair Pulling, Female Orgasm, Female Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Blood Sucking

Word Count: 2.4k

Nerves shook through your body after Elijah had texted you to meet him at his home, which was highly unlike him. He usually came over to your place some time after dinner, after the food you’d eaten and the wine you drank had some time to course its way through your veins and pulse into the rest of your bloodstream. The door to the address he’d given you was unlocked, another odd detail you clocked with suspicion before you entered the mansion with mild trepidation. Every detail of the estate was decorated to the nines, a true southern gem full of rich history and opulence. You knew that he had money, but this kind of money? Damn, you're in way over your head.

“Elijah?” You call out his name as you shut the door behind you, passing through the foyer into the parlor on the right to see the figure of a man looking out the window. The air around him is thick and electric, prickling at your skin the very second he turns around to face you, nearly forcing you to gasp at his strikingly beautiful features. This clearly isn’t isn’t the man you’ve come to see.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He coos, stepping toward you with a smug grin.

“Who are you? And where’s Elijah? I was supposed to meet him here.” Did he give you the wrong address? Was he even going to show up? Did you read the message wrong? He had told you to come in and make yourself at home, but he didn’t mention anything about a… roommate.

“I’m Klaus, Elijah’s much more charming younger brother.” The man smirks as if he knows the most amusing secret about his sibling, but decides to keep it to himself. “And I’m sure he’ll be around shortly.”

“Brother? He never told me that he had a brother.” Your eyes narrow as you take him in, trying your hardest to see the family resemblance, but still somehow falling short. His golden curls are a stark contrast to Elijah’s dark brown hair, his pouty lips and narrow face shape even further away from the rigid jawline of your… whatever Elijah is to you.

“Really?” He asks, his tone laced with intrigue and disappointment as he takes another step toward you. “And just what is the nature of your relationship with my brother, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s ummm…” You can’t help but trail off, his magnetic gaze forcing you to trip over your words as you attempt to explain your arrangement with Elijah. How do you tell this man that you’ve been letting his brother feed off you in exchange for protection? That you’ve slowly been falling for him over the past few weeks in the process? It’s just too embarrassing. “He and I have a sort of… symbiotic relationship.”

“Symbiotic?” He smirks, getting closer still, his movements quick and fluid. “Is this symbiosis sexual?” He grazes his knuckles against your cheek, letting them curve beneath your chin as he watches your lips part with his touch. “Come on, you can tell me,” he smiles, relishing in how fast he can hear your heart beating inside your chest. He’s clearly enjoying how nervous he’s making you.

“It’s not…” you stammer, swallowing hard as he brings his face a little closer to yours, the scent of his cologne now swimming through your senses. Goddamnit, is it hot in here? Are you attracted to him? No, that can’t be it, you’re attracted to Elijah. Right? Right. How is he making you so flustered? “We haven’t gotten that far.”

“You mean to tell me he hasn’t even tasted you yet?” He tilts his head in disbelief.

“Tasted me?” Your lip starts to quiver, unsure of exactly what he means. “He’s been drinking from me every two weeks.”

“That’s not the flavor I’m referring to, love.” His eyes dart down between your legs before locking back onto yours, his hazel gaze now full of desire. “I know Elijah can be a bit of a wet blanket sometimes, but if I had the privilege of drinking from you, I’d be sure to savor every elixir your beautiful body has to offer.”

A flash of heat rushes through you as those words reach your newly reddened ears, flushing your cheeks and neck before triggering that moisture to collect between your thighs as you give yourself away without having to utter a single word.

“Or you could settle for another dull night where my brother barely touches you. Only taking what he needs to survive without a second thought about what you want.” He starts to walk around you, encircling you like a vulture would a dying animal about to fall within its grasp. “He’s too noble for his own good, that one. Trust me.” He pauses, looking down at his feet before looking back over to you. “So how does it work between you two, exactly? He gets you to drink a few glasses of his favorite red wine or whiskey, loosen you up a bit so you don’t tense up when he inevitably takes what he wants?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Your cheeks blush an even brighter shade of red as you keep your head on a swivel, training your eyes on him as he waltzes around you with that deliciously smug grin permanently painted on his face. “Is that so terrible?”

You understand there’s no way that someone like Klaus could understand what you saw in Elijah. As boring as it may seem to someone on the outside, you happen to be quite fond of Elijah’s predictability, of his dependability, of his control over his emotions. It always made you feel safe with him, somehow.

“Terrible? No!” He shakes his head dramatically, cornering your left shoulder just a little closer this time before brushing his palms over your bare arms. “I imagine he… takes you from behind in order to avoid any chance for intimacy?” Klaus’ hands graze their way down your forearms and glide across your hips, sending a shiver down your spine as the heat from his body positively radiates into yours. “At least that’s what I would do.”

Your breath hitches as he holds his body against yours, his hands burning you up from beneath the thin fabric of your dress as he presses his lips into your shoulder. You instinctively close your eyes as he kisses it again, each one longer, deeper as his mouth opens just a little bit more until he reaches the nape of your neck. The slight brush of his tongue against it is almost too much for you to bear, the forbidden nature of his delicate touch somehow warmer than Elijah’s as it stirs something deep inside you, exciting you down to the very marrow of your bone.

“Is that why you wore this dress?” He licks the skin just behind your jawline before kissing it again, his blonde stubble scratching against the rest of your neck as he nuzzles into it. “So he’d finally appreciate your body?”

“Maybe.” You barely manage to whisper, that moisture now pooling between your folds.

“He’d be a fool not to.” His fingertips reach the hem of your dress, slowly inching it up your thigh as he wraps his other arms across your chest, pulling you in even closer. He walks with you backward until his knees hit the couch, haphazardly sitting down on the middle cushion with you snug on his lap, landing right where he wants you.

“We shouldn’t...” You feign protest against the predicament he’s put you in, just in case Elijah is somewhere close enough to hear you.

“Shouldn’t what? Sit down and have a little chat? That’s all this is.” He spins his lies so effortlessly, you’re convinced that even he believes them before they leave his lips.

“Is it?” You feel his hand slide beneath your dress before snaking up your thigh, relishing in the trail of goosebumps it leaves in its wake before reaching the hem of your underwear.

“Lace knickers?” He laughs, rubbing his fingers over the intricate pattern as he feels how swollen and needy you are beneath it. He tries to downplay the physical effect you're having on him in return, but his growing arousal begins to stretch the fabric of his jeans between your cheeks, his own breath halting for just a flash of a second. “Naughty girl.”

“I just thought…” your lip trembles into a hitched staccato of breaths as you attempt to explain yourself.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed, love, you aren’t the first woman to get caught in between us brothers.” He smirks against your skin and slips his fingers beneath the sheer fabric between your legs, slowly spreading your puffy lips apart to reveal the evidence of his seduction. “And you certainly won’t be the last.”

What did he just say? Has he done this before? Stolen someone from Elijah right under his nose? Or was this simply payback for something else, something worse that he’d done to him in his past? Were you just some stupid little pawn in their eternal game of familial chess?

“Do you get this wet for my brother when he’s feeding off you?” He takes you out of your thoughts and back into the moment, dipping his index and forefinger between your folds to spread your juices up and down your length. “I’ll bet he doesn’t even notice.” His voice drops down an octave, his words dripping with disdain for his older sibling as he glides his fingers up against your most sensitive spot, sending sparks of pleasure into your nervous system. “Do you think about him when you touch yourself at night?”

“Klaus, I…” you whisper, unable to answer him as his breath blows the hair away from your neck, making your gasp echo against the ancient walls of the room.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. All that’s going to change after tonight.” He purrs into your skin, moving the hair away from your neck. “Let’s play a little game, then, shall we? If I’m able to make you come, I get to drink from you tonight instead of Elijah.”

Oh my God.

“And if you can’t?” You ask, wondering if he’d had this all planned out from the very second he saw you.

“If I can’t…” He starts to rub little circles into your bud, increasing his pressure with each word as your face changes. “I won’t tell my dear brother of your little transgression against him.” He bites playfully onto the shell of your ear, tugging it back toward him as he pushes his fingers deep inside your walls.

“Oh! Okay...” Your toes curl as he delves his digits further inside you, slowly curving them up to hit that special spot before quickly pulling them out. You turn your head as he removes his touch, brows furrowed in confusion as you watch him wrap those cherry red lips around his glistening fingers. His eyes roll back into his head as he savors the flavor of your sex, humming a tune while making quite the show of sucking his fingers all the way down to his knuckles before slowly pulling them out.

“Exquisite,” he praises your essence with a grin, that devious stare of his positively sinful.

You feel as if all the air has been expelled from your lungs; your body paralyzed with shock, too vulnerable in this state to take another breath until he reaches down and continues his good work, forcing you to inhale the hot, humid air between you. For the first time since you met him, he stops talking. His fingers are quick to map out every single neuron that lies beneath the exposed layer of your skin that lubricates itself with need as he slides his fingers back in, pressing his thumb against your clit with expert precision.

His centuries on this earth had given him all the practice he needed to drive you wild beneath his grasp, each of his ministrations more hypnotic than the last, drawing out louder, more feral moans from your lips. You find your hips rocking into the rhythm of his wrist, the sound of his fingers pulsing in and out of you serving as a perfect accompaniment to your vocals, gliding over that bundle of nerves tucked deep inside as your voice finally reaches a high soprano.

“I’m beginning to think you never wanted my brother to begin with.” He teases as he brings you closer to paradise by sending wave after wave of euphoric bliss up into your core, his salacious pace unrelenting.

“That’s not fair!” You cry out, breathlessly emotional as the magnitude of your ecstasy begins to overwhelm you, tears of joy now pooling in your eyes. You’d never felt pleasure like this before, never been so attracted to someone so quickly on sight alone, but here you are, on the verge of insanity as you fall apart in his lap.

“That’s the thing about me, love. I never fight fair.” He finally sends you over the edge, your skin igniting in an inextinguishable heat that consumes every fiber of your being. Your body feels more alive than it ever has before, that rush of euphoria coursing through your spine, turning your veins into rivers of molten lava as you quake around his fingers, those tears now streaming down your face.

Your orgasm leaves you helpless against his fangs as they pierce your skin and sink into your flesh, against his fist that buries itself in your hair as he drinks that deliciously hot cocktail of bliss that rips itself through you. It warms the both of you as he feeds on what was originally meant for his brother, the remnants spilling out of the corners of his mouth and down your chest as he greedily gulps you down, moaning his satisfaction into your neck. You can barely feel the throbbing around the bite as he eventually pulls back before it’s too late, licking up every stream of crimson that escapes his lips until there’s nothing left but the sheen of his spit on your skin.

“You’re welcome,” he goads cockily, your blood painting the lower half of his face as he pulls his fingers out for good. “Elijah should be home any minute.”

----------

Read more KLAUS!

#niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #joseph morgan #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson fanfic #the vampire diaries #the originals #vampires

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand: Part 8

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Reader

Warnings: Preterm babies? mentions of medical things.

Word Count: 2k

New to the series? Catch up here: 7

Getting into the wheelchair was the most humbling thing you had ever done in your life. You had really taken for granted how easy walking around when you were pregnant was. Now as the nurse and Simon held onto your arms and helped you into the wheelchair as you gasped in pain, your entire body shook with the effort. As they carefully lowered you into the wheelchair, you caught a glance of Simon's face. His face was slightly pale, his eyes worried as he watched you. 

He looked like he was the one who could pass out at any moment, not you. “There we go, you alright?” the bubbly red headed nurse asks. She straightens up after she puts the foot rests down, her badge clip clinking together. Kelsey, her name was Kelsey.

“Yeah, i didn't expect it to feel like that…” You mumble, and she gives you a soft smile.

“Kinda like your organs are just gonna fall right out of you?” She smiles, and you can't help but laugh. 

“Yeah, pretty much. It wasn't painful, just really uncomfortable… But I'm okay.” 

“You sure?” Simon's voice is rough, his brow still pinched as he listens to the conversation between you and Kelsey.

“I’m fine Si, I promise.”

He doesn't reply, he just gives you another once over before stepping out of the way so Kelsey can wheel you out of the room. The hallways were long and white, a few vitals carts hanging around. Nurses passed every few moments as they went about their days. A few pressed themselves against the wall as Simon walked by. His large form takes up most of the hallway. He was the poster of intimidating, all muscle and an impassive face to match. 

As we reach the end of the hall our nurse Kelsey waves her badge in front of a sensor that controls the large windowless doors in front of us. As the door slowly open the soft hum of white noise and beeping monitors fill your ears. 

“This is the NICU, its where we keep my personal favorite patients,” kelsey smiles as she pushes me through the doors. There's a typical nurses station in front of us, but instead of the regular hospital rooms that you see in the rest of the building. There are two long walls with large glass windows that allow you to look into two rooms with 3 rows of incubators. Each room housed 9 of them, not all of them were full. Some were just waiting to be occupied. A few sets of parents stand around them, wearing pink overgowns, as they reach their hands into the incubators to touch their babies. 

Kelsey disappears for a moment and comes back wearing her own overgown and hands one to simon. “You have to wear these, its to prevent germs from your clothes getting on the babies. It just helps us keep them safe. We also need you to use hand sanitizer before you enter and when you're done. It's important we do everything to keep them safe.” she explains as she helps you put yours on. You look over your shoulder as Simon attempts to put on the overgown, its stretched tightly over his arms and chest. His larger than average form filling up most of the pink overgown. A small snicker leaves your lips as you take him in with the pink gown. He’s usually dressed in all black or dark colors. To see him wearing something so bright was actually funny to you. 

You never thought you’d see the day Simon Riley wore pink, but here he was, stuffed into a too small overgown, small frown on his lips. You can’t help the small smile that plays on your lips despite the nerves you were feeling growing inside you. What if you couldnt handle seeing your baby like that? Would they look okay? Would they even look like a baby?

You had no idea what to expect, your stomach was turning as Kelsey gave you some hand sanitizer. After you and Simon rubbed it in, she wheeled you into the room, it was warmer in here than in the hallway. The constant hum of the machinery louder, as she pushed you towards the last incubator on the left. It was a large plastic box, with 4 little circle windows, a soft yellow glow emitting from a light on top. As you get closer you can see some of the stuff inside A soft pink blanket, and the smallest baby you have ever seen. They wore a hat so small you weren't sure if it was even possible for them to call it a baby's hat. It seemed more fit for a doll. 

Your daughter laid in the center of the incubator, an array of tubes and wires connected to her too small body. Her eyes were covered with gauze, and she had a mask over her nose, and a thin white tube coming from her mouth. She was mostly still, the only occasional movement was her arms or legs moving in a sort of jerking movement. Her diapers were too big for her, even in the Nano- Preemie size they had on her. 

“Shes… shes so small..” you whisper, your hand coming to rest against the warm plastic of the incubator. 

“She is, but she's been doing really well. She’s been stable since we put her on the oxygen and she hasn't shown any signs of distress since. I think she's got a real chance.” Kelsey smiles as she looks between you and Simon. 

“If you want you can reach in through the little windows, just try not jostle any of the wires,” she smiles, as she walks over to another family standing around an incubator. 

Simon stands behind the wheelchair, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder. He's quiet for a few moments, the warmth of his large hands seeping into the fabric of the hospital gown. You shove down the emotions that are bubbling up inside of you, taking a deep breath you lean forward in the wheelchair. A dull ache pulling at your lower stomach as you carefully move yourself towards the edge. Your hand shakes a little as you reach your hand up and through the small open window. You hesitate, your hand hovering over your daughter's tiny frame. The only place where she didn't have monitors and iv’s was her small hand. It was no bigger than your thumb nail. Barely big enough for the tip of your finger to fit in, taking a deep breath you gently touch her tiny hand with the tip of your finger. 

Reflexively she grabs onto your fingertip, her tiny fingers gripping the tip of your finger. Emotion clogs your throat, but it's not you who makes a sound, instead it's Simon. It was quiet, and if you hadn't become accustomed to him over the past few months you never would’ve mistaken his sharp intake as annoyance. But you knew better, it was him trying to keep himself together. You glance over your shoulder and notice his brown eyes are glassy. A single tear falling down his cheek and dripping onto the pink overgown. 

“Simon…” you whisper, reaching your other hand up to rest on his hand that is still firmly in place on your shoulder. 

“Sorry..” he mumbles, wiping his hand across his eyes, before he clears his throat. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” You smile softly at him, “Come over here.” 

Simon hesitates, but moves a little closer, coming to stand on the side of the wheelchair, you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. His entire body was stiff, every movement seemed almost painfully slow. 

You pull your hand out of the incubator and grab Simon's much larger hand, “It's okay, you won't hurt her.”

Simon's brown eyes searched your face, looking for any signs that it was a bad idea, he was so much larger than her, even you. His hands weren't the gentlest, and they had done terrible things for many years. How could he possibly touch something so small, something so innocent. His heart hammered wildly in his chest as you gently guided his hand into the incubator. As his index finger touched her small hand she grabbed it just like she had yours. 

“See? You didn't hurt her,” you smile, leaning your head against his upper arm. You hated to admit it but even this small venture had you drained. The events of the past 24 hours are catching up to you fast. Your body was starting to hurt, and sitting was uncomfortable but you didn't want to leave.

How could you?

The image of Simon standing in front of the incubator was something you wanted burnt into your brain for the rest of your life. His hand, which was larger than your daughter's entire body, hovering over her as her hand gripped his finger. After a few moments, Simon pulled his hand out and looked down at you. His brow slightly furrowed as he took in your expression. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his fingers catching the side of your chin and tipping it up so he could see your face better. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you force a small smile, but Simon sees right through you. 

“Don’t lie to me, you just had major surgery,” he grunts softly, his hand sliding to rest against your cheek. You instinctively lean into him, his palm warm and comforting. 

“I’m just tired, and a little sore, but I don't want to leave her…” You whisper, your eyes falling shut. You were more than just a little sore, whatever pain meds they had given you were definitely wearing off. You could feel the incision now, it was a dull constant ache. But the headache that was starting to form behind your eyes was worse. It was like someone was taking an ice pick to the space behind your eyes. 

“You need rest,” Simon frowns, his brown eyes trailing across your face, “we’ll come back later okay?” 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and give a small nod. As much as you didn't want to leave you knew it was best that you got some rest. You weren't any good to anyone if you didn't heal. But it didn't stop the nagging feeling in your chest when Simon carefully pushed the wheelchair out of the room. 

Once you're in the hallway Simon helps you take the overgown off, he throws the light pink objects in the trash and turns back to you.

“Ready?” He asks, “You can go take a nap and we can come back okay?”

Would they let you?

Did they have visiting hours here?

God why hadn't you researched the hospitals sooner?

What if something happened while you were resting?

What if she stopped breathing?

What if she died....

She was so small, so fragile, so breakable. 

And it was all your fault. You couldn't do the one thing you were supposed to. You were supposed to keep her safe until she was strong enough. Your body was supposed to nourish her and carry her until she was bigger. She was too little. Who would protect her now that you, the person who's supposed to, couldn't.

“Hey,” Simon's thumb sweeps under your eye, “why are you crying?”

“It’s my fault…” You sob, tears falling rapidly now. “This is all my fault.”

“Love..” Simon whispers, now kneeling on the floor in front of the wheelchair. One hand resting on your knee the other on your cheek as he wipes away the flood of tears. 

“None of this was your fault,” he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “None of it okay? You didn't do anything to cause this. It wasn't something we could have stopped okay? No one is blaming you, and I know that she won't either. Whatever happens, we’ll get through this okay? We’ll get through it together.”

“Okay…” You managed to breathe out but the tears didn't stop, and neither did the guilt eating a hole in your chest.

Next Part:

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18, @itsmytimetoodream @humanities-cutest @ajrfanz @jggykhug09090 @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @ashreblogsnow @liwooa

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon #x reader #cod #cod x reader #Cod mw2 X reader #one night stand #one night sta #one night stand series #Dad #dad!simon riley #Mom!reader

[crispycreambacon]

Ending April with a small parting gift. I’m gonna miss this.

Anyways, an announcement of my own.

The short of it

I’m leaving the Watcher fandom. Don’t worry, I won’t be unfollowing anyone, but I will be ceasing the creation of art for Watcher and interaction with the community at large. Thank you all for this short but meaningful ride. Feel free to unfollow me if you were here for Watcher art, and for those who stick around…

Thank you :]

I hope to not disappoint with this new era of mine.

The long of it

It’s been a couple of days since a certain channel dropped an announcement that imploded its fandom. It was… a mess. A lot—and I mean a lot—of us didn’t handle the news well, and we made that known to everyone. The impact was so massive that YouTubers, who are nowhere near the niche that Watcher operates under, covered the situation, and some of them explained very well why the decision went over so poorly. Meanwhile some of them made fun of the situation, and some were just there for the clicks, but that’s the cycle of YouTube drama for you.

With the amount of ears waiting for even a peep out of their mouths, Watcher couldn’t ignore the backlash any longer and released an apology video three days after the announcement. By all accounts, it was a pretty good response. The reception was mixed, but it was definitely more well-received than their first video, and they actually listened to their fans who gave them valid criticism over the sudden shift to a streaming service.

However…

For as much as I appreciate their response, I still can’t find it in myself to continue following Watcher. I really mean it when I say this disaster soured any enjoyment I had for them. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch them again for a long time without thinking about this situation or remembering the people they have hurt, even if unintentionally, through their poor execution of a business decision.

Do I believe they could’ve pulled off moving their content to a streaming service? Absolutely. However, so many factors doomed this decision and their announcement from the start from them believing that $5.99/month was “affordable to everyone” (seriously?) to them insisting that this was for the fans even though the fans have vocalized that they were never there for the high production value. They were there because the three guys who run Watcher were enjoyable!

I feel like if they had been honest about the fact that the TV quality they are aiming for was more for themselves than anyone–hell, it’s the mission statement in their About page, and, I don’t know, considered the idea that $6 is not cheap, especially for international fans, people wouldn’t have gotten so angry at them. Now, there are still numerous issues plaguing this business model, but to go through all of the arguments would require a separate post, and I’ve already expended too much energy on this situation. Needless to say, Watcher has burnt their bridges, and it will take a while before they can build them back up again, let alone get people to trust them enough to cross them.

On the other hand, I can’t blame Watcher fully for my departure. Despite my heavy disagreement with their initial decision, I understand why they thought this decision was a good idea in the first place as YouTube is a very unstable career path, and it would rather hurt its creators with its relentless demonetization, censorship and restrictive guidelines than give up just a tiny amount of its profit. Besides, they’re in control of their content, and they could do what they want with it even if their fans disagreed with them.

Speaking of the fans, my god. The situation revealed a side of the fandom that I never thought I would see, but in hindsight, I should have seen it coming. To see fans resort to anti-Asian racism and death threats so quickly was extremely heartbreaking, and as an Asian person, it made me feel very unsafe and unwelcome in the community.

Moreover, using Steven as a scapegoat to absolve Ryan and Shane of any wrongdoing was unfortunately a very common response. Yes, he is the CEO, and yes, his series being centered on traveling and eating expensive food really doesn’t paint him in a positive light, but need I remind you that RYAN AND SHANE ARE GROWN ADULTS. They’re the founders of Watcher, and they both have to agree to the initial plan for it to be implemented. You can’t assume that Steven was a boogeyman terrorizing your precious little boys just based on a 15-minute video. You don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes.

All of this to say that the initial announcement combined with how the community reacted violently to the announcement really nipped my interest in Watcher in the bud. It was a shame too because I really did love Watcher, and I still do. Had it not been for the time I invested in following them, I wouldn’t have made great friends, regained the joy in creating art–even reviving a hobby/skill that I assumed was long dead, and had a reason to be able to laugh or smile even in terrible days. I truly am grateful for Watcher, and I do not regret ever getting into them at all. However, I think it’s time for me to go.

Thank you all for this weird and wonderful ride, but at some point, you’ll have to hop off. I just didn’t expect to hop off it so soon.

#Back to hiatus I go (for real this time) I’ll see y’all in 3 weeks 🫡 #I’m more sad than anything #But alas we move forward #Thank you everyone #It was fun while it lasted #the professor #puppet history #watcher #watcher entertainment #we are watcher #art #chris p fried art #chris p fried rambles

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What is your take on Riddle's possession of Ginny? I read a fic where she was held accountable for not immediately reporting the diary after she blacked out and started to suspect that something nefarious was going on. Stating that she 'wilfully' time and again put saving her own skin over the lives of her fellow students and teachers.

Thoughts??

Like, Tom definitely did possess her. Do I think Ginny took the best course of action in the situation? No. But I don't put as much fault on her for this as some things she does later in the books.

In CoS, Ginny is 11 years old, lonely & friendless, Tom is her only friend, she shares her secrets with him and then he turns and uses her secrets to blackmail her. Both what he forced her to do and what she told him.

Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who’d been strangling roosters?

(CoS, )

To an 11-year-old Ginny, this threat is terrifying. Terrifying enough to not tell anyone because she's scared of the consequences.

And she did try to get rid of the diary by flushing it down the toilet. So she tried to remove the source of the problem without notifying anyone. It just ended up not working out.

Ginny in CoS is mostly motivated by loneliness at first, and then fear. This threat Tom mentions in the above quote, I'm sure is one he made to Ginny. He probably explained exactly why she shouldn't tell anyone or throw the diary away. He probably told her she'd be expelled from Hogwarts if anyone found out.

While I'm not a Ginny fan, I don't judge 11-year-old Ginny too harshly. This is a terrible situation to be in. Because she feels like she doesn't have anyone to confide in besides the diary that causes all her problems. She is in a new school, her first time away from home, and new people all around, it can be terrifying, and I think it was for her.

And then you add Tom into the mix who's clever and knows how to manipulate a scared 11-year-old girl. Ginny didn't have much of a chance there. It's not like Harry told any adult about the strange talking diary (that being said Harry just doesn't trust adults).

Molly and Arthur Weasley aren't the perfect examples of supportive parents either, I don't think Ginny would've risked her parents' ire over her own problems. She probably thought (hoped) she could figure it out herself and not have to bother them. Because bothering them would've come with a punishment. I talked about how Arthur and Molly Weasley aren't great parents, and Ginny was probably scared of their punishment and her mother screaming at her like she does at Fred and George more than she feared what would happen to the other students.

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic —”

(CoS, 304)

Like, Arthur says this, but he and Molly don't behave in a way that encourages their kids to confide in them. So, Ginny has a reason for her fears, it's not that they're unfounded.

And she won't tell her older brothers, because she doesn't want them to see her as a scared helpless little girl. She's scared of their opinion of her just as much. And I think she truly thought it wouldn't get too bad, that she could figure it out on her own. She was wrong.

Yes, her decision is selfish, it's dumb, it endangered so many students and people in general, and it doesn't paint her in a great light. But since she was 11 at the time, I'm more willing to give her the benefit of the doubt about it. Like, I'd be more lenient when punishing 11-year-old Ginny over the CoS ordeal. I think a stern talking-to was the bare minimum, so at least it won't happen again. She probably should have received some consequences, but I don't think I'd expel or even suspend her over it.

Like, I'd probably want to make sure she understood what her actions could have resulted in so she'd be more fearful of that potential scenario in the future rather than her own skin. And I think she did understand she herself was in just as much danger by the end of the book. Like, I think this situation wasn't one she should've been punished harshly for, but instead used as an opportunity for her to learn from the situation.

A punishment should've still been given though, and I don't recall it was. Because she did hurt students (through her neglect) and was incredibly lucky no one got really harmed. So, some punishment more than she got in the books was required, but not something too harsh is what I'm thinking.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter thoughts #hp thoughts #Ginny Weasley #chamber of secrets

[laineystein]

If I may? You seem to have an incredibly rosy view of Israel and live comfortably there. And I am happy you do! I just also have seen Israelis on tumblr speak of the struggle with the rising cost of living.

This includes having to be self conscious about the price of brands to pick, and the rent of apts. (Which are pretty common things to deal with anywhere lately). I’ve also seen an Israeli blogger say that if you don’t have a background in engineering and tech, there’s not much of a future for you in Israel-or at least not one where you can live well.

On a personal level, I struggle to comprehend the idea of bomb shelters being a conscious part of every day life in so many parts of Israel. I don’t know how you guys do it, I really don’t.

I’ve been passive-aggressively criticized for having what some would deem a rosy view of life in general so I don’t know if I’m the best person to be giving you my feedback. What I can say confidently is that I have lived elsewhere and I will forever choose to live in Israel because it is the place I truly feel is home. Yes, things are expensive but they’re expensive where I lived in the diaspora as well. Homes here are not any more expensive than they were where I lived in the diaspora. Our economy is certainly curtailed to specific professions but so is every economy. Being an engineer and being in tech is also currently the most lucrative profession in the diaspora. I’m not saying that Israel doesn’t have its issues. It does and I reference them often. I’d probably talk about them more if I wasn't so used to a lot of it; I’m used to sirens and bomb shelters and tzahal and I don’t know how to explain that to someone who isn’t. It’s just always been apart of my life and it’s not going to change anytime soon so it is what it is. I also have no problem acknowledging that I grew up very privileged and still live a very privileged life so that may have something to do with my viewpoint. But here’s the thing - I just can’t live in a non-Jewish world. I can’t live my life comfortably in a non-Jewish world. And that’s not solely because of antisemitism. I keep kosher. I keep Shabbos. And nearly everyone I love (in the diaspora) is visibly Jewish. The men wear kippot and tzitzis. The women dress tznius and cover their hair. When you are this religiously observant it’s difficult to exist in a non-Jewish world. Our holidays are different and it’s not a default to have them off and not every company you work for will be fine with you taking them off - even if it’s illegal for them not to. In the US, you can’t make friends with coworkers because you can’t see them on the weekends or eat at their restaurants or in their homes. Sending your children to a Jewish school like the one I attended is like paying college tuition per child, per year; my parents paid over 100K every year sending me and my three brothers to school - the same school would be much more affordable in Israel. We’re nothing but pawns to the political system there - the right and the left both hate us. We are politically homeless and we’re too much of a minority for it to matter. So there’s a million reasons *not* to live in the diaspora as a Jew. For me, there is also a million reasons to live in Israel. The proximity to our holy sites. The weather. The fact that we have beaches and deserts and mountains and forests and rain and snow and sunshine. The diet and the healthier lifestyle. The joy. There’s so much joy here and I feel sorry for anyone that disagrees. I can be openly Jewish here. My Jewishness is not an inconvenience here. I do not have to apologize for it or hide it. And yes, I will forever feel safer here than I ever have in the US. Is Israel also an absolute dumpster fire sometimes? Of course it is. I’m not saying it’s for everyone. Living here will be a huge shock for many Jews. But for some of us, it makes sense and the pros will forever outweigh the cons.

#lainey things #ask things #israel things #my heart my home

[boopshoops]

Yay yay tcoav qna!!!! I still have one more chapter left to read, but I’m super curious about the magic aspect of Yuu Shi’s homeland!! So far we know it’s been banned for like a longggg time, but magic deffo exists. How did it get banned? And regarding that, what does NRC in Yuu Shi’s universe even teach since it’s probs not a prestigious magic school?? I kinda just want to know the similarities and differences between twisted wonderland and Yuu Shi’s world

Also, I didn’t leave any comments on ao3, but ur writing style’s wonderful!! the pov switching is really smooth and not confusing to me at all, and i love how you characterized the staff members given the super limited information about them in game (in contrast to the students’, at least). Can’t wait to see and read more of it and how it differs from the game!! It’s so good so far!!!!

HELLO KRIS!!! kfndjsgjdndk 😭🥺💕💕 im SO glad you're enjoying the fic thus far. I've put a ton of research into the teachers and students alike in order to feel more confident writing them- it was my first time writing characters that i didn't make myself!!!!

As far as Dusk Summit goes, I DO eventually plan on making a post explaining it a bit more... but thats a long ways out as I'd have go learn how tf to draw maps KFNFNDN so there will eventually be a lore and aesthetic dump FJDNDJFJ

Magic in Dusk Summit is a rather tricky subject, some people partially agree that the land claims it as "dangerous," while others think its some weird form at garnering control over the citizens. It is a very... strict place, so to speak.

The main reason that magic has been banned has actually been long forgotten, both by the people themselves and the ones who rule. (Ofc i know the reason but thats entering big spoiler territory ehehe >:))) Therefore, it was simply watered down to "magic=danger!!!" Over time.

Even then they are not particularly wrong- given that in Yuu Shi's world, the outside lands still DO practice magic. She just doesn't know jack shit about it due to being raised inside the Dusk Summit. It's because that magic is still practiced in other countries that the rulers are able to handpick tragedies and push the 'magic?!?! bad!!!' propaganda.

The main differences between the two worlds of Twisted Wonderland is that basically, if you look on a globe, her homeland has poofed out of existence. Everything else is still there.

As for why that seems to be one of the only differences, i'll expand on that in later chapters mwahahaha- everything isnt as it seems, ofc!!

QnA is still open ofc! Come at me yall-

Also old doodle bonus weeee

Tag list 💛

@thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @lowcallyfruity @cecilebutcher @skriblee-ksk

@kitwasnothere @justm3di0cr3

#boopshoopsramblings #boopshoopswriting #yuu shi #tcoav #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst wonderland #twst fanfic #twst writing #boopshoopsoc #boopshoopsart

[beastking-golion]

Finished my run of Mortum’s romance and.

#full spoilers in these tags here my guys #fhr #fallen hero retribution #fhr spoilers #fallen hero retribution spoilers #okay so 1. love this gal she’s so awesome and knowing she vented to her friend about our dumbass decisions makes me weirdly happy #you are so girlboss mortum #anyways 2. shes so lovey dovey and the fact she takes the time to keep you comfortable first is sooooo ❤️ #her specifically getting cozy with you only after establishing you’re comfortable is so sweet of her #dont ‘bar is on the floor’ me btw because I have another piece to that in why it makes me so emotional #gonna talk about dubious consent here for a second so BIG warning okie? okie. #3. the scene after you reveal yourself as a regene to her and she asks why you had sex with her and you explain how you do things- #for humans because that’s what you were built to do meaning you acted for her desires not your own meaning she ‘pushed’ you into doing it #that was so devastating and I mean specifically for her as someone who clearly values consent a shit ton #yes you may have liked it but you did it cause you thought it would make her happy not because you wanted it like oh my god that hurts #she prolly understands regenes at least to some sort of degree shes a smart well connected woman so learning your bf is actually a regene- #has gotta have so many cogs and questions and worries shooting through her mind #you were made to serve humans you were controlled and abused by doctors like her you clearly fear her to some aspect #its heart breaking because of how much love she shows you and how much love she just has in general even as a villain #sorry yall I just can’t stop thinking about that scene like that had to have been so harrowing for her #it’s not your fault mortum you literally couldn’t have known even if you tried because our ass is so secretive #but it felt like it left off on a hopeful note #you both understand things so deeply about each other now and you can rebuild #start over and try again in a better safer way #one where you’re honest with her #AAWASG TH GFHFHFNGN it was really good it was so good #love that gal mortum so much #built out of love and vinegar she’s so awesome sauce #and with that I’ve played all the fhr2 romances #I can’t decide which romance is my favorite but I know which is my least (and it’s not my bbg mortum love ya)

[taylor]

it’s a sad sad day when you have to list your signed taylor stuff because you literally have NO money (on account of not having a job, #lol) because i’m about to make a listing for the 7 signed midnights inserts i have because i literally have no other choice even though i’d rather jump off a bridge than part with my signed taylor stuff 😭😭😭

#i hate looking at my signed folklore bc she Knows i’m trying to sell her and i’m so sad about it #i don’t wanna do it either!!! #ive already listed like 40 funkos on mercari and gonna list more too #i’m fr listing half the shit i own because i have NO source of income at ALL and my credit card companies are hounding me and i’m fielding #their calls and i know i should just answer and explain that i don’t have a job as of a month ago but i’m also scared bc what if they say #too bad so sad u still gotta pay us??? which okay valid #ITS NOT THAT I DONT WANNA PAY ITS THAT ALL MY ACCOUNTS ARE LITERALLY NEGATIVE #so this money id be making i wouldn’t even get to USE #it’s all just towards debt #but i gotta do it bc i can’t afford to NOT #and in 2 weeks when i’m back from san diego with my friend for her birthday (she’s paying but also wtf i can’t even help???) #i will be getting a job i’ve been applying and looking and will try to have one within 2-3 weeks #but then that’s STILL about a month out from ANY paycheck i would get #sooooo selling ALLLLLL my stuff it is the #then*

[dread-knight]

Why do you have to write a story for other people to see it I feel like my brain is being stretched in twenty different directions with all the shit I want to make but low energy & not enough time & my own sense of shame makes it so that I’m not doing anything. Gahhh

#Remembered Petrichor and that little story I wanted to do with her…. Baby I have ignored you so hard I’m sorry I promise I still love you- #-ya dumb little freak #There’s also the Carsoro stuff and then the AU with that Sage I posted and I also wanna share dracula bs and like dread knight stuff and aa #Ahhh!! Do you get it!! Why do I have to work a job why can’t I draw little guys. I say knowing in my free time I just decompose watching- #Youtube videos about shit I don’t really care about and playing Isaac for the millionth time in a row #Idk if all rogue likes would be like that for me but Isaac is like. Bad. Edmund I think said he had adhd. That makes sense bc that game is- #-like. The perfect time waster for my brain with its broken ass reward system #My doctor was suprised I wasn’t being treated for my adhd maybe I should bite the bullet and try to see if being on smth for it would make- #-me feel less. Ehhhh #Or at least off antidepressants. Like Christ I feel like water with no ice a lot of the time that can’t be normal #Chatter #I’d say sorry for goign off on a rant but this is my blog I do what I want #I think a big problem is I’m lonely and want irl friends but like. How the fuck do you do that. I was not socialized enough as a puppy #Also I want to. Be open about being Toby but like Christ I’d be jumping in headfirst without even knowing where to begin #I haven’t researched like. Dick or shit about the medical side of it and even just socially transitioning like how the fuck would I explain #Idk. I don’t want to be like. Hated by my own family. I don’t think that would be the case but god. God. I have a fucking anxiety disorder

[gender-euphowrya]

ngl the parents clutching pearls about huggy wuggy are funny as hell trying to pretend that oh it’s the evil internet’s fault for letting their kids be exposed to horror with cute aesthetics like oh that damn night freddy and them momos making my kid too scared to sleep

as if their generation didn’t grow up seeing absolutely fucked puppets on tv and fucking mr blobby and the yearly child trauma ritual of forcing kids to sit in the lap of some dude in a very disheveled and shoddy easter bunny suit

#like don’t get me wrong i get that the scale of the impact & ease of access to scary content that looks like kids content is different #but like. putting the blame for its existence on the internet as if that hasn’t just… been a part of human culture since forever #i mean ffs fairy tales are the Ultimate form of content geared towards kids #and the OG ones from balls centuries ago were all about like. murder and death and r*pe and whatnot #heehee hoohoo hansel and gretel two little kids who love candy :) THEY WILL GET EATEN ALIVE good night baby !!!! #it’s just always been a thing so #instead of blaming the internet for having content that has existed for All of human history #how about you blame yourself for not monitoring what kind of content your kid gets exposed to #how about you blame yourself for just dropping your kid in front of an ipad for hours on end without offering other forms of entertainment #how about sitting your kid down to explain to them what horror is and what fiction is #look i don’t get it either i don’t get why horror and gore is something that’s made to be compatible with children audiences #but the fact is. it exists and it always has and some kids do genuinely love it in the same way an adult would love horror movies #and ! even if you shelter your kid from all of it ! kids have nightmares and get scared of fucking anything ! #I HAD NIGHTMARES FROM THE MR BEAN MOVIE !!!! kids are just like that !! #you can not prevent your child from being scared #all you can do is comfort them when they do and help them feel safe again #it’s not the video game dev’s fault it’s not the plush manufacturer’s fault it’s just #a thing that is bound to happen eventually. #but don’t get mad that it does happen if -you- haven’t put in the effort to try to prevent it #you can’t just let your kid watch anything on youtube and then be mad they watched something you don’t like #if you’d checked with them or ! prepared your own playlist of stuff you deem acceptable or w/e #them you’d have nothing to complain about

[aro-aizawa]

hhhhh i am forcing myself to stop. i am going to be normal and not stay awake and binge the rest of rwby. i am not going to look at spoilers. i am going to stay in this little corner of ignorance and v much hope that i can get my brain to stop thinking abt rwby long enough for me to sleep tonight.

#shut up danni #im trying to get my mind off it by reading unrelated fanfic but its not quite working so far #i have eaten tho so at least there’s that #i’ve been SO LUCKY that i haven’t seen many if not any spoilers for rwby so far #the only one i saw was (SPOILER)………..that penny was alive? and that was p much it #the only one i sought out myself was the status of neo bc i have not and will not adore a villain more than i do her #i don’t think i can explain exactly why i love her but i just do #i don’t care if she doesn’t ever get any depth or motivations to her #so as you can imagine when she showed up again i DEFINITELY lost my mind #the amount of sass that can be packed into a mute tiny woman is extraordinary #also im LOVING the bumblebee we’ve been getting #that was another thing i maybe saw hints of and im glad that it’s a thing #they have such a cute chemistry and i don’t usually polyship but yang blake and sun? yeah they work #please do not spoil this for me (i say this to tumblr and also @ myself) #the last time i was this in the dark abt what’s coming up i was literally watching every new episode in volume 2 #its v fun #i think what’s even more fun tho is identifying new voice actors they pulled into this #it’s crazy to think they have so many big name voice actors in this #and it’s crazy to compare the two but man the dragon prince can’t hold a candle to rwby #they both have the same kind of vibe to me because they have similar styles and kinda magic premises #also their first season of both were kinda janky animation wise #anyways v much wild to see how far they’ve come

[sunlightfeeling]

god i forgot how much i liked that cohost hid a lot of metrics…

(much ranting in the tags…)

#im despising the note counter again…. #ramblin but not a gamblin man #but i really REALLY didnt like how cohost completely felt like a void #…​like genuinely felt like an isolation room or smth… #why can’t i just opt out #i have my notifications turned off again for sanity #but I don’t like seeing everyone else’s lol #…​they make me feel bad…. #and yeah i guess it has to do with smaller fandom but that’s kind of part of why it sucks #i want new content that’s not just made by the small group that we are #i want fuckin dedicated tags and a line of people making new things….even if the stuff we use is old #there are so many smasmas that have NEVER been giffed #so many dramas #(even though for a lot of these there’s like negative incentive to make anything for….) #but you know what sucks the most…. #no matter how much we love the stuff and do it because we like it….we are hoping that it will get shared….be known…. #im trying so hard not to pressure myself to gif every little thing #which is part of why im posting more and more clips #but it hurts seeing the note count that other fandoms get even in such a short time….and just being grateful-enjoying the ones i receive #i don’t know how much this shit makes sense #and im honestly so tired of getting upset by this time and time again but it hurts #i hate being part of an actually small fandom lol #..​that’s basically it….i guess #or one that’s small until someone random reblogs it and shoots the note count up #and I really can’t explain why that makes me more upset than happy but it actually really does lol #how many times am i going to talk about these and go in circles? way too many #i ruminate….its what i do…always been that way…got on my ex’s fuckin nerves lmfao……

[suguruplsr]

i feel like a small kink-that-isn’t-such-a-kink-but-i’m-calling-it-a-kink that kento has is watching you squirm from overstimulation.

specifically your hands during sex.

“move ‘em.” kento grits out, voice shaky as he fucks you from behind. you whine at his command, ignoring it and holding onto the blanket underneath you just a bit tighter. he watches how your fingers crunch the fluffy fabric, body trembling once he gives you a thrust that rubs your g-spot. you mewl, head falling onto the bed with a force on the back of it. his larger hand slides from your head down to your chin, turning it sideways against the bed. “what did i say sweetheart?” he mumbles, halting his movement. his soaked cock stays full into you, wet and sticky cum mushed around where you two meet. you whimper, trying to push back. his tip nudges where you need him, but your wanton moan is greeted with a spank of your ass.

“you’re not listening, hm?” kento quips, rubbing your hot ass cheek and leaning down. your back further arches, “s-sorry, just..” you try to explain yourself, but the teetering moans leaving you as his dick rocks into you do you no justice. “my baby’s so needy..” kento smiles, kissing the side of your cheek, his peppered kisses going down below your jaw, a slick of wetness in its wake. “c’mon sweetie, let go f’me.” he coos in your ear, fresh regal cologne filling your senses. you purse your lips, following his words obediently and letting your hands relax. you didn’t even realize how hard you had clutched onto the bed, hands aching a bit and fingers red.

swiftly, your face is turned straight into the blanket, hands pulled behind you and wrists locked by just one of your lover’s hands. without words, kento begins pounding your cunt how your need it, loud squelches and sounds of the mess that you two have made. your whines and moans fill kento’s head, his eyes stuck on how your ass jiggles with each thrust into you. the skin slowly brightening with juices that leave your soaping pussy. however, his view trails up, feeling your wiggling fingers scratch at his hand. god, you’re so cute. even if he can’t see your lewd expressions, he just knows you’re losing every bit of sobriety you had left, letting yourself go dumb on his cock. your fingers stretch before digging into his skin, but with the thick head of his cock angling just too good, they widen again, matching the sound of your higher moans. “please! please! please— make me cum!” your words rip through you, sobbing and shaking. kento groans, he can get used to studying you like this..

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk writing #jujustu kaisen smut #nanami x y/n #jjk kento #nanami kento #kento x reader #kento smut #jjk x black y/n #jjk x black reader #jjk x chubby reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x poc!reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #kento nanami #kento x y/n #kento x you #jujutsu kento #jjk nanami #nanami jjk