#//it's a day early but i'm sharing now to get some threads running!

[auteurdelabre]

A LITTLE SUN - PART FOUR Dieter x f!Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN'!)

Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

Chapter summary: The secret is out. . . And you both have to face the music.

tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Parental Issues, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.

dividers by @silkholland

a/n: Next chapter is... gonna be a doozy.

part one / part two / part three

"Tell me it isn't true."

"Huh?"

You roll over in bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Your cell is firmly lodged against your ear as your mother’s frantic cry is heard on the other end. It’s early the morning after the ultrasound and you’re still reeling from everything. There are soft pings going off on your phone, but all are drowned out by your mother’s terrified voice. 

After the kiss you and Dieter had been driven back to the rental in silence, both of you processing. You were pensive, staring down at your phone reading through work emails. Dieter on the other hand was beaming, his smile never dimming.

He’d tried to talk to you when you entered into the rental but you’d made a beeline for your bedroom where you’d fallen into an unsettled sleep. And now you have your mother screaming down the line at you as you blurrily try to understand what she’s going on about.

"People haven’t stopped calling,” your mom says her voice wobbling. "I keep hanging up but now they're on the lawn!"

"Mom what are you-"

"Tell me you're not having that horrible man's baby!"

It feels like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head sending icy chills down your spine. You jerk up in bed, your eyed bulging.

"What did you just say?"

You pull the phone from your ear and see all the pings and alerts that haven’t stopped. While you were sleeping it turns out you have been making headlines back home in the US. TMZ is of course the one to break the news, photos of you and Dieter splashes all over the internet.

Dieter Bravo makes PA his sex slave

There you both are, standing in the parking lot of the hospital. Dieter is smiling at you sweetly, his hand splayed over your belly. Your mid laugh and the two of you appear to have eyes only for each other. 

The next shot is the kiss – the one with your hand on his neck, his hand on your belly and both of you with your eyes shut. The level of intimacy in the photo is staggering to the point that just looking at it makes your face heat. 

How did they get that shot?

“Mom, I have to go,” you tell her breathlessly, hanging up on her still shrieking voice.

"DIETER! GET THE FUCK IN HERE!"

The day is long and by the evening the two of you have turned off your phones. The pings of incoming messages and phone calls are getting to be too much. Diane has scheduled an early meeting with the two of you tomorrow to discuss further steps.

You settle into the TV room, putting on some nature documentary but neither of you is watching it. You're seated by the fire, eyes lost in the flames.

Dieter is stretched out on the sofa, one arm behind his head, the other on his belly. He looked like a lost child, dark eyes wide and unblinking. He’s run his hands through his hair so much that it’s even more wild and mussed than usual.  Eventually when the silence grows oppressive you glance over at him.

"Was Mia pissed?" 

"She hadn't replied to any of my messages." 

Good. 

You don't know where that thought comes from, but it does. A strange sense of victory threads through your body, making you tingle pleasantly. But then your eyes drift over to Dieter still looking anxiously up at the ceiling and guilt soars through you. 

"Are you upset?"

"Of course I'm upset," Dieter snaps. "I really liked her. She's funny and chill and me being a single dad didn't bug her. She wanted me."

You say nothing. You watch as he throws his arm over his eyes, mouth curling into a frown. 

"And the shitty thing is I was gonna tell her when we got back to LA," Dieter sighs. "Fuck."

"I'm sorry," you offer in a quiet voice. Dieter’s eyes are immediately on your face. He sees you turned away from him. 

"What're you sorry for?"

You can't face him. You just shrug instead, feeling the queasy sensation of sentimentality. 

"I fucked it up for you."

Dieter is off the couch and crawling over to you without thinking. His long legs carry him clumsily until he’s kneeling at your feet.

"You didn't," Dieter says with that husky earnestness you’ve come to expect from him. You don't respond and he furrows his brows. "Hey, look at me."

You shake your head. You don't want to look at him. Dieter hates talking to people without seeing their eyes, it makes him uneasy. He doesn't see the irony in him constantly wearing sunglasses. He moves his fingers to your chin, gently tilting your face in his direction. 

"You did nothing wrong," 

"I kissed you."

"You were excited."

"But I kissed you," you repeat. 

"And I kissed you," Dieter offers without thinking before stumbling over his tongue as his words finally hit his brain. "It's like the first time you were excited about the baby and I loved sharing that with you."

He holds your gaze as you hold your breath. 

"I don't regret that moment. I wouldn't change it." His hand slips from your chin to your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the cologne he spritzed to cover up the smell of cigarettes. You can see the length of his dark eyelashes. You force your eyes not to drift to his pouty mouth. 

"Even if it fucks up everything with you and Mia?"

Dieter goes to respond to you when a loud bang sounds on the front door. The two of you break apart and Dieter groans as he stands muttering about his knees. You move to the seat by the window, not up for talking to whatever company Dieter has invited over but not wanting to be in your stuffy bedroom. 

"Mia?"

You turn as Dieter says her name. Mia shoves past Dieter into the rental without taking the time to say a word to him. Her hair is wild from the wind outside and her jacket hangs on the crooks of her elbows. Despite everything she still looks glamorous. She spies you sitting near one of the windows with wide eyes. 

"Hi," you offer weakly. 

Dieter steps forward to follow Mia towards you but you wave him away. He shifts back, hanging awkwardly by the front door as the two women in his life meet eyes. Mia is staring at you harshly, her hand going to motion towards your belly.

"It's his isn't it?" Mia demands breathlessly.

You think of denying it but you know she doesn't deserve it. You hang your head, chin touching your chest. 

"Yes."

"Fuck," Mia says shaking her head. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"You're not!" You insist, struggling to a stand. The blanket that had been draped over your belly falls to the ground. 

Mia's eyes rove your expanded stomach, noticing the pronounced swell under your tight t-shirt more easily than the last time she saw you. Her eyes widen and you feel the need to explain before she starts screaming or crying.

"It was a one night stand," you explain in a rush. 

"One where you got pregnant and are keeping the baby," Mia says flatly. "Doesn't sound like a casual one night thing to me."

"Dieter is paying me."

Mia's reaction is as expected: confused and then horrified. Her perfectly manicured nails slide over her mouth in distress. 

"What?"

"Dieter, get Mia a drink," you throw over Mia's shoulder. You need him to stop standing there staring at you like a bump on a log. You look back to Mia. "Please, just come sit down and let's talk about this." 

Dieter scrambles, knocking into one of the chairs before scampering off into the kitchen, relieved to have something to do. 

Mia looks to be debating your offer before nodding. She follows you to the large tufted chairs by the window, taking the one opposite you. 

"I don't even know why I'm here," Mia laughs ruefully, not able to meet you sympathetic gaze. "It's not like... I don't..."

She fumbles for the words that you already know and you give a chagrined smile. 

"Because you like him," you tell her.

"We barely know one another," she says to her chapped hands. “We haven’t even slept together.”

She nestles back into the chair like a delicate bird making home in a nest. Dieter rushes over with two full glasses of red wine. He presses one into Mia's hand, wincing at her cool appraisal of him. His hand extends the wineglass towards you before he realizes the faux pas. 

"Oh fuck," Dieter says wincing. "I didn't-"

"Its fine," you say rolling your eyes. "You drink it," you motion to the sofa across the room when Dieter goes to perch on the arm of your chair, "over there!"

Dieter nods, shuffling quickly away from you, the wine spilling in like drops after him like a bloody trail. He places the wineglass onto the coffee table with a quiet knock. 

You glance over Mia's body tucked tightly into the chair. She looks so haunted, so defeated that it breaks your heart. Yes, you can admit that there is a part of you that is jealous of her relationship but you know that it's just hormones. Ultimately you want Dieter happy and Mia makes him happy. 

"Mia," you say her name softly, leaning forward conspiratorially as her large eyes turn on you. "You and Dieter have a strong connection."

She gives a scoff into her wineglass. "Right."

"I've seen the two of you," you insist. "You bring out the best in him. You seem happy when you're with him."

"He makes me laugh," Mia relents. 

You try not to notice Dieter's head poking up from the couch, his eyes flitting from you to Mia and back again. 

"Don't let this," you motion to your expanded belly, "get in the way of that." 

"You say it like it's not a big deal," Mia says with a distressed laugh, her hand gesturing to your belly. "It's a child you two made together!"

"It’s a business transaction," you say firmly. "Dieter wanted to be a dad, I got pregnant, he offered to pay and I accepted. That's how non-emotional the entire thing was. I never wanted kids."

Mia twists the stem of her wineglass between her fingers anxiously. The drink sloshes against the sides hypnotically. 

"Why would you do this?" Mia finally asks you gently. "If you never wanted kids, I mean. This is a big ask."

You know she doesn't believe you and you don't know how to convince her other than giving her all the brutal facts. You exhale slowly, lips pressing together tightly. 

"Because I have significant debt," you tell her leaning back into the chair. "And when Dieter offered me a very generous payment to carry the child to term I didn't want to turn it down."

You try to sound clinical and detached as you explain this. Dieter's eyes flicked to your face when you mentioned the debt, his brows raised. Now he just continues looking uncertainly between you and Mia. 

"You're not going to want to be in this baby's life at all?" Mia asks, brow furrowed. "You're just going to go work for Dieter every day and ignore your own baby?"

The way she says this sounds judgmental. Like you're a monster for choosing this. It makes your hackles rise momentarily before you remember that she's come here to understand everything. You smooth down the pillow absently, grounding yourself.  

"I won't be working for Dieter after I give birth," you explain in a rush, avoiding the way Dieter's eyes move sharply to your face. "I'll pay off my debts and then I'm going back to school to finish my schooling. I won't even be in the same city."

You hide a wince when you see Dieter's hurt expression behind Mia's shoulder at this proclamation. You know he’d been upset when you mentioned Sacramento in passing, but now he just looks devastated.

Mia blinks rapidly, looking even more thrown then before. "You won't?"

"Nope." You shake your head before giving a tepid smile. "But that means I won't be there to get in the way either. No random run ins, no having to pretend things aren't totally fucking awkward."

Mia gives a small smile at this

“It also means that your relationship with Dieter would be public news,” you tell her quietly. “It means tabloids running things about you being a stepmom. It means a lot of unwanted attention.”

“I could give a fuck about that,” Mia says rolling her eyes. “They said I didn’t have a belly button last year. I don’t care what they print about me. I just signed an airtight three picture deal with Marvel.”

You want to laugh at how you pinned Mia as this innocent little waif who didn’t know what she was getting into. How wrong you were. She’s more shrewd and worldly than most fifty year olds you know in the business.  Suddenly your fears about her being too innocent, about her career being damaged, are pushed to the side.

But her smile drops and she jerks her head behind her to glare at a solemn looking Dieter who now stands braced against the edge of his couch. She places her empty wineglass next to her on the floor.

"You lied to me, Dee."

"I told him to," you break in before your boss can reply. "I begged him not to tell anyone. Even you."

Mia turns back around, brow raised. "Why?"

"Because I was involved in a one night stand with my boss," you say with a dejected scoff. "And I got pregnant from it. From the man the media once called Burnout Bravo. I was humiliated. I didn’t want anyone to know. My own mother didn’t even know until TMZ came out with it."

Dieter feels his heart sink as you say this. The truth that he always suspected so brutally delivered makes him feel like he's been punched in the gut. Burnout Bravo.

Mia begins twisting her fingers together nervously. "Really?"

"Really," you nod before shooting a look over at Dieter that says play along. 

"It's the truth," Dieter says hollowly. 

"So there's no feelings here?" Mia asks the both of you. 

You're the first to reply with a laugh you force from the bottom of your belly. 

"No. Never. It was a one night stand because we were drunk and because I hadn't been laid in months. That's all it was."

"Yeah," Dieter says laughing the same sharp way you do. "I don't fuck my employees. We were wasted." 

That stings. To be referred to as an employee and so carelessly. But it’s what needs to be done. The two of them fit together. You lean closer to Mia, dropping your voice so that only she can hear you.

“Mia what you two have is special,” you emphasize. “I’m not just saying that. I’ve known Dieter for years. You’re the first one I’ve really seen make him change for the better.”

Mia seems to soften at this and you watch as Mia pushes up from the chair and draws over to Dieter. He stands and she allows him to pull her into his arms. He closes his eyes as he holds her against him. She murmurs something into his neck and the moment suddenly feels incredibly intimate.

You feel your intruding on the two of them and you shuffle past them into your bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you.

Back in the kitchen Mia pulls back slightly to gaze up at Dieter.  "Do you want her, Dieter?"

"What?" Dieter blinks rapidly. "You already asked me that and-"

"And now she's not in the room with us," Mia finishes, peering into Dieter's face. "And I want your total honesty." 

Total honesty.

He can't give her that. Can't tell her how you occupy his thoughts at all times. Can't tell her that even if you weren't carrying his child he's crazy about you. Can't tell her that he's so touched that you care about him well past that of a personal assistant. Can't tell her that he's told you things no one knows because he trusts you more than anyone. 

And he can't tell her those things because he really cares for Mia, more than he ever expected to. If things continue between the two of them there's a very good chance he's going to fall in love with her because right now he's well on his way. 

He doesn't want to give her up. 

His affection for you will wane. When you leave for school he'll be able to forget you. You don't want him so why would he pin his affections on that?

He needs to move on from you. 

"No," Dieter says firmly. "It's not like that. I mean of course I care about her. She's been my assistant for years and she's carrying my kid." 

"You know that's not what I mean," Mia says flatly, her light eyes scanning his face. Dieter stares into those eyes, feeling himself melt. 

Mia is sweet and ambitious and she likes to party. She's got an edge, a relaxed way of being and she's fucking gorgeous. She's an actress so of course there's a bit of ego but that's nothing he can't handle. If anything he likes it about her. 

Mia had been so understanding, so cool. Dieter could feel himself falling harder and harder for her the longer they were together. Part of him thinks she suggested the casual nature of the relationship because that's all she thought he was capable of. She gets him in a lot of ways. 

But you’re here and you're carrying his child and even if you weren't, after breaking down the walls you keep up these past few months, Dieter doesn't know that he can stop wanting you. It doesn't make sense; you don't want him like that so why does he still desire you? 

He needs to quit it though. If he doesn't watch himself he's going to lose Mia and he doesn't want that. 

"I want you," Dieter finishes softly, cupping her cheek. 

Mia slides her manicured hand over Dieter's wrist, sighing as she looks up at him. 

"I think maybe we need to take a beat Dee."

"Huh? Why?"

Dieter can't understand what she's talking about. They're going at a glacial pace. He hasn't even taken her to bed yet. Something that would have bothered him in past relationships, but for this one just feels right.

"Because I need some time to think things over," Mia tells him gently. "This is a lot to take in."

Dieter frowns. "But, I like being with you."

"And I like being with you," Mia assures him with a smile. "But I need to wrap my head around this. I know why you did what you did, but I need to sit with it and let you know how I feel."

She’s dumping him.

Dieter isn’t an idiot. He’s done this song and dance in his time. He knows by the tentative way she meets his eyes, the way her hand stays lightly on his wrist. She’s softening the blow, he realizes.

"If that's what you want," he manages. He won’t force a woman to be with him. And despite everything he’s glad he met Mia.

"It is," Mia nods. She stands on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips, smiling as she pulls back. "I better get back to the hotel. I have an early day on set tomorrow. Not all of us were lucky enough to finish wrapping their scenes."

"The price of being the lead," Dieter grins. Mia giggles, going to pull on her jacket before giving him a brief wave.

“I’ll see you later, Dee.”

You're in bed when Mia leaves, half dozing on your side. You’ve just removed the headphones from your belly and you’re ready to fall into a hopefully long sleep. You start when the door to your room creaks opens and Dieter steps inside, creeping over to your bed.

"Hey," you whisper in the dark. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dieter nods, unbuttoning his shirt. "We talked it out."

"Okay. Good."

The shirt is dropped to the ground, followed quickly by his jeans. Wearing only his boxers he stills, realizing he's not in his room but yours. 

"Did you... Can I sleep in here?"

"In here?" 

"Yeah," Dieter says and you can hear the insecurity there. 

"Sure," you say pulling back the covers. "If you can fit in this narrow bed with me and my stomach."

"I'll fit," Dieter grins. 

You feel him slip under the covers, shifting nearer to you until his breathing is fanning over the back of your neck.

His hand tentatively rests at your hip, tensing. He remembers last time the two of you were together in bed, you snuggling up to him, kissing his shoulder, holding him. There was nothing sexual about it, just comforting. He wants that again. 

"Would," he starts, feeling embarrassed. "Would it-"

"What?"

"Would it be okay if I held you? Not trying anything," he quickly adds which makes you smile in the dark. "I just like holding him." 

Your smile fades. He doesn't want to hold you. He wants to hold the baby.

Of course he does. 

You want to quell the beating of your heart. You want to remind yourself that this is transactional. 

But more than that you want to be held by him. 

You want to inhale the scent of his cologne and feel the ridge of his nose grazing your neck. You want to feel his hand curl against your stomach. And most of all you want to fall asleep with the man who helped you to create this life you carry.

"Yeah," you shuffle back against him. "I'm sure he misses you."

It's a silly thing to say especially since the baby doesn't even know it’s a baby yet. But Dieter grins at the comment, holding you. 

"I missed him," he murmurs, hand grazing softly against your abdomen. 

Guilt gnaws away at you though. 

"Would Mia be okay knowing you're in here?" You whisper in the darkness. "I mean, I know nothing is happening, I just mean... You know."

"Yeah. Pretty sure she dumped me." Dieter supplies.  He feels you tense in his arms, tilting your head over your shoulder to stare up at him concerned.

"What? Really?" 

"Yeah," you feel Dieter shifting behind you, his large arm coming to wrap tighter around your waist. "Says she needs time to process everything." 

“Doesn’t sound like breaking up.”

“Trust me,” Dieter sighs. “I know a break up monologue when I hear it. I’ve given enough of them.”

“Oh.”

You think on this, hand sliding under your pillow. Dieter sounds resigned, like this isn't necessarily something he wants. 

"You're okay with it, Dieter?"

"Yeah." 

"Maybe it was for the best," you offer, trying to cheer him up. "I don't know that monogamy was ever your thing." 

The moment stretches between you both, the room quiet. Dieter has found your left hand, his thumb coming to absently rub the ring you wear there. The ring he bought you that you never take off. The ring that if you knew how much it cost you would never wear for fear of losing it. He loves seeing it on your finger, knowing that something he bought you ties you to him in some way. 

"For the right person it would be," Dieter finally offers in a soft rasp. Before you can say anything he's flicking the lamp next to the bed off. 

"G'night." 

"Night."

Dieter wakes the next morning when the scent of your perfume on the pillow. He cracks his eyes open to see the bed empty and he feels a stab of disappointment. 

He showers before pulling on his clothes and robe and padding into the kitchen. You're sitting there, backlit by the sun and when you look up from your cereal bowl and cast a bright smile in his direction he feels momentarily breathless. 

You’re so fucking beautiful.

"Morning, ready for a painfully long flight home tonight?"

"Y-yeah," Dieter stammers before pouring himself a cup of the brewed coffee. 

You watch him looking anxiously around as he dumps the sugar into his brew before taking a seat opposite you. 

"So I was thinking about the Mia thing," You offer after a sip of tea. “She loves to travel right? Like, outside of work?”

“Yeah,” Dieter nods enthusiastically. "Last week she actually suggested we go on a trip together after the film wraps."

“So do it,” you insist. “Show her with action that you want and cherish her. Just the two of you somewhere romantic. Where does she like? Paris? Italy?”

“She was always talking about Prague,” Dieter offers as he recalls their times together. When they were first getting to know one another under the pretense of running lines. “She’s always wanted to go.”

“So take Mia to Prague,” you say enthusiastically as you can manage. “See the sights, stay at wonderfully fancy places, do romantic things. Prove to her that you want to be with her. Because she obviously means something to you Dieter.”

“You seem awfully concerned about my romantic life,” Dieter muses. “When did that start?”

“Contrary to what you believe, I care about you,” you say shortly. “And when I’m gone I want to make sure that things are stable. Mia is a good stabilizing force. And from what I can tell she’s a lot tougher than I gave her credit for.”

“So Prague,” Dieter echoes, thinking about your suggestion. It’s a good plan. A smart one if Mia will give him a chance to prove how much he cares about her.

“I won’t lie I’m jealous,” you smirk at your cereal bowl. "Always wanted to go there."

I'll take you. I'll take you anywhere you want to go.

Dieter shakes his head to erase this dangerous thought. 

No. No you won't, Bravo. She's leaving practically as soon as your kid is here. Stop thinking about her like that. She's your employee. 

"Well you'll have three hundred thousand dollars to play around with," Dieter says forcing a smile to his own face. 

"Two hundred," you correct through a mouthful of cereal. 

"Huh?"

"Well uh, I have to pay off my mom's mortgage. There's still about a two hundred thousand left on it. Then I have to pay off my student loans the next semesters' tuition and rent a place so... No trips to Prague for me." 

You give a little huffing laugh before going back to your cereal. Dieter takes a long sip of his coffee thinking about everything that’s gone on.

You begin to tap into your tablet, bringing up your flight details. Dieter watches you typing, transfixed by the way your fingers move, the way the ring he bought you sometimes spins on your finger. He recalls the way those same fingertips felt gripping him as he licked-

Fucking stop.

"Okay, that's done; the car will be here around three. Bags are packed, your passport is with mine," you say checking things off your list with a satisfied smile before it drops. “And our meeting with Diane is in ten.”

“Diane?”

Diane is the big guns when it comes to PR and Dieter’s career in general. Knowing that you’ve pissed her off stresses the both of you big time. And as if you’ve summoned a well organized demon the laptop chirps.

Seconds later you and Dieter sit awkwardly next to one another at the kitchen table, your laptop positioned between the two of you. A furious looking Diane is on the zoom call, her dark red brows knitted together. 

"I thought I was perfectly clear."

"You were Diane," you jump in, your cheeks red. "It's-"

"No public affection," Diane interjects. "No fraternizing with co-stars."

Dieter gives a sheepish grin at that before his eyes jot to you. You can't even look at him in the small box of the zoom meeting. You feel so foolish about all of this. All your years of professionalism, striving to have things under control and this is how it ends? A blurry snapshot of you kissing your celebrity boss?

"The baby kicked for the first time," Dieter offers quietly. "We were just really excited."

"Congrats," Diane says without a shred of conviction. "Now we have a PR nightmare that we have to spin."

“I know we screwed up, Diane, but I swear it was a heat of the moment,” you implore her. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t. As of this moment you are no longer working for Dieter Bravo.”

“Hey-“ Dieter starts but Diane is talking over him.

“You wanted to keep her on Dee, and look what happened. And now we can’t even keep you on the books because it’ll look suspicious,” Diane snaps. “You can’t be seen fucking and paying your assistant, it’ll be career suicide. I’ll have to pay her wage through a third party and I really didn’t need this headache considering I was already finished up on a plan for unveiling baby Bravo and now I have to rethink the entire thing.”

 Dieter looks over to see your head hung low, your cheeks stained red. He knows how much this is killing you. How much you prided yourself on your work acumen and professionalism. He tries to slide his hand over yours but you pull away sharply, eyes going to Diane.

“I understand, Diane. Just tell me what I need to do.”

The flight back is a strained one. Diane has booked you both first class and private pods but across the plane from one another. You don’t interact the entire flight; instead you’re left to your own thoughts as you absently stroke your stomach.

You have a few things in your favor – it was getting close to having to stop working anyway. You’re officially showing and you’re still getting paid. That money can all go to the family.

The family.

Your mother’s voice over the phone rings in your ears. The shrill terrified shout that this couldn’t be true. You’ve disappointed her. You have to explain it all to her as soon as possible. It’ll be easier to just tear the band aid off.

Dieter rests in his own private pod three whiskey’s deep, his swollen eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He’s been holding back tears all morning and now they slip down his gold cheeks in the privacy of the flight.

He doesn’t get to see you or the baby until he’s born. It’s a fucking cruelty.

“If you want her to have a normal life, Dee, you’ll stay far away from her. She needs to be seen as a surrogate only, not a romance. We can write the kiss off as a one-time thing if we find an alternative romantic partner to highlight for you.”

Of course he’d agreed immediately. He doesn’t want you or the baby stressed. It’s his own fault for wanting you so badly it aches. You promised to update the app daily, to video chat at least every other day. That had seemed fair.

But now on the way back to LA, Dieter can’t help but feel this growing pit starting in his belly. A coldness that has nothing to do with the weather. He’s not going to see you every day, won’t be able to smell your perfume, hear your voice when you sing in the shower (off-key), won’t snuggle you to him as you watch nature documentary’s. 

At least before this photo Dieter had the option of going to your house to see you in the last few months of your pregnancy, but now with the media frenzy there’s no possibility. It’ll be horrible for you and your mom.

Once he’s off the flight Dieter’s phone is buzzing. He takes it out, surprised to see that Diane has already sent him a few texts. He’s confused before he remembers that without you as his PA he’ll be receiving her messages directly.

[12:33pm] I talked to Mia’s publicist. She’s agreed to a public romance rollout this Friday. New club opening.  Confirming your availability.

Dieter glances over at you in the luggage carousel, eyes flitting from bag to bag as you wait for yours.  You look like a goddess despite your dark black clothes and oversized sunglasses. He knows you’re trying to be inconspicuous.

[12:34pm] D: I’m available.

You’ve got your luggage and Dieter scrambles to grab his own before rolling it over to you. You notice his approach and try to affect a casual attitude. Thankfully no one seems to recognize you from the photos.

“I’ll make sure you get into your taxi,” Dieter offers quietly walking alongside you, his brows raised.

“No it’s fine,” you insist, taking your rolling luggage and giving him a soft smile. “I’ll be good. I’ll head out first; hopefully if there are any paps they won’t recognize me before I’m in the cab.”

“Right.”

When you walk out of the airport you think of all the things Diane warned you about over the phone. The photographers, the yelling, the attention. You thought you were ready for it.

You were wrong.

But there are at least fifty paparazzi all hanging around like flashbulb vultures waiting to catch you both looking vulnerable. Groups of men with oversized cameras are all shouting at you, calling your name, saying things to get your attention.

"Over here! Hey, over here!"

"Have you two picked out names yet?"

“Did you put holes in the condom?”

"Do you know the gender?"

“Do you sleep with all your employers?”

"Is it twins? It looks like it could be twins."

You feel anxious tears starting at the corner of your eyes. They’re going to photograph you and you’re going to be crying. You still in the crowd, hand on your luggage strap, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

The taxi seems so far away, the lights, the sounds; the sensation of being suffocated is all you can focus on. You feel like you’re drowning. Your chin wobbles and another camera is thrust directly into your face.

One hand curls over your belly protectively before you raise the other to shield your face. You feel completely alone and vulnerable, the tears almost spilling when you feel a warm hand envelop your wrist. You glance up to see Dieter there at your side, stony faced at the paparazzi as he pulls you gently towards him.

“Give her room to breathe.”

Gratitude floods you and despite Diane’s directions to avoid each other like the plague you let him lead you towards where his private SUV waits.

His arm goes to your back, urging you to move with him. As you and Dieter shuffle through the throng of shouting people you suddenly understand why Dieter drowns himself in drugs and sex and everything else. This constant whirlwind, this unbearable attack on all sides is exhausting. Photographers, fans, cameras, eyes, shouts. It's terrifying.

"Is this the result of a one night stand?"

“Dieter have you asked for a DNA test?”

 “How old are you?”

“DIETER I LOVE YOU!”

“Did you feel pressured because Mr Bravo is your boss?”

“Can I have your autograph!?”

“What a slut!”

“What’s the sex like?”

A camera is thrust inches from your face and you give a yelp, putting up a free hand in front of you as the light flashes.

"Hey, get the fuck away from her," Dieter says placing a protective arm around your waist and sweeping you along with him. He doesn’t let you go as he herds you through the line of shouting people. Dieter’s driver is there, grabbing your bag for you and loading it into the SUV.

“Just breathe, baby,” Dieter murmurs against your temple. “I got you.”

You want to tell him that this will look bad in tomorrow’s gossip column; that even just walking side by side will create a frenzy of tabloid speculation. But you’re terrified at the mob of people and your hand clutches at the front of Dieter’s jacket as you shy away from them.  

"Are you really pregnant or is this a publicity stunt?"

"Dieter what about rumors that you've been linked recently with Mia Rowe?"

"It's it true this child might be Robert Pattinson’s?"

When the last photographer starts shouting and shoving the camera in your face again you let out a small whimper as Dieter opens the door of the SUV for you.

“Please just stop!”

Dieter hears your cry and turns to see your terrified expression before you’re burying your face in Dieter’s shoulder.

Dieter loses all rational thought. All he can focus on is the way you’re trembling in his arms, the way your hand has gone protectively over your stomach protecting his son, the child you made together.   

Before you can stop him he's reared back and kicked the photographer in the vee of his legs and the man blanches. You look on in horror at the altercation.

"Dieter!"

Flashbulbs are going off like crazy as the man groans sharply, grabbing between his legs and collapsing onto the sidewalk.

“I said stay the fuck away from her!” Dieter shouts, his cheeks red.

He pulls himself in after you, closing the door before his arms are around you, pulling you against him. The windows are tinted, but that won’t matter after that little performance out there.

“Ready to go Mister Bravo?”

“Yeah, thanks Hank.”

The car is already in motion, heading for Dieter’s place as the sound of shouts grow quieter and quieter with each passing mile. You’re still shaking, still reeling from everything that happened.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “That must have been terrifying. I’m used to it now but I remember how it used to be.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, still trembling. “They’re relentless.”

“Coke. Sex. Booze,” Dieter shrugs as if this is a natural response. “I get by. But it doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Dieter has his hand holding yours, thumb rubbing soothing circles along the back of your palm. 

“And here I thought my Mom was going to be the most stressful part of today,” you say trying to offer a weak smile.

“Is it really going to be that bad do you think?”

“Honestly yeah, I do,” you say nodding.  “She’s going to be pissed and I’m going to have to walk on eggshells until the baby is born.”

"Why don't you stay in my guest house?"

You gaze up and over at Dieter, seeing that he’s watching your face with a soft expression as the car coasts through the busy LA traffic.

"What?”

"You don't want to stay at home, I have the empty space. I don't see why that's so weird. And if I’m honest I don’t wanna be so far away from my son,” Dieter finishes lamely. “I like seeing him growing every day.”

I like seeing you every day.

He can’t admit that to you. He never will. He’ll swallow it down deep.

“I have to go home, Dieter.” You insist. “Plus, Diane would murder me. This flies in the face of everything she’s trying to cultivate for your image.”

Dieter doesn’t say anything, but he does relax back into the seat next to you.  He doesn’t release your hand, instead he maneuvers his fingers, lacing them through yours and resting them on the seat between you both.

You tell Hank your address and you take a deep breath as a short while later he rounds on your street.

Your Mom wasn’t joking.

There really are tons of people littering your normally quiet suburban neighborhood. Many with expensive looking cameras and phones. You groan as the SUV crawls by them before you insist on having the Hank drive you around the corner. The last thing you need is to be seen getting out of Dieter’s car.

Hank goes to take your bags out of the trunk and Dieter readies himself to follow you out the door.

“I’ll come-“

“No,” you insist gently. “I have to do this myself.”

He wants to deny this but he sees the seriousness of your countenance and nods. He knows you’re a strong, capable woman. But the thought of you being messed with by those paps are making his jaw clench.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him with a grin as you slip on a pair of oversized sunglasses. “Thanks to you I know how to get them to leave me alone.”

He can’t help but let out a short laugh, cut short when you close the car door. Dieter watches you take the suitcase handle from Hank and thank him before you roll it down the sidewalk and out of his life for the foreseeable future.

The first thing you notice when you get inside your house is how quiet it is.

Especially compared to the madness that is just outside your front door.  You’d successfully ignored the men and women who shouted questions at you. You were busy on the phone with the local police ensuring that your Mother’s home would no longer be swarmed. You slide your suitcase to the left of the door.

“Mom?”

She appears moments later dressed in her sweatpants and oversized sweater.  She hasn’t left the house despite it being a workday.

“Your flight was okay?”

“Uh, yep.”

“Good.”

“You didn’t go to work today?”

“Couldn’t get my car out of the driveway,” your Mom says tightly.

“I called the city when I was walking up,” you tell her, toeing off your shoes. “They’ll take care of it.”

She nods but makes no move to smile or to hug you. She’s always been an emotional woman, prone to hugs and kisses so her complete lack of anything has you on edge.

“I made pie,” she says, “come have a slice.”

You hear distant sirens outside as you follow her into the kitchen, taking your coat off before plopping into seat opposite her at the table. You don’t miss how her eyes widen at the obvious swell of your stomach.  

“So it’s true.”

You watch her cut the peach pie she’s baked noting that her fingers are trembling. You say nothing in reply, simply watching as she slides your portion and a fork to you on the plate before she looks back at your face.

“You made a child with that horrible man.”

“He’s not a horrible man,” you say, your voice coming out more caustic than expected. “You don’t know anything about him other than what the media wants you to think.”

“Oh, he’s an angel then, is that it?” your Mother gives a humorless laugh as she sits in her seat, the cheap wood creaking. “He doesn’t do drugs? Doesn’t say crazy things? Doesn’t act like a fool?”

Your mother has always ragged on Dieter through your entire employment. Most of the time you could shrug it off, ignore it or even laugh along with her. But now? After everything you’ve experienced with him you feel a strangely intense feeling of protectiveness. For the soft man that holds you in bed and buys you rings just because. For the man that listens to you talk about your Dad and shares about his mom. Hearing her deride him makes you curl your fingers around your fork in anger.

“Even if he did all those things, so what? If the worst thing you can say about Dieter Bravo is that he acts immature and says silly things and does drugs every once in a while does that really make him so horrible?”

“It makes him irresponsible,” your Mom snaps. The worst possible thing you can be in your mother’s eyes in irresponsible. “And he’s supposed to be the father of your child? Of my grandson? I’m not going to have a son in law that acts like he does.”

A son in law?

You could laugh at the thought of Dieter being a married family man. When would he have time to go on hippie retreats and have threesomes? Although considering his behavior of late perhaps that’s an unfair belief. Regardless, Dieter Bravo is not the marrying kind.

"Mom we're not getting married. Ever."

Your mom's fork clatters onto her plate, the pie forgotten.

"What? Why not?"

Fuck. This is going to hurt so much more than you thought. Hearing your Mom refer to herself as a grandmother is a new kind of pain you weren’t anticipating. You can see it there in her eyes that keep lingering on your belly – all the hopes and dreams of grandchildren running through her mind.

“We’re not in a relationship.… this isn't... I'm not keeping the baby," you finally manage to say in a thick voice.  

"What?” Your mom nearly shouts when she looks to your swollen stomach, her features contorted in horror.  "You can't just get an-"

"No, not like that. I mean, I'm giving the baby to Dieter. He's paying me to be his surrogate." 

Saying it out loud makes your heart hammer. If you thought she looked horrified at the previous comment, she looks downright disgusted now. She leans back in her chair, as if she physically cannot stand to be closer to you.

"What?"

"I'm getting paid," you explain in a rush, hoping that this will ease the pain of it. "Three hundred thousand dollars." 

You expect that this will soften the blow of the news but if anything she looks as if she’s been slapped.

“You’re… selling your baby?”

The way she says it makes your skin crawl, like you’re some backroom monster.

“It’s not like that,” you say raking your hands through your hair in frustration. “Mom, I’m not like, his Mom. I’m just carrying him. Like, remember when Liz had the surrogate? I’m like that girl they hired.”

“Liz didn’t let her husband sleep with that woman did she? They did it at the hospital, with a transfer,” Your mom peers into your face and you think you see a shadow of hope. “Is that what happened, honey? You got an embryo transfer?”

Fuck this is getting worse by the minute.

“No. We slept together. It was a mistake.”

You wince when you feel your son kick, a light flutter that has you gripping the sides of your abdomen in surprise.  Guilt immediately goes through you – can he understand what you’re saying during all of this? No, of course not, he’s a fucking fetus. And yet that doesn’t stop you from welling up.

"This is so…twisted,” your mom replies with a shake of her head. “It’s one thing to sleep with him and have his baby. But you… You’re not even going to be his mother? You’re selling him off like he’s a piece of furniture?”

A solemn quiet goes around the space and your mother drops her napkin to the table.  You take a bite of your pie, finding it bitter.

“That’s not at all what’s happening.”

"If your father was here-"

"Well he's not!" you snap out at her. “You had no one else to take care of you so I stepped up. I see how long the hours are that you work, how exhausted you are. You’re supposed to retiring at this age, not taking on double shifts. I wanted to pay off the mortgage for you. I wanted to pay for my schooling. And Dieter wanted a child, so how is this pregnancy a bad thing? We all got something out of it.”

“Got something out of it?” Your mother almost sneers. “You don’t get something out of it. You created life and now you’re selling him for profit to a man who needs help staying sober longer than a week. It’s disgusting what the two of you are doing.”

A searing pain goes through you as you sit there, the pie dry and tacky in your mouth. It hurts to swallow it down. But it hurts more to know that your sacrifice is now being thrown back into your face.

“I did this for you,” you tell her weakly.

"I never asked you to do anything for me," your mom says and now you see the shame in her eyes. The disappointment. “It’s disgraceful treating human life like a commodity. I… I can’t accept that money from you. It’s tainted.”

I did it all for nothing.

You feel numb. Your Mom has lowered her chin to her sternum and you can see fat tears slipping down her nose. She’s silent as she cries and when she does this it reminds you so much of your father’s funeral and the way she’d silently sobbed that you feel physically ill.

You can’t be in this environment. Not just because it hurts so much to have her talk to you like she has. But because you can’t spend the next several months on eggshells, high strung and anxious. You can’t do that to the life that is building itself within your womb, cell by cell. You will give your son every advantage you can.

"I can't be in this house," you say softly. "I'm sorry, mom. I... I can't."

“I think that might be for the best,” she agrees, and you notice that she can’t meet your eyes.

You move to your feet wobbling to your bedroom, closing the door gently behind you. You look at the awards on the desks, the beautiful painting you look at each morning, at the space you lived in with your Mom and Dad. You can almost hear his voice as he told he was so proud of his smart daughter and her science awards.

If you try you can remember how it felt to have him read you bedtime stories before you fell asleep in this very room. You can still smell the cinnamon bread your Mom would make you every year for your first day of school.

But then you blink and all you see is a room with a bed and a desk and some art on the walls. A past life of someone who doesn’t exist anymore.  You catch your reflection in your dresser mirror, amused to see that the woman staring back at you hasn’t been a child for a long time. She stands with a splotchy face and tired eyes, and a stomach that swells with life.

“You’re gonna be safe,” you tell the bump in the mirror.  “I promise.”

You glance out between your drawn blinds thankful to see that the group has been dispersed by local law enforcement. Good. You bring out your mobile and begin tapping out a message.

[4:31pm]:  Is that offer of staying at your place still on?

D [4:31pm]: i'll send a car

You don’t even fight him on it.

[4:32pm]: Thank you.

D [4:32pm]: u never have to thank me

You make your way to your closet where you bring out a second suitcase, filling it to the brim with everything you think you’ll need for the next little bit. Your suitcase full of clothes from your last trip is waiting for you at the front door for when you exit.

You sit on the end of your bed, waiting for the car when you feel your phone buzz at your hip.

It’s a photo from Dieter, one that makes your brows saddle. It’s of his guest house, the one he usually just keeps for out of town guests and overflow storage for his paintings and other purchases.

But you can see he’s organized it, swept the floors and set everything up nicely complete with a vase of fresh flowers from his garden sitting on the coffee table.

D [4:56pm]: ready and waiting, baby mama

Your hand is on your abdomen without thought, gently holding your son through the tendons and tissues. You give a watery smile at your screen before looking down at your belly, feeling a sense of relief bloom behind your sternum.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, little one. Your Dad is gonna take care of us.”

TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dad!Dieter #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x you #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble

[moodymelanist]

Like A Bird

happy day 1 of @nessianweek everyone!! I'm so excited to be doing this for the THIRD YEAR in a row and I can't wait to see what everyone creates ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Summary: Nesta and Cassian oversee their daughter’s flying lessons.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Cassian

When his daughter first came to Cassian practically begging him to teach her how to fly properly, he had been so excited that this day had finally come. The moment he’d realized Nesta was pregnant, Cassian had started dreaming of sharing important milestones with their children like this. He’d thought about how much kinder and more patient he’d be with Seraphina than his teachers had been with him, how wonderful it would be to share his love of the skies with his daughter the way he wished he could’ve with his mother.

But that was before reality entered the picture. 

Cassian had tried to teach Sera for all of a quarter of an hour before he realized he wasn’t cut out for it, because the first time she fell out of the air his heart had fallen with her. He’d moved faster than he’d thought possible to stop her from hitting the ground, and Nesta had teased him for days about how dramatically he’d reacted. 

Thankfully, Azriel had been more than willing to step in. He’d taught both Feyre and Nyx how to fly, so he was the natural choice to help Sera when Cassian couldn’t. Sera had been so excited to spend time with Azriel that she’d hardly been able to sleep the night before, and although Cassian was put out that he wouldn’t be the one to give Sera her first flying lessons, he knew there would be plenty of other ways to share his love of the skies with her. 

“It’s okay, Papa,” Sera told him with all the understanding a child could muster up. They were waiting for Azriel to arrive at their home in Illyria, and she looked absolutely adorable with her hair braided out of her face. “Don’t be scared.”

“Papa will be just fine,” Nesta replied, shooting Cassian a look that clearly said don’t you dare ruin this for her. “Right, Papa?”

“Right,” Cassian responded immediately. He bent down so he could press a kiss to Sera’s dark hair, smoothing down some of the frizz that had formed when she’d yanked on her clothes. “I’ll be brave for you, zogu.”

Their conversation was effectively ended by Azriel stepping out of the shadows and into their backyard. The early spring air was still cool enough to immediately turn his cheeks a little pink, but they were all long used to the mountain air in their family. 

“Good morning,” Azriel said after the last of his shadows had dissipated. He was dressed in dark leathers as usual, though his smile was bright as he turned it on Sera. “Ready to learn, Sera?”

“Yes!” Sera said back, practically bouncing on her feet now that Azriel was here. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“Alright, alright,” Azriel replied with a little chuckle. He held out his arms and Nesta, Cassian, and Sera all latched onto whatever part of him they could reach. “We’re going.”

The familiar feeling of Azriel’s shadows enveloped them all as they traveled to a nearby clearing perfect for teaching little Illyrians how to use their wings properly. Cassian and Nesta watched as Azriel and Sera walked to the top of the gently sloped hill, just high enough for Sera to get a running start and take off without hurting herself if she fell, and settled in to keep an eye on their daughter.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Nesta said with a little sigh. She threaded her arm through Cassian’s and leaned into his side, contentment thrumming through their bond as his wing automatically moved to block her from the cold breeze. “I can’t believe she’s already learning to fly.”

“I feel like I blinked and she wasn’t a babe,” Cassian said back, turning to press a kiss to his mate’s temple. “You sure you can’t stop time anymore?”

“Very sure,” she replied dryly. It had been decades since she’d saved Feyre and Nyx’s lives, so the subject wasn’t nearly as sore as it had been all those years ago. “You don’t think I would’ve done it already if I still could?”

“Just testing you, sweetheart,” he responded, turning to her to drop a wink. When he turned back to watch Azriel and Sera again, he realized Azriel had finished giving her some pointers and was stepping back so she could try for herself. “Looks like they’re starting.”

Cassian watched with bated breath as Sera attempted her first flight of the day, her little wings flapping out and keeping her steady for a few glorious seconds before she overbalanced and dropped like a stone. He couldn’t keep a little noise from escaping as Sera ran out of time to course-correct and crashed to the ground, but he pushed down every instinct telling him to go and comfort his daughter. 

It helped to have Nesta’s fingers suddenly digging into his arm through several layers of fleece. He knew that it was part of the process, but they both knew how much he hated watching Sera get hurt. Still, just because he had to let her go through this didn’t mean he couldn’t at least verbally confirm she wasn’t too badly hurt. “You alright, Sera?”

“Yes, Papa!” Sera called out, bouncing up from the ground like nothing had happened. She turned and gave everyone a delighted grin, like losing her balance mid-air was the best thing to ever happen to her. “Promise!”

“You’re doing wonderfully, Sera,” Nesta called back with a little wave before turning to Cassian with a slightly exasperated expression on her face. While they waited for her to trudge back up the hill so she could try again, she said, “Cassian. Are you sure you want to be here?”

“Of course I want to be here,” Cassian immediately replied. No matter how anxious he was watching his daughter learn to fly, he knew how important it was for him to be here. “I just— I know how many things can go wrong, sweetheart.”

“She’s six,” she responded with a roll of her eyes. “She can’t even go that far before she gets tired, my love.”

“That won’t stop her from flying into a tree,” he muttered. “Or going too high. Or going too low. Or—”

“Or you can stop being such a mother hen,” she gently interrupted him before he could go on for too much longer. “You know none of us would let her get seriously injured.”

“I know,” he grumbled. He knew very well that between Azriel’s shadows, Nesta’s silver flames, and his own siphons, Sera would be more than safe. “I just can’t help but worry.”

“I know,” she repeated. She reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her eyes soft as she looked at him. “But we can’t protect her from everything.”

“Won’t stop me from trying,” he replied. 

She just smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

By the time Sera had finished talking to Azriel about what she’d done wrong and how to fix it for next time, Cassian had mostly managed to pull himself together enough to watch her try again. She soared through the air for a few seconds longer this time before she fell, and although the nerves were still there, pride was slowly but surely starting to take its place. 

“Did you see that?” Sera asked excitedly, pushing herself up from the ground with another huge grin. She’d gotten far enough that Nesta and Cassian were but a few feet from her, and she quickly closed the remaining distance to continue talking. “I got so far!”

“You’re living up to your name, zogu,” Cassian replied. He couldn’t help but smile back at Sera in the face of her obvious joy at learning to do this. “We’ll be able to go flying together before you know it.”

Sera’s hazel eyes grew wide. “Really, Papa?”

“Really,” Cassian confirmed. He loved the idea of being able to share the skies with his daughter, and he couldn’t wait to show her even more of his favorite things about Illyria. Granted, it would be at least several years before she had enough stamina for longer flights, but he was still more than looking forward to it.

“Maybe I’ll be able to read in peace for once,” Nesta joked, reaching out to brush some grass off of Sera’s coat. “No interruptions.”

“But Mama, I thought you liked it when Papa interrupted you,” Sera responded with confusion. “Isn’t that why you show him all your love books?”

“Don’t keep your uncle waiting,” Cassian told Sera immediately, not needing to look at Nesta to know how pink she was. “Less talking, more flying!”

At the reminder that she was in the middle of a flying lesson, Sera didn’t waste any time in turning and running her way back up the hill. “Sorry, Uncle Azriel!” 

“Mother save me,” Nesta muttered once Sera was far away enough. 

“Mother save us both,” Cassian amended, turning to smile at his wife’s still-pink cheeks. “I hope our other children won’t be so observant.”

As expected, Nesta just rolled her eyes and turned back to watch Sera continue the lesson. They both knew it could take years to have another, but that was alright. 

Cassian had waited his whole life for Nesta, and another few decades for Sera. He didn’t mind waiting more if it meant spending days like this, surrounded by the people he loved with everything in him.  

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @pearlfortears | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

#nessianweek2023 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #moodymelanistwrites #pro nessian #pro nesta archeron #pro cassian #cassian acotar #family fluff

[bardicbeetle]

sitd bsi (or maybe a proper snip I am still deciding) - take what you need

Hi, completely unedited and also suggestive content under-cut. Do I need to put it under cut, probably not it's very tame, am I mostly asexual and feel a tiny bit weird about tagging folks in something that even hints at sex? Yes. Will I get over it because I want to share it since early days Jesse and Daniel wreck me as a person and i'm a goddamn adult? Yeah.

So here have some consensual blood drinking that is totally definitely not immediately post anything else happening (lie), anyways this piece brought to you by Teeth from Aviators.

There is a singular line break indicating a POV change.

Enjoy <3

“You’re cold again,” Jesse is talking around things and he knows it, he cannot bring himself to fucking care right now. “you—”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Jesse just shakes his head, pulls Daniel towards him and finds no resistance in the motion. Daniel follows, lets himself be tugged back into Jesse’s lap, forehead resting on his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.” There’s no bite to the words, no malice, Jesse can still see the ghost of a laugh in his expression when he looks down.

Daniel will push him back into the bed and they will fall asleep like this. He knows that.

Fuck it.

“You promised not to do this to yourself again,” Jesse says softly, fingers tracing lightly up Daniel’s back, scar to scar to scar. “I told you—I don’t mind—”

“Jesse,” It’s mumbled against his skin, “sleep.”

“Take it,” Jesse growls, fingers threading through Daniel’s hair and pulling him back enough to look in the eye. “I know you need it, drink.” It’s low and sharp, and his fingers dig into Daniel’s side as he speaks.

He is rewarded with the slow slipping shut of Daniel’s eyes, the barely audible fuck that comes before he lets Jesse guide him back. Lips to throat. Teeth to pulse.

He is also not awake enough to lie to himself and say that Daniel’s teeth in his neck isn’t doing things to him this time. He could lie last time—he almost died—this is different. He can feel every time Daniel pulls away, the sharp sting of air on an open wound—the heat of his breath and drag of his tongue just before teeth follow into another bite. Daniel is exhausted and starved, but not to the same point he was on the beach, this is controlled, this is—

—fuck.

The next time Daniel pulls back, Jesse feels blood starting to run down between them, warm and then cooling in the air against his skin. None of the bites ever bleed long. Someday he’ll bother asking why. Not right now. He drags Daniel up, back to his lips—the taste of his own blood should probably be a lot more unsettling and yet. He thinks maybe it’s offset by the sight. Eyes blue and then red and then back. Like Daniel is trying to keep something in. Keep a handle on it.

There is a small part of Jesse that wishes he wouldn’t.

Daniel laughs into the kiss, small and breathless and Jesse has the distinct feeling he has thought something too loudly again.

~*~

At some point or another, Daniel is going to regret this.

Not right now, mind.

Not while he’s got blood in his mouth and Jesse’s hands in his hair.

So Daniel gives in to it. Drowns himself a little in the endorphin rush that comes with Jesse’s blood right now. Drags teeth from his throat down his chest just for the shiver it elicits and the way Jesse drops his head back and moans.

This is unfair to one of them.

Maybe both of them.

It’s going to make tomorrow night a lot harder.

But for now he’s going to pretend that doesn’t matter. Take a goddamn break from thinking about how much of a mess this has all become and lose himself in the fact that Jesse touches him like he’s precious. There are nails digging into the flesh of his back and a hand wrapped up in his hair but both are controlled like Jesse is afraid of hurting him. Jesse pulls and guides him along and demands that Daniel take what he needs but it is all within an undercurrent that he won’t push too far.

It’s not that night on the beach again.

The promise goes both ways.

Daniel broke his half.

Jesse is holding his.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

#writeblr #writeblr community #vampire writeblr #amwriting #writers on tumblr #lsdente #sitdsnips #safe in the dark #sitd #face the finish line (final drafts) #character ref da #character ref ja #over the wall and into the light #welcome to: daniel is not going to kill jesse while at jesse's childhood home #but he WILL get fucked and then drink his blood #that is acceptable #he will also be antagonizing jesse's father in the morning #these are all things

[maddiviner]

Hi and I hope you are having a good day. What were the witches on 4chan like? Until I read your posts about Thelema, I didn't know there had ever been anything like that on there. Did it involve Pepe the Frog invocations? I picture Tumblr but completely the opposite politically.

Witches on 4chan? Were there?

I began lurking the /x/ board in 2010-ish after discovering it as a hub for posting creepypasta. There also were threads on /x/ about Tarot and the occult. I'd been occult-obsessed since about 1999, so I dove right in. That said, I'm not sure 4chan had a "witch community" when I was there.

There was an occult community, but witches?

Didn't know many people called themselves witches on /x/. I didn't use the term at the time. Most people on there kind of shuddered at the idea of being called a witch. Wicca especially had a bad, fluffy rep.

People used words like magicians, mages, and similar. In case that doesn't clue you in, ritual (ceremonial, "high," whatever) magic got an emphasis, as did chaos magic. That said, it's not as if the techniques and concepts didn't overlap some.

(I realize there's nebulous terminology at play here. Where does witchcraft end and ritual or so-called "high" magic begin? What counts as "chaos" magic? Good question, eh?)

The Golden Dawn system was popular. There were plenty of disagreement about the best way to talk to angels or summon demons. Most of it was a xerox of the kind of discourse you see anywhere ritual mages gather.

Aleister Crowley, as a major propagator of the Golden Dawn stuff, got lots of attention on /x/. Thelema became a regular source of arguments on /x/.

In case you're not familiar with Thelemic cultural traditions and customs, arguments are a huge Thelemic tradition. Inside and outside of that, people had slapfights over whether Frater So-and-So was the real Such-and-Such of This-and-That.

Many people tried to charge/cast sigils by posting them on /x/. There was an element of attention equaling sigil success? An ancestor of "likes to charge, reblogs to cast?"

The most popular threads were for Tarot readings, though. People would post using tripcodes and do readings for anonymous users. I did this a bit as practice, but it was hard to get feedback of course.

All in all, it wasn't much more than a chaotic online space with occult vibes. Those aren't exactly rare. You could find plenty on Facebook and Amino. Heck, Tumblr shares some commonalities.

The kind of right wing community 4chan would become known as was only in its early stages at that point. It was also self-quarantined to other, non-/x/ boards, and rarely mentioned elsewhere. I suspect the site, or at least /x/ itself, was more center than right-wing, at least at the time.

Back in the early 2010s, I'd recently left school, where I hadn't exactly learned much as far as I'm concerned. When it came to social/political issues, I didn't know my ass from my ears. It's a good thing I didn't run into too many covert fascist types. Instead, I scrolled through posts about One Man Hide and Seek, OTO discourse, and the Hatman.

Don't get me wrong. There were definitely (some) genuine (loud) bigots and jerks on the site back then, too, of course. And there were small cults that sprang up via Skype, people harassing their exes, and so on. JoS (and we all hopefully know who they are by now) would sometimes try and recruit, with mixed results.

But that alleged Pepe egregore stuff? Not a thing on /x/ when I was on there. Pepe as a regular old meme rather than a political symbol was a thing, though. It was innocuous at the time. He showed up in /x/ memes, doing Enochian evocations or talked to Goetic kings, stuff like that.

I was on /x/ around the same time that Gamergate happened, and 4chan made the news about it. I'm sure this was a huge topic on boards like /pol/ and /v/, but it didn't get much attention from other places on the site.

As a 4chan janitor (won't name them) put it back then, "the girl posting on the origami board doesn't know or care about Gamergate." The media's image of 4chan as some kind of underground attack site has never been accurate.

Overall? 4chan's /x/, at least in 2010-2014-ish, wasn't much worse than (for example) current-day Facebook. A mess, yeah, but not exactly the swamp of bigotry you might've imagined. Mostly just ridiculous, over-the-top, and dramatic.

That doesn't mean I've plans to go back, or that I recommend it, but it wasn't like you're thinking. I don't know what the site, or even just /x/, is like now, of course. I ended up leaving the site and a lot of related communities over the years.

#witchcraft #witch #occult #magic #pagan #witchblr #4chan #thelema #ritual #eliza.txt #doused

[neonapocalypta]

Minky Momo ep 4

CONTEXT: I'm a big fan of Takeshi Shudo's writing. You prob know him from his work on episodes and movies in the early years of the Pokemon anime. He's my favorite author, though I won't be going into that here. This post is from me watching one of his other creations: Minky Momo. (Specifically ep 4, which he wrote from what I understand.) Originally this was a thread on twitter from March 18th 2022. (when I was sick.) I'm putting it here since I'm trying to fill my tumblr with stuff I find important.

I prob won't post my other first impressions, as those slowed down when I started feeling better. (I actually need to finish this series.) To be honest, this ep is something else, thus another reason why I wanna share it.

Also, this will be edited from its original form for anything I don't think need to be here in hindsight and spelling stuff.

--

Minky Momo ep 4 might be one of the most wild and maybe even sad eps Takeshi Shudo has written (to my knowledge.) Go watch, for real, I'm about to spoil it.

It's starts out fine. Momo's ma is threatening to divorce her dad, Momo DGAF about her grades, just normal shit for Shudo. Then we meet the character of the day, Ken. At first he's just some kid staring out the window during class. Momo is so curious about why he's looking out at the sky, she pokes him with a pencil getting them both in trouble (and failing their tests I think.) She keeps trying to hang out with him and he's all like "fuck off." (my words) For some reason another student knows that his dad is an archeologist and his ma "works late so he has to go home and watch the house after school."

Momo stalks him to his place and he's like fuck off. (again.) Like a week later his bird is sick and he comes into the vet Momo's earth "dad" runs and momo cures it. He asks her to, and I'm not joking to "see his room" tho not in THAT way I promise. Anyway, his house is full of ancient artifacts his dad "found" which includes a map of the fairy world Momo come from. (Honestly this is interesting stuff, I'ma skip it for pacing.) We get to the kids room and find out he's beyond "I'm feeding these crows because they're my only friends". His toys are his friends. Legit. Not making it up. This kid is so lonely that he's resorted to this shit.

Then to make his life worse, but actually in the end not, the one time Ken didn't watch the house his entire apartment catches on fire. He goes inside to save his bird and friends, a cop is like "fine, I'm not gonna go save you kid." and Ken is like an inch away from Death. Really. Ovi Momo tried to save him, but she wasn't gonna get to him in time, so she used her magic to make the toys come alive and (I think?) create a barrier around him until she could get to his room.

At the end of the episode he's like "I know they saved me and now they're from the dream world. Even if no one believes me" ( I can't remember what Momo's land is called rn sorry.) At least he's happy I guess. You know what's wild? This would be the episode most people would remember from the series. The poor abused child grappling with a slipping mental state due to isolation from his parents to protect their stolen property almost dies in a fire to save his imaginary friends. But instead, (unless there's something else I don't know about.) the truck-kun episode happened to be in the same series.

Sad dark plotlines mixed with the wildest of scenarios is one of the reasons I love Takeshi Shudo's work so much. This is peak his work. Damn, I don't even think Ken and Momo became friends. He's Fren exclusive to Mr. Peanut. (A lot of his friends seem to be from other IPs.) I won't forget Ken or this episode for a while.

#Takeshi Shudo #minky momo #anime

[glassautomaton]

Hi there Glass! Me again, yes, the pest in your askbox..

Today, I come bearing questions (and concepts) about this specific line in your sandbox!

I am very interested in the Thorn and was wondering if you could explain how your Thorn works? That and how it would effect Iris?

Also!

I've been thinking about this for some days now, and yesterday I mocked up some Thorn infected Iris drawings for fun! You were the one who gave me the idea, so I'll share the drawings with you! :]

Small explanation for these: I'm just going to explain how everything works in my design. Feel free to add on or critique me or whatever you wish.

In the early stages of Iris being assimilated with the Thorn, her veins start running black, it's not super obvious at first, it just gathers around scars, and her hands, but it isn't a lot.

As time goes on, it grows, veins become darker, then some discoloration on her scars as they begin to rapidly change to black as well.

Then, the thorns push up from her skin. They accumulate with stress, but there are specific ones that can't just be picked out of her skin. (Like the ones lining her spine, the ones on her shoulders, the ones slowly coming out of her forehead, and I am guessing there is maybe a center one, the specific piece of the thorn that assimulated with Iris in the first place, but I don't think that would push up from her skin for atleast a while.)

(Also, yes, I know horns are a little out there, but one, it's fun. Two, I think it ties in nicely with all the religious imagery that seems to follow Iris as a character. Three, it looks badass.)

Anyway! Yeah, feel free to spill your thoughts on that, as for how all of this is happening? I'm not very good with anomalous biology, so I'm not sure I have a specific explanation. Feel free to add on to the design or try and make an anomalous system for it. At the end of the day, this is for fun!

Thanks for reading one of my various rambles! Enjoy the rest of your day, my friend! :]

I’ll start off with saying that while, as I’ve said, I don’t really have an issue with anyone poking around my sandbox, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it. The outline you’re taking that from was made mostly to help me get my thoughts in order, and I don’t update it with everything I consider changing. A lot of what’s on there is just stuff I’ll possibly include or things I’ve thought about but not decided on. All of which is to say everything there is subject to change and I wouldn’t take it as the end-all-be-all Devil’s Advocate Bible. If you want to snoop around to take a look at the brainstorming process or cut content (Voices Carry was originally going to be very different and probably much worse), then go ahead.

As for your actual questions, I’ll put them under a cut because they’re spoilers and also possibly subject to change as I said above.

Now, for the Bloom, I’m afraid this answer might disappoint, but I don’t want to say anything definitive in my series. Some of the remaining authors for Resurrection are still planning on bringing the mainline canon back, and I don’t want to step on their toes when it comes to what seems like the main mystery of the series.

I can tell you how I was thinking of making it function in broad strokes, though. It’s basically a conflux like we see in Voices Carry with perfect efficiency, and processes reality through itself, making sure anything it processes is close enough to how it should be that reality itself doesn’t collapse in on itself. Like a very coarse brush moving through the threads of reality, it makes sure they’re at least somewhat straight. Not perfectly, it doesn’t have to and that would be much more difficult, but good enough to where it doesn’t knot up and become a horrific mess.

It got corrupted in Incident Zero, like a compute you don’t shut off for too long. Too many small things adding up until a straw breaks the camel’s back, and the comb itself becomes knotted up, except the comb was also inextricably linked to the hair as well. After it was destroyed, its splinters retained its capability but lacked and force or programming telling them what to do, leaving them mostly inert.

I know this might stray from other stuff with the Bloom, but as I said, I might tweak this in the future as I brainstorm. I also didn’t touch on who/what created it and how, as I don’t want to tread on any toes.

As for the second half of your ask, this is probably where the “I only wrote this for myself and maybe people I would be able to immediately clear things up to” comes in, as the term “assimilation” isn’t really clear at all. I’ll say that I do like the design though, always a fan of that type of gradual corruption. However, when it comes to Iris, my thinking is that if she comes off as scary it should be for what she does rather than how she looks.

So, as for what assimilation actually means I’m this context, I was planning on having an example of that earlier on in the storyline, very shortly after Lily is introduced. Infovores process, assimilate, and spit out all kinds of information, and this extends to more than just memories of images. I was going to have Iris and Lily kill something called a Hymn Weaver, which is a follower of something close to a god who uses song and dance, or at least things that look and sound similar to it, to maintain reality from the spaces in between universes. The need arms to do this, and lots of them, so they sort of graft various arms onto themselves, but the arms aren’t physical. They Weavers assimilate the information that makes them up, like a psychic footprint, and call them up when they need to. So, assimilation is more along the lines of an Inforvore processing all the information that makes something up and being able to use it in other ways. Lily’s extremely proficient at information processing and assimilation, but can’t actually force changes on reality like Iris can.

Fun fact, the Hymn Weavers’ god, the High Weaver, is a mass of so many limbs from all manner of things that whatever it used to be beneath all of them has been long forgotten. It’s part of the “Triumvirate” mentioned in 6907. I actually have a lot more lore of what was mentioned in there, but a) that’s not the point of this ask, though I’d be more than happy to talk about it and b) I don’t think my SCPs have nearly as much of a following as my tales.

Hopefully that gets everything. And this is all sort of a peek pegging the curtain here, and things aren’t final or explained as well as they would be otherwise in an actual article. If you’ve got any questions, as always, let me know.

#scp #asks #long post

[thetruestudent]

The Student - Her True Story

In Her Own Words

It's been a decade since The Student drama exploded in the royal fandom so here is my write-up of what lead up to the drama, how it unfolded and the aftermath.

Thanks @duchessanon for encouraging me to do this!

This is much longer than anticipated so I've included a cut. I know it's a lot to read but there's a juicy reveal that I've never shared before within!

Before I was even aware of this fandom, I was a casual royal watcher. My granny has loved Diana since I can remember and I would borrow her books about her in my teens. I also grew up watching satirical Canadian shows that would often poke fun at the royals although I didn't really understand a lot of it as a child. And then there was the general education on the royal family in school - you know, where we learned about Canada being a constitutional monarchy. Ahem.

In my teens and early 20s, I got into pop culture in general and would follow a lot of the drama that went on with the younger royals. Guy Pelly, Chinawhite, Club H, William e-mailing Britney, etc. I knew it all despite not being someone who watched the weddings, followed the tours here in Canada or kept up with thing like events like Trooping the Colour. My main source for this info was a Livejournal blog called ONTD - which is still running somehow!

One 2012 day, I happened to click into a royal post and saw a comment thread referencing TrueRoyals (now @heavyarethecrowns) and decided to check her out. I specifically noticed the one comment about being this blog being harsh on Kate's body which I didn't like and soon found out that the Kate content was way more vile and misogynistic than described. I left a few anons defending her and was written off as a "mini-midd". I wouldn't say I was a full blown Kate stan but I did think she was beautiful, loved her style and related to her as a fellow Tall Girl ™. Perhaps the attacks did feel a bit personal to me because of that but I hate seeing any woman spoken about in the way and always speak up when I see it (which I can back up, I'm on Real Housewives Reddit these days and get exhausted from defending morally objectionable women from misogynistic attacks).

I then decided it was time to shit stir. I was bored and had an idea that I knew would create drama. I have never admitted this to anyone (aside from duchessanon and one other blogger in private) but I created a secrets account called "royalfandomsecrets". I started out with a bunch of fake "secrets" with the goal of making Rachel and her ilk paranoid. I never crossed the line into anything mean-spirited, just calling out some of the hateful messages being spread. I'd also pick names to include at random, blogs I had never looked at before (including Kate stan accounts) but would find through reblogs, and say something innocuous enough that it would've made me laugh had it been said about me. Then the real secrets started pouring in and this is where it got interesting.

From what I remember, the secrets being sent in weren't that bad. I wouldn't post anything that could be considering bullying and nothing stands out in my mind as particularly harsh, aside from some of the posts coming in about Rachel. Now I wasn't stupid, I had installed an IP logger from the start because I had a feeling something was going to happen with these secrets and my instincts were proven correct when I noticed the most hateful secrets towards Rachel were coming from one IP. Her own.

Rachel was very open about where she lived. I don't know if she still is open about it but I'm not going to share where (and I don't even remember anyway). I was surprised by this. I remember on one occassion she even posted about a very old church in her town. I knew with certainty that these posts had to be coming from her because she sent in a message chastising me off anon that matched the same IP. With this documented, I attempted my first TrueRoyals takedown. I posted a screenshot from the IP tracker with the IP blocked out and, if I remember correctly, I believe I blocked out everything but her county. Rachel was furious about this and reported me to tumblr admin, getting me shutdown. I believed this to be unfair but, at the time, there was nothing I could do about it.

So I moved on and started sending her anons. Sometimes just dumb questions, sometimes spreading silly rumours like claiming one aesthetic tumblr belonged to Beatrice or describing my ~dream royal wedding dress~ (which sounded horrific btw, I was surprised she even shared it). That's when I realized she was responding to any and every anon I was sending in and then it clicked; I could have fun with this!

As you can see from the above ONTD link, it was rumoured that Harry was dating Mollie King. At the time, The Saturdays had a new single (30 Days) from their next album coming out so I sent in an anon saying that Harry and Mollie were friends who were not actually dating but were pretending to for mutually beneficial reasons - Mollie had a song/album to promote and Harry was trying to deflect from a real relationship with an unknown university student. To be honest, I didn't think this was my best work. I thought Rachel would shut it down like she did with the Beatrice tumblr (the girl's hairstyle pictured was the wrong shade of red apparently). At most, I thought she'd ask where I had heard this. I didn't except her to respond with, "I've heard this too."

I let her go on to her anons about this for a bit and watched the Harry stans lose their shit. One of the best moments, soon after this, happened when paparazzi tweeted or put out somewhere (I don't know how the Harry stans knew about this so quickly) that Harry had been spotted on Oxford's campus. The fandom collectively lost their minds for a few hours until the photos came out and it was just some poor ginger who probably didn't understand what was happening to him. I will always wonder if paps/journos were following some of these blogs for tips and went because of The Student rumour...

My biggest mistake here was not taking screenshots or documenting my plans with this in any way but, as I said, I didn't expect her to bite. When I decided to expose the truth behind this rumour, I knew she'd lie her way out of it because of this. Her loyal followers and K8 H8erz stuck with her but it had blown up within the general fandom with the mini-midds particularly enjoying the drama. I realized shortly after that I did have a comment exchange on ONTD about how I had been trolling Rachel with this rumour with one of the people from the original thread I linked, dated from before I revealed myself to tumblr, but enough time had passed and those who didn't want to believe me ignored it. I no longer have that screenshot either and deleted my LJ account, sadly, so I can't even attempt to find it.

A few more fakers were taken down after this, some with my involvement and some from my comrades who had the same sense of humour and (justified) mischief as I did. One who particularly stands out to me was one who claimed to be an incredibly young mother of one who was also pregnant with her second. She said she was married to a Lord and claimed that he, his family and all of the aristos hated Kate and used it to justify misogynstic comments about her. She made a mistake by mentioning that this husband was Jewish though. Fandom members searched for Jewish aristos and couldn't find any Lord that fit his age or description.

It seemed that being questioned on this was a bit too much for her because her "husband" logged in to her tumblr to announce they were moving to Canada because she was getting her Master's at McGill and she got a job as a cultural attaché in Ottawa and would be working with Charles and Camilla on their upcoming Canada tour. When I pointed out that McGill was a two-hour drive from Ottawa and that it seemed like an extreme choice to move with a newborn and a toddler, work full-time, commute four hours a day for McGill and squeeze in a royal tour somehow, she disappeared.

I ended up sticking around for a year or two more here and became friendly with some great girls along the way. One of my favourites told me that I killed the fantasy that exisited within the fandom... that there was this fun in believing maybe someone with connections to the royals may actually be posting here. The thing is, I think it's very possible someone with an actual connection was/is posting in this fandom (I mean, if Arthur Landon could find us...) but anyone in that position would never give personal info and reveal secrets as those blogs did. If anything, I think that keeps the fantasy even more ubiquitous. Royals! Aristos! Daily Mail contributors! They could be anywhere! They could be sending you an anon as you read this!

#brf #meghan markle #royal fandom #british royal family #british royal fandom #kate middleton #prince harry #prince charles #king charles 3rd #camilla parker bowles #queen camilla #camilla queen consort #british royals #duchess of cambridge #prince william #duke of cambridge #princess diana #trueroyals #prince george #princess charlotte #prince louis #princess of wales #prince of wales #fartylandon #heavyarethecrowns

[theplotdoctor]

Ok, Gender Rant

A bit of a think piece about my relationship to gender that I wrote last night after reading some stuff sent me into a spiral. I'm sharing it in the hope that some people might find it useful. Warning: long post.

TW: Am I Trans Enough? WTF does that even feel like? Dysphoria, Masculinity, Femininity, Self Improvement 

So for the record, and if anyone didn't know I identify as gender fluid which is under the trans umbrella, any pronouns for me are fine, most days it's an.... internal state of being and varies a lot from situation to situation. And before I get started this is a vent post, comments and thoughts and opinions are very welcome, especially nuanced ones, but don't worry if you don't have space for it; a lot of this is me writing to sort out my own head, validation is a nice to have extra. 

So, I spent most of today writing out a roleplay plot for Transgender Awareness Week. I planned to put it up in as many places as possible, partly because it's a nice plot, but also because the "running this plot" section was about twice as long as the thing itself and contained some pretty good discussion points about trans representation in general and some that were specific to what I had written, hopefully it'd be thought provoking if nothing else. Great, all finished. However, I wanted to make it explicitly clear that one of the characters was a trans man. I didn't really have the space in the plot, nor is it written in the right style to put in markers like I would with a 20th century character, because ultimately it's not creative writing, it's a fantasy plot outline, that limits some options but opens up others. So I figured why not just outright state it? "The priest, a trans man..." kind of thing. Wasn't really an approach I'd seen taken, so I went to check if anyone had advice around it. 

I read half a dozen articles on writing advice around trans characters and didn't find an answer to my question. But what I did find threaded through all these articles about writing trans characters were discussions about "what being trans is". And I'm not knocking these articles they did a good job of explaining the basics of the basics for cis people. However there were things there that... just didn't jive with me and it sent me into a bit of a spiral.  

So about my gender. As I said before a lot of my gender fluidity is situational and internal. I've recently had occasion to look back over my own internet archive; and even though I only correctly identified my gender a few years ago, the signs were all there from a very early point. I have never felt a part of traditional masculinity, in the main its cultural touchstones are not interesting to me, and its toxicity is unappealing. There are however a few areas that did interest me and I invested in those. Equally I never felt particularly a part of traditional femininity, it had a few more appealing cultural touchstones, but again toxicity was an issue. 

Regarding my body I have some issues with localised dysmorphia coming from both ends. I have always hated my chest, my entire life I've had some extra tissue there that even at my most unhealthy 90s heroin chic refused to budge, it never felt like a "mans" chest (and no I don't have gynecomastia, frankly at points it's been imperceptible to anyone but me). Recently however I've found that I kind of enjoy the ability to, with a bit of boob tape and some make up give myself cleavage, so it can stay for now. I also don’t think that growing some permanent breasts would be the solution for me here, that would be too feminine and I’d hate that too.

Another issue I have is body hair. I have no problem particularly with my arm or leg hair, my armpits are fine and everyone has pubic hair, but my chest and stomach are another matter entirely. I hate my chest hair and the hair on my stomach, it was fine when I was a teenager until my early 20s when it fully grew in. It makes my torso look very much like a man’s torso and I hate it. I recently removed it and it was a good, if painful choice. So, already you can see what I mean about both ends. I hate one specific part of myself because it sexes me too much as a man, and another bit from the exact same area because it’s not manly enough. 

The hair on my head is also an issue. I used to have very long hair and really enjoyed it, then male pattern baldness ruined that. I often stare into a mirror and think how nothing screams “male” like male pattern baldness. I wouldn’t even mind having a shaved head if it didn’t have a widow's peak and a tonsure. For me shaved can be androgynous, MPB cannot. 

As for everything else it’s fine I guess, my hips don’t bother me and until they find a way to switch quickly and easily between genitalia (with both as an option), I’ll stick to working with what I got. I’d like a thicker ass, but that’s me being lazy with squats and a bit of unfortunate white boy’s ass genetics. What I’m saying here is that if I could sculpt my perfect body it would be impossible to determine its gender without other signifiers. 

So to combat this I am in the privileged position of being able to work with what I got without medical intervention. Good wardrobe choices, makeup, accessories and some nail polish usually suffice to keep the dysphoria demons at bay. I know that I will always be read as “man but queer” to most the world outside of inclusive spaces, and they will never see me as the effervescent truly androgynous fae creature I am, but fuck them I do it for me. This also means that in those times and situations where I am doing something that makes me feel manly I can shuck some of that, lean into it and enjoy it as such. Those times when I’m feeling very feminine, less so, but I go as far as I can. 

(And just an additional note on privilege. I am in a stable and happy relationship where I am a stay at home dad. I have a family that I’m not like “out” out to, but they’re used to me doing my own thing to the point that heels and makeup don’t even raise eyebrows. I have a very well curated group of friends, and my only real interactions with strangers are passing pleasantries at the school gates. This is all to say in terms of random transphobia the worst I get is on my social media platforms and I just delete and block.)

So enough about my body. Let’s go back to masculinity and femininity. Having grown up, reluctantly, within traditional masculinity, and frankly an unwelcome visitor to it at most points, there’s much about it that repulses me. There are however some things about it that I enjoy. I’m competitive when my footing is sure, there’s a certain playfulness that I happily engage in, a refusal to be solemn that keeps me balanced, I love bonfires, a good steak, I don’t drink much these days but the occasional beer is nice, I enjoy the fact that my strength is of value to people when work needs doing, I adore more than anything in the world being a “dad”. 

As for femininity again there is much that really puts me off. But I enjoy being able to be soft and yielding, since I expanded my wardrobe to include women's clothes I’ve found a joy in them, I love the transformational power of makeup, though the application is annoying, I enjoy my friendships, that I can support my partner outside of the lens of masculinity, that I can be more emotional than men are allowed to be, I love a glass of wine, a good salad, being pampered, and most of all I love the fact that I can love feminine things without having to question my own masculinity. 

My point with explaining all this is that for me transition, being trans is about choosing, in a very deliberate, careful, proactive and thoughtful way, who I want to become. Since my issues with my body are manageable without medical intervention a lot of my transition has been purely social and mental. It is entirely wrapped up in my drive for self improvement.

I don’t want to become either of the binaries, instead I want to create something new that is deeply personal to me. I want to take what I like of the binary and deliberately fuse it into an identity that removes the toxicity from both and allows for a better being to emerge from the husk that I was. Not masculine, not feminine, but an ocean that ebbs and wanes and is mostly its own thing. It’s a long, slow, painful process, and it involves not just gender but all other areas of identity. How can we strip the toxicity from gender without also stripping away the lenses through which it views others, and critically analysing its place (and our own) within structures of oppression that affect people at different intersections?

This is also something that comes up with a lot of non-binary people I talk to, the idea of how legitimate we are in claiming trans identity. If we look at the on paper diagram of gender we can see that non-binary sits under trans, and under non-binary there’s a very long list of sub categories. It often feels that the more niche or far removed your particular gender is from the umbrella the more uncomfortable people become saying they’re trans or claiming trans identity. Particular for people whose transition does not involve medical intervention.

I think, having spent three hours typing this out when I should be sleeping, this is the crux of my issue. So many of those articles describe transition as a process of making who you are outside match the inside, like identity is a fixed gem and the body is the rock you find it in, you sculpt and shave the rock to reveal the shape of the gem. And I am 100% certain that is the case for many, many trans people, I’m not doubting that we all have different experiences and internal worlds, and it is completely valid and beautiful, and I love to hear about them. 

But for me, I’m not uncovering who I really am, I’m building a better me. So to see such a jarring difference in fundamental approach just caused me to start asking questions. Am I trans enough to really write a trans story? Is the only trans story I’m really capable of writing my own? Is my story trans enough to be read as trans by other trans people? 

Thanks for reading, this was more of a vent than anything else, but if you wanna add some nuanced discussion of gender and transition I’d love to hear it.

Oh, and one final thing. Is it ok to say “the priest, a trans man…”? I never did find an answer.

P.S. Ok, so it’s morning now and a very helpful person on twitter last night pointed out that if you’re questioning your gender this much, you’re valid. That really resonated with me and honestly staying up to 3 AM writing a manifesto on your approach to your gender is probably peak trans behaviour.

In addition this morning I also saw on twitter two different threads, one reiterating the “I was always who I was narrative” but as a specific push back against the weaponisation of detransition narratives and shoddy reporting, and another pushing back against gatekeeping “what is trans?” and talking about how the medical model of transness can dominate discourse and invalidate people. I’m glad this is a conversation that is taking place in our community, and it feels good to have my experiences validated by the knowledge that others feel the same and have encountered the same issues. It is with that in mind that I’m sharing this publicly, this is not a rallying cry, or a call out, it is not my intention for my words to be weaponized against any trans person for any reason. This is a person, confused about their gender, just sharing their experience in the hope that somewhere, for someone, it does some good.

I guess my bottom line here is to say that whatever your approach to your own gender, if it’s one that subverts or violates the idea of a biological based binary, to me you are valid, you are authentic and your life matters.

#genderfluid #gender #transgender #transition #doubts #fears #validation

[queenoftheboard]

get to know the author

name: Mari.

pronouns: she/her.

preference of communication: definitely discord for mutuals who I've chatted for a while to further plot and everything! I can use the tumblr IMs at first, but if I typically offer to switch to discord pretty early on if the other mun agrees.

most active muse: currently Eirene, with my fandomless OC Melissa (@stingslikeabee) in second, and my beloved Yakuza leggy man Akiyama (@akiiyamashun) in third.

experience / how many years: gosh, I'm a Fandom Old (tm). I've used a million platforms and I started with passing notes in school and writing on actual paper; it's 15+ years doing this on and off.

platforms you use: tumblr at the moment, but I've gone through everything (forums, AIM, discord, livejournal, MSN, skype and so on).

best experience: I had a couple of really great runs in the early 2000s on livejournal and the RPC there, then since 2020 onwards here on tumblr on Melissa, including branching out to Akiyama and Eirene. It's been a constant/stable writing exercise which has helped me a lot through irl things, too.

rp pet peeves: I think the biggest one is getting what I call 'passive' replies? I'm not sure how to describe this, but feeling like I'm carrying the thread by myself and that the replies do not offer any new elements (no questions, actions or anything to react to or move the thread forward) make me lose muse very fast. Of course, sometimes this is necessary and makes sense in context! My issue is when this is a standard thing and the storytelling aspect does not feel shared, I guess. This is what makes roleplay fun and different from fanfiction, in my mind. :)

fluff, angst, or smut: all of them! I love flip-flopping through genres although smut is something I'm only comfortable after plotting and enough ooc interaction with the other mun. I'm all for telling interesting stories, no matter how they come to be in terms of being presented.

plots or memes: plotting all the way! I'm heavily plot-based and I have a preference for plotting a general timeline where we can move as we wish for threads and memes; I struggle at keeping interactions alive without some sense of direction or objective behind it all. It's fine to have the occasional slice of life or more conversation-based threads, but I generally like to have those within a bigger context.

long or short replies: long replies, I'm afraid - I just seem to have an issue with brevity, to be frank. This is something from my personal life that bleeds onto work, school assignments, real life letters etc; I write a lot, I write fast and I write frequently. It doesn't bother or strain me and as a result I've developed a rather introspective style of roleplay where there is a lot of thoughts/feelings included in replies, so they tend to be longer than average, I feel. I am always lowkey afraid this intimidate others - because it shouldn't! And I never expect the same length in return, just something to react to, really.

best time to write: it used to be during work hours when I was at the laptop already and alternated between work stuff and replies to take breaks, but now it's more evenly distributed during the day, I guess? I'm usually not writing super early in the day or very late at night because English is required and I tend to be only half-coherent and running mostly on default software that is equipped with Portuguese only, I'm afraid. >_>;

are you like your muse(s): definitely not hahaha. Apart from a life in the corporate world, we have almost nothing in common - not even the hair color! I'm more emotional, I know just the basics of chess, I have no super powers related to partial mutation, I don't really enjoy wearing high heels everywhere and I grow attached to people way more frequently than Eirene does. I'm pretty fucking good at my job, but I'm not a business prodigy either.

#♔ ooc . taking a step back #♖ dash games . what pure pleasure #I've done these at my other blogs #figured it was a good moment to bring it over here

[mxchineherald]

➻　NAME　 : : 　Zigg , Ziggy , Z

➻　PRONOUNS　 : : 　it/its/they/them

➻　MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?　 : : 　my blog here @mxchineherald and my Silco blog @zaunseye, I have a muse list here, but most of them are on hiatus or very low activity.

➻　RP PET PEEVES?　 : : 　Having to lead a whole thread is up there, but I think being expected to match length gets to me too. Some days all I can manage is a two or three paragraphs, especially when I've run out of inner thoughts to express. I've have had old ex-partners imply to me that replying with a shorter length is rude or inconsiderate and I don't get it??? Like, I'm moving the plot along, just without as much inner monologue.

➻　EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS　 : : 　Technically, I've been roleplaying since I was very little. I learned to type early, and was online and roleplaying(with parental supervision, actually) by the time I was about 9. So I'd say about 21 years.

➻　FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT　 : : 　Hard to say! Depends on the plot itself, but I'm always down for some angst. Preferably angst revolving around injury, illness, and vulnerability. Something about my character either being in a vulnerable position or taking care of someone else in a vulnerable position just tickles me. I feel like it leads to a fair amount of development that may otherwise never happen between characters.

➻　PLOTS OR MEMES　 : : 　I like both! Plotting is a good way to establish a relationship between two muses, and also gives me an idea of the preferences of my partner, while memes are a great way to further flesh out that relationship and put it into difference scenarios we might not have thought of on our own. Sometimes it's straight up crack-rp which can be fun from time to time!

➻　LONG OR SHORT REPLIES　 : : 　It all depends on the current flow of roleplay. I'm up for something as long as 7-10 paragraphs, or as short as two or three sentences. This blog is meant for interaction of all forms, including long or short form roleplay. I used to try and force myself to pump out long replies every time, but that was leading to burnout and depression. It was making RP a job rather than a hobby. So now I just go with the flow of the thread and give what I feel is an appropriate response.

➻　TIME TO WRITE　 : : 　Whenever I get inspiration, honestly! My life has been hectic and sad lately, with some personal losses and a nasty cold rearing its ugly head. I might be a slower RPer at the moment, but it's what's balanced out for me with my IRL issues and other hobbies, like fanfiction and fanart.

➻　ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)　 : : 　I relate to Viktor in a lot of ways, even down to having a bad leg on the same side as him. I connect to his want to leave a legacy, and his desire to help people in need. I share his pessimism toward the rich elite, as well as his short tempter with concepts like social climbing and masking. I, too, wish to just sit in the dark and work on my projects.

tagged by :: @runes-menagerie (ty!) tagging :: anyone who wants to do this, tag me so I can see

#assessment ;; dash games

[jarredlharris]

Live-threading my thoughts while listening to Meghan and Cortland talk about why people deconstruct.

The following is the compilation of a live-thread I did while listening to episode 092 of the Thereafter Podcast.

What's almost as fun as listening to @thepursuinglife and @cortlandcoffey ramble on the latest episodes of @thereafterpodcast? Listening to me ramble while I listen to them. Let's do this!

Yay! @thepursuinglife mentioned my position that deconstructing in order to have sex is valid on the show! @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey points out that people leaving evangelicalism is not a one-time event, but something that continues to this day. @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife points out that a single individual may have different "seasons" of deconstruction. A great point. @thereafterpodcast

I didn't realize @cortlandcoffey had followed the Baptist to charismatic to deconstructed pipeline. Solidarity! @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey is once more stressing the essential point that deconstruction and those who go through it are not a monolith. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey admits that he likes to have a cause and tends to be radical. I don't think there's anything inherently wrong to that, but it's probably a good thing to be aware of. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey and @thepursuinglife are talking about how a lot of the things people in deconstruction are talking about are not new ideas. This is an important point. @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife wants to explore some of the "first threads" that people start to "pull on" that tends to lead to deconstruction. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey says one of his "first threads" was accepting that other kinds of Christians were still Christians. @thereafterpodcast

Really, @cortlandcoffey? You had an issue with METHODISTS? 🤣 @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife says that queer acceptance and questioning purity culture were her first threads. @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife mentioned "Jesus and John Wayne," which I'm currently reading. @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife is dragging the "it's okay to be gay as long as you do it like the straight people" respectability politics of The Reformation Project and I'm here for it. @thereafterpodcast

They're talking about how evangelicals like to pretend that their racism problems are a thing of the past. You know, expect how CRT and "wokeism" are still treated as boogeymen in many evangelical churches. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey is talking about current day ex-gays. One of the things I find funny is the number of "ex-gays" I've run across who are in their early twenties or even younger presenting themselves as "success stories." Come talk to me in a decade or two, honey. We'll see where you are then. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey is calling for a large and diverse number of experiences being described/shared. Good stuff. @thereafterpodcast

.@thepursuinglife is talking about how certain roots of purity culture goes clear back to pre-Civil War times and has links to slavery and racism. Something that isn't always brought up. @thereafterpodcast

.@cortlandcoffey points out that for those of us who left Christianity, it's usually because of more reasons than being hurt. After all, he notes, we get hurt EVERYWHERE. And yet in other spaces, we stick it out. @thereafterpodcast

For me, one of my "issues" witch Christianity is that I personally find congregational worship a terrible way to connect with the Dvine. (YMMV) @thereafterpodcast

Yes, I sent in an audio message. I hope it encourages others to do the same thing. @thereafterpodcast

Yes! They are planning on interacting with the virtual attendees during the Content Warning event. I had assumed/hope so, but hadn't gotten that confirmed until now. @thereafterpodcast

Another great episode! @thereafterpodcast

#live posting #Thereafter Podcast #deconstruction podcasts #Spotify

[evanzbuck]

THAI.

I was just out and about, running my little errands on a Saturday morning, when you tagged me in this TNT set and emotionally wrecked me while in line at the bank. 😭 THANKS.

I honestly forgot that I sent you this song lololol, and as a result, I WAS NOT READY TO RECEIVE THIS. The best part was how the song was playing on my AirPods the moment I saw the notification. The universe knew what was coming.

Your idea to frame the set through Tommy, Nancy, and TK's losses????? YO. THAI. WOW. GENIUS. Obviously we all know grief is a common thread between them, but the way you laid it all out is 🥺🥺. I love how you wove it all together in a way that tells such a uniquely beautiful and bittersweet story. A STANDING OVATION ON THIS BRILLIANT CREATIVE CHOICE. 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

My favorite part of the song, which guts me every single time I hear it, is "I think life's a party, something you should celebrate...some people leave early, while others get to stay." What you did with those lyrics gave me goosebumps. The shaking effect that you did with the second to last gif and "some people leave early"--- I cannot stop looking at it (or playing that part of the song on repeat as I do).

Your talent is limitless and your creations always manage to simultaneously make an impact and leave an indelible imprint. The show only gives you so much content to utilize, and the way you curate your sets with the limited scenes/options you have is astounding. I always look forward to seeing the end result of one of your ideas, and it always blows me away because your attention to detail is EVERYTHING.

Anyway, I'm gonna get myself together and go about the rest of my day, SOMEHOW. Thank you for remembering for both of us (😂) that I sent you that song and for creating this absolutely stunning set with it. I’m gonna be thinking about it for daaaays. So grateful to you, and for you. 💖🥹 Forever tied with Kim as your number 1 fan. 😁😂

SONIAAAAA! Just casually making me cry in a Saturday night huh. Is this payback for the set because I feel like it is lol. You have NO IDEA how much this means to me! I absolutely love getting you two by surprise omg seriously it's now one of my favorite things in the world sdfghjdfkdf It actually happens because I'm often lacking motivation and inspiration to make them right away but this works I guess 💀 I still can't believe you were listening to this song oh man that's wonderful and I'm so happy I've worked up the courage to post it in that exact time.

I'm so so happy you like my scene choices because you know that's what I care the most about lol. "Some people leave early and others get to stay" is my favorite part too so I felt the need to add all I could to represent TNT I'm very glad you like it <3. Godddd I'm not kidding when I say this made me cry. I adore you sfm and it's incredible to make sets for you. The way you love and care for the show and everyone's work is the fucking best! I could drop a set every single day for you and Kim and never grow tired of it because, ofc, I love you two, and it's super worth it! Seeing you guys freak out for all this 911ls/Rafa content add some years to my life expectancy istg 🤣 So THANK YOU for taking the time to send this, for all those beautiful texts and these lovely words. And oh boy this is not even the last request 💀 so I can't wait to see your reaction to those as well sdfhjdsfklfd. You're wonderful my love ❤️ I'm dead I'm sure Kim is good with sharing it with you lololol

#no one look at me I'm wreck after this #sonia tag #pragmatic-optimist #answered

[philliamwrites]

Stay Where You Are And Then Leave {Masterlist}

And as the Titans begin to march, no matter how scared you are, you will not look away. Because there is love in every ending.

❀❀❀

When Wall Maria fell you lost everything: your home, your family, your childhood friend and first love. Haunted by his memory, you promise yourself to enlist for military service so that one day you can kill the Armoured Titan.

But feelings change, children grow up and you've known early on that someday dreams end. Now finally in the army, all you want is to survive the next three years and join the Garrison Regiment to find some peace and quiet within the walls.

That is until Eren Jaeger steps into your life with his purpose that blasts through rooms like a wildfire, hot and bright and beautiful, but also the sort you want to watch from a distance.

He won't let you stay away though, and once you're completely entangled with him, he will never let you go.

Until he does.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem!Reader

Warnings: unreliable narrator, canon-typical violence, blood & injury, mild gore, slow burn, swearing, canon divergence, platonic jean & reader, angst, betrayal, enemies to friends (w/ benefits) to lovers, falling in love, falling out of love, fix-it while also making things worse, a.o.t.2 game elements,‼️18+, later: explicit sexual content!!‼️(i'm talking about all that good mean!dom eren stuff), warnings are listed at the beginning of every chapter

A/N: No words. Just Eren living rent free in my head. I'll try to upload every second Sunday.

Just DM me if you wanna be on the taglist!

○ ao3 link ○ SWYAATL playlist ○

[01]: Unsre grüne Au

• wc: 5.8k • warnings: mature; blood, mild gore, angst, death of family & loved ones • summary: He takes your hand, so warm around yours, and places the ring in your open palm. It’s cool against your skin. “This is how you know I’ll always come back. Because when we grow up … we’ll get married.” You stare at him as though you’ve seen a god and that god shares Emil’s name.

[02]: Dear Emil

• wc: 7.3k • warnings: introduction to PTSD and trauma, mourning the death of family & loved ones • summary: But just like one loose thread could unravel everything, the past day has completely disintegrated the foundations of this future. Now that it crumbles between your bruised, shaking fingers, do you try to rebuilt it? Or do you forge something new from the broken pieces even though that means cutting your hands bloody on the remains?

[03]: army⇒G♂

• wc: 6.1k • warnings: canon-typical violence • summary: “And what about you?” the boy says, suddenly swirling to you and you jolt in your chair. He sees you; sees you with striking, sharp eyes the colour of an empty bottle struck by sunlight. The colour of a dark, deep lake after a storm. “Didn’t you say you want to kill the Armoured Titan? You’re from Shiganshina too! You know what I’m talking about, right?” Put into the spotlight—no, on the offering table for slaughter like that, you do what you do best: you run.

[04]: τέλος

• wc: 8.5k • warnings: slight bullying, swearing • summary: Eren is like a pair of hot tongs; no one is sure where to put him or how long he would take to cool off, but if they just dropped him he might light the world on fire. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you.” You’re giving up. Let someone else put on kid gloves and mark out a careful perimeter of how safe it is to approach him. Armin volunteers, turning the crank to set Eren down again and inspect his wound, but Eren pushes him away, and you wonder how often Armin has burnt himself trying to help him.

[05]: первый снег

• wc: 10.2k • warnings: bullying, swearing • summary: The impact of his hard, toned body against yours sends you both flying. He’s got you on your back, elbow pushing into your throat. You swing with one arm, but Eren anticipates it and easily catches your wrist. You stare daggers at him. “Now this,” he says quietly, shaking your fist gently, “this is what you do. You fight back. You can only win if you fight back.” “Get off me, Jaeger.” “And don’t tuck your thumb into your fist.”

06: 飛べ

• wc: 8.4k • warnings: none • summary: You stare at Eren, unable to respond. Furious, angry Eren is easy to handle—there is no logic or reason behind anger, only hot-whipping emotion that can be easily excused and needs no further thought. But this vulnerability is so much more complex and profound, you want to look away. There is a forlorn, lost look about him, but his eyes search your face as if he might find himself there. Like you could be the answer. It’s like Eren’s forgotten Reiser’s lecture last week: You don’t give answers people want to hear. “We aren’t fairy tale heroes and knights. We can’t change the world…” Eren, you want to say. “Jaeger.” You immediately see in the shadow that falls over his eyes that you’ve lost him. “You’re only one person. What difference can you make?”

07: Apple Seed

• wc: 12.2k • warnings: canon-typical violence, explicit depiction of a dead body (none of the main characters), vomiting (not reader) • summary: You wait for Eren to let you go. He doesn’t. He looks conflicted over something—desperate even, but whatever he wants to say appears to be stuck in his throat. His tongue darts out and swipes over his lower lip, leaving it pink and glossy. You blink, dazzled. What is it that you want from me? you want to ask, but the answer frightens you.

08: 金継ぎ

• wc: 6k • warnings: PTSD, grieving a loved one's death • summary: He’s right, and as you take a look around camp, at the people you’re spending the next two years with, you fall a little in love with every single one of them: Jean, Jeanie, who is so protective of his honesty and pride, but gets even more protective when it comes to you. Mina and Marco who have turned M into your favourite letter because they both know that a gentle fire by the chimney is better at keeping one warm than burning down the whole house. Reiner and Bertholdt, two sides of the same coin: where Reiner is fierce, Bertholdt is yielding and together they are invincible. Mikasa and Armin, one shield and spear, the other a brilliant mind that will one day change the world, and together they are Eren’s right and left hand, the first his blade in hand and the other the one concealed in his sleeve. And Eren, even Eren Jaeger, who always looks at you like he knows you are so much more than all your scars and fears.

09: The Melancholy Heron Stands

• wc: 7.6k • warnings: descriptions of a wound • summary: “Yeah, yeah, we’ve had this already. You’d rather do nothing and then complain about it later.” His words drop like a cleaver. Something sharp and painful rises up the back of your throat. You swallow it down, squaring your jaw to mask your hurt. You tell yourself not to cry, not at the hands of someone like Eren who ploughs through a field towards his destination without a care for the flowers he tramples on. Who listens in on private conversations meant for the night and darkness only, and butchers at your vulnerability with his violent idealism. You change your mind. Emil would have liked them all, except for Eren.

10: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.1)

• wc: 8k • warnings: DARK CONTENT! READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. Minor character death, blood and gore, attempt at sexual assault (male —› female), implied child abuse, implied childhood sexual abuse • summary: It wasn’t common for you to doubt or question Emil. You trusted him with a ferocity that was nearly dangerous: if he’d said “Jump, I will catch you,” you’d jump and perform a pirouette mid-flight. Yet, this was different. This felt like a secret with sharp teeth and gnawing starvation for freedom. And it would wreak havoc. You didn’t know why, but you felt it. You felt it would destroy everything like the earth rumbling and splitting open, the very foundation of everything that you had known crumbling.

11: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.2)

• wc: 8.2k • warnings: description of a decomposing body • summary: “If anything,” Eren says, and you can hear Armin’s quiet plea “Please stop talking, Eren,” because he knows Eren better than he himself, and if there is a chance to resolve the conflict without it blowing up, Armin will always throw himself in as canon fodder, “if anything, she got fucked up because you tried to run away. Because you tried to abandon us.” Jean goes still beside you like a statue. The glass shard nearly slips from your cold, clammy fingers and you bite your lip, tasting dried blood on your lips. “At some point,” Eren continues, “you’ll have to stop making excuses and stop running.”

12: Raised by Wolves and Voices

• wc: 8.1k • warnings: none • summary: “Wouldn’t that be something.” Jean sniffs, his breath coming out in white plums. “Erasing events from the past, making stuff never have happened. You’d have to be, like, God or something to do that.” “I don’t know. I get you’d want the unpleasant stuff gone, but it’s what makes you the person you are today, right? Even all the bad stuff, I don’t think I’d want that just taken away from me.” Especially without you knowing.

13: The Horror and the Wild

• wc: 9.6k • warnings: defence against an animal (no worries, the animal doesn’t get hurt too bad, definitely doesn’t die), injury, animal attack, self-suturing • summary: You scramble for your knife, digging through the snow until your fingers grasp the hilt. Pulling yourself up to your knees has never been this difficult, but thanks to the rigorous training Shadis has put you under after all those years, you stand on shaking knees, determined that you’ll see this through to the end. You’ll make your place in this world. You’ll fight for it, no matter who the opponent is. You’ll burn so bright you’ll blind them all—you’ll fight for yourself, and if that little, crying girl from five years ago screams for help, you’ll take her small hand and never let go, and you whisper to her “You are no longer a helpless child, you are the horror and the wild, and all the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold.”

14: The Happy Years (Upload: TBA)

• wc: ??? • warnings: none so far • summary: TBA

○ Masterlist ○

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x y/n #snk x you #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n #swyaatl

[ditttiii]

gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch? 

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten. 

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa​ who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever. 

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere​ @papillonsgf​ @birbdae​ & @unoriginal-username15432​. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo​ & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive​​ their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria​.  this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub​ january monthly project. 

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

 The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

 "What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

 "What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen. 

 "Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

 Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you. 

 It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

 It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

 You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

 The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

 "You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

 "I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

 Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

 He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

 "God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

 The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

 The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis. 

 "I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong. 

  "Huh?"

 His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

 "Why?" You rasp out. 

  Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope. 

 Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping. 

 "Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall. 

 "Don't play games with me." 

 A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

 "What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail. 

 Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts. 

 It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

 Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud. 

 Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

 You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow? 

 "I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse. 

 "I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two. 

 "But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

 "But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

 "I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

 Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

 Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

 "No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

 Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't." 

 Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness. 

 "Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas. 

 "Don't do this to me. To us."  

 "You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

 "No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw. 

 "I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso. 

 It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

 Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart. 

 Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek. 

 The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

 His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

 "I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

 His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

 "Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

 Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah." 

 When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

 Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide. 

 "You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen." 

 His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck." 

 Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh— 

 His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is. 

 When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity? 

 But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin. 

 He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung. 

 It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for. 

 His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona." 

 Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands. 

 You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

 The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly. 

 Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are. 

 Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go. 

 The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does. 

 You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it. 

 With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high. 

 Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness. 

 The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going. 

 One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again. 

 Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last. 

 Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more. 

 Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

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[wasabito]

➽ corruption collab masterlist — hosted by @ultimate-astridwriting and @bummie ♥️

➽ note: definitely gonna come back and edit this a bit more because threesomes are hard as fuck, no pun intended lmao happy v-day everyone!

➽ word count: 3.2k

➽ cw/tags: polyamory + body worship + threesome + praise kink + public sex + choking + handjobs/fingering + vaginal sex + squirting + established relationship

➽ pairing: akaashi x fem!reader x bokuto

💿 1. nasty — ariana grande || 2. come on — jhene aiko

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, it becomes rather apparent that love and romance are in the air. Storefronts are decorated in bubblegum pinks and reds. Flower shops promote their special bouquet arrangements at discounted prices. Even your favorite hole in the wall coffee shop has fallen prey to the spirit of cupid as they announce their new strawberry shortcake dessert and heart-shaped scones.

In lieu of staying home for the third night this week, your boyfriends escort you to dinner at an upscale restaurant in the city. They treat you to a five-course meal and a bottle of wine even pricier than the dinner itself. One would think, after three years of dating, you would no longer be caught unawares by their spontaneity. And yet, here they are, once again pulling the rug from underneath your four-inch heels.

Your gaze flickers from Akaashi's tranquil smile to Bokuto's wide grin.

Adjusting the napkin in your lap, you open your mouth to speak, then pause as the right words fail it come. Brain short-circuiting instead, you let out a confused, "Huh?!"

"We're taking you to Italy!" Bokuto repeats, about ready to hop out of his seat with excitement. He looks to Akaashi, "Three nights in Venice, right 'Kaashi?"

"Yes, we decided on Venice after you told us you'd always wanted to visit. Remember Koutarou's birthday last year?"

"But that was like months ago! Did you two honestly hold onto that drunk little confession this entire time?"

"Of course."

"Yup!!"

It's in moments like these when you are reminded of their history together, first as teammates playing volleyball, and eventually close friends. Not much longer after that, you'd met and fallen for Akaashi, then Bokuto, and thus began the relationship of today. While you find it a little ridiculous, it seems neither of them has any qualms about this trip.

After all, you are their lovely girlfriend. Why wouldn't they want to make your wishes come true?

Bokuto claps his hands, eyes sparkling. "Everything's already planned out, babe, so don't worry your pretty little head, okay?"

You can't argue with that. Reaching over, you take Bokuto's hand in your right and Akaashi's in your left. "Alright, since you two went to all this trouble for me, I guess I'll just sit back and enjoy it."

♥️

Venice is just as beautiful as you imagined.

It looks as if it's floating upon blue-green waters with lots of sunshine, beautiful architecture, and a vibrancy that makes it feel like the city has a life of its own. You are grateful you didn't come by yourself. There is no way you would've enjoyed it without Akaashi and Bokuto at your side.

"We're about a ten-minute walk from Piazza San Marco," Akaashi says as he taps his glasses. His sharp gaze is locked on the map in his hands, likely committing most landmarks and details to memory. "Would you like to check it out?"

"Yeah! Let's do it."

"Off we go, go, go!"

Thus, a majority of your first day in Venice is spent sightseeing.

The three of you take a gondola ride through Canale Grande, then have a peek into the Gallerie Dell'Accademia at Akaashi's insistence, though naturally, you wouldn't have come all the way to Italy and not visited at least one art museum. Afterward, the three of you go to the Le Mercerie shopping district and buy gifts for your friends before finally taking a pit stop for the most delicious gelato in the city.

The sunsets sooner than expected, casting the entire block in deep red hues. Bokuto's mood is greatly influenced by it, and the jetlag certainly doesn't help. He props himself against you, nuzzling you in a way that says he's itching for a kiss.

"Tired, Kou?"

Bokuto hums. "A little... More hungry than anything."

He leans in and pecks your lips with a sated smile. "Maybe I should eat you. I mean, how is it my girl's so damn cute? Not fair, I can't resist."

You snort at Bo's silliness but can't help shivering a little at the tiny implication of his words. He always did like to lay his head on your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites where he could.

So, the thought of him eating you out made you squeeze your thighs together.

Akaashi approaches with your frozen treats held between his long fingers; having overheard Bokuto earlier, he tucks his wallet back into his pocket.

"We'll get some dinner after we drop off these shopping bags. How does that sound?"

You eagerly take your gelato from him with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan."

Akaashi nods, standing at your other side, close enough to brush elbows though not as close as Bokuto, who was nearly hovering.

The three of you are in one of the narrow, maze-like streetways, basking in the warm, early evening glow. The sweet taste of fruit and cream on your tongue fills you with so much contentment, especially while being with your favorite people. You aren't sure if anything could top the way you currently felt, and the trip has just barely started.

Upon arriving at your temporary place of residence, a quaint little villa on the waterfront just along the shore of Punta Sabbioni Beach, Bokuto immediately kicks off his sandals, dumps the bags, and promptly falls asleep on the couch.

"It's so weird seeing Kou like this." You remark. "On any normal day, he's brimming with almost too much energy, but now he's all tired."

"Well, he did stay up an entire twelve hours on the plane. It was only a matter of time before fatigue caught up to him." Akaashi picks up Bokuto's shoes with practiced ease and places them by the others.

There is a fond smile running along the edges of his mouth as he tucks a throw around the man's larger frame. You help him adjust a spare pillow under Bo's head and then set off to explore the rest of the area.

It seemed like everything about Venice was taken straight out of a romance film, with its cobblestone paths, gothic cathedral architecture, crisp ocean waters, and authentic Italian cuisine. It is no wonder the city's known to draw hapless souls together in romance. Even you fell subject to it, and by each passing moment, you crave to be with your boyfriends.

You are standing at the balcony overlooking the beach, satisfied with your inspection of the villa when Akaashi comes to stand behind you. He holds onto the railings, caging you in his arms, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"He was right, you know." He murmurs. "You do look good enough to eat."

Blunt as ever. Apparently, something's never change.

Though one might say that Akaashi is as he's always been after high school and college, there is no denying his boost in confidence. After all, he had landed not one but two rather attractive partners.

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, before latching onto your neck.

The sun's scenic view on the horizon, reflecting upon the beach sands of gold and shimmering orange waves, makes for an excellent backdrop.

You turn to face Akaashi and pull him into a heated kiss. His lips convey a sense of devotion to you, and with each press of them against yours, you can feel just how bad he's yearning for more.

"Kei," you whisper. "Let's go inside."

In a moment, Akaashi whisks you off your feet quite similar to how Bokuto would, though you both don't even make it to the bedroom.

Your other partner had sat up on the sofa, hair flat on one side, scrubbing his eyelids.

"Guys, I'm freaking starving!" Bokuto groans. "Let's get some food or something."

He doesn't even notice how you and Akaashi are breathing heavy or how your clothes are sporting wrinkles that were not previously there. Regardless, Akaashi has food delivered while you went ahead to shower the day's journey away. There are still two days left. You'd get your chance with them at some point.

♥️

Sadly, the entirety of day two is spent indoors. Heavy sheets of rain continue to fall, muddying the shoreline. The three of you huddle on the sofa wrapped in blankets with subtitled movies playing in the background.

Even though you would've much rather been out exploring in the city, just sharing in your boyfriend's warmth would suffice for now. Akaashi hands you a steaming cup of something rich in both color and smell.

"What's this?"

"Just espresso." He takes the empty seat beside you.

You savor the taste while leaning against his shoulder. "Mm, nice."

Bokuto keeps his head on your lap, loving how you thread your fingers into his hair.

It is a tranquil kind of peace that soon lulls you to sleep.

Later, when you finally wake up, it's dark, and you're alone. A blanket had been tucked around your shoulders to shield you from the sudden chill. At some point, the television had been shut off along with every light in the room. You might've been a little scared if not for the voices coming from the second floor. Slowly, you creep up the winding staircase, dragging along the blanket around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto chuckles. "You're finally up!"

His hair is down, wet from his shower, and he holds a thin towel together around his waist. In his hand is a cellphone, and he doesn't hesitate to shove the screen into your face. "Say hi, Tetsu!"

"Hi Y/N, how's it going?"

You blink slowly, still trying to wake yourself up.

"Kuroo, hey… I'm well. How are you?"

"Great, just about to head out for a late lunch. I hear it's almost ten pm over there."

"Yeah, it's an eight-hour time difference."

You and Kuroo continue to chat while Bokuto towels off his hair and puts on clothes. Afterward, you let Bokuto resume his conversation and join Akaashi on the bed. The man had gone full editor-mode with his glasses propped up in his hair as he read through some work documents.

When you approach, he greets you with a kiss on the cheek. "You look well-rested."

"Is that your way of telling me I have drool on my cheek, Keiji?"

He cracks a tiny smile, eyes taking in your features, then he pokes your cheek with his index finger. "Perhaps."

You scrub the corners of your mouth with your sleeve and drape yourself over Akaashi, work be damned. This was supposed to be a special weekend for relaxing.

"I really wanted to go to the beach today." You pout.

Akaashi interlocks his fingers with yours. "Maybe we still can. It stopped raining a few hours ago."

"Really?!"

You hop off the bed and head for the window. He's right, the rain had long stopped, and the beach lay bare, lit by only the moonlight.

Maybe a short walk to the beach would do you some good.

♥️

The grains of sand feel cold against your feet without the sun to beat down on them, but you don't complain. The air is humid enough on its own that you forgo wearing actual clothes and instead wear a swimsuit along with Bokuto's old Fukurōdani windbreaker.

You walk along the shore, toes digging into the sand, letting the ocean waves lap at your feet to wash them clean again.

At first, it's so eerily quiet without a soul around except you, but even that doesn't last long. You hear Bokuto's voice bellow into the night as he jogs towards you in nothing but swim trunks. Behind him, Akaashi trails slowly after with a blanket in hand.

"We thought you might want some company." He says and spreads the cover on the sand several feet away from the water, content with just watching.

Bokuto grabs your hand and you go running to the water with him, but a second later, you both come sprinting back.

"It's freezing!"

"S-So co-co-cold!"

You collapse on top of him, fingers splayed across his bare chest. However, when you try to sit up, Bokuto has other plans. He keeps you pressed to his chest with both arms around your waist.

"Let me keep you warm, baby!"

You know he meant it in the most innocent way, but you can't help but think other thoughts. Your nerves fray at the image that blooms in your head and spreads like wildfire.

And as Akaashi strokes your back, you know he's probably read your mind.

It's the way your eyes seem to glitter with want that gives it away. Akaashi has always been rather observant, and so your silent cues are something he's always been privy to.

His nimble fingers curve around the nape of your neck, and he tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss. This one is unlike the one from yesterday. There is no rush, no desire to quicken his haste; instead, he savors the taste of you like it's something to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Underneath you, Bokuto stirs, growing aroused at the sight of his two lovers' kiss. He can't decide whether he wants to join in or sit back and watch. But his large hand comes down to stroke your ass, resulting in a moan you breathe directly into Akaashi's mouth.

"You're not usually so forthcoming, Keiji," you whisper against his lips. "Eager, are we?"

Akaashi pulls away just enough to pepper your face in feathery kisses. "Can you blame me? When I have such a lovely girlfriend here."

As if confirming his words, he slips a hand under your jacket and cups your breast. The pads of his thumb brush along the seams of your bathing suit, caressing your nipple.

"Kou, let's show Y/N just how much we love her, yes?"

Bokuto didn't need to be told twice. He had been in entranced by you and Akaashi, completely taken by the way your lips danced upon one another. But now, he wanted more than anything to touch you, kiss you, hold you.

Bokuto cradles you in his lap, propping your legs open with his knees so Akaashi can kneel in front of you. It didn't take much for him to relieve you of your clothing, namely your swimming bottoms. But the second the air hits your bare cunt, you feel tense.

You aren't sure what it was, but the atmosphere is different. Both Akaashi and Bokuto are so focused on you, it feels like you're under a spotlight.

"You're so pretty, so beautiful," Bokuto says while squeezing your thighs. His warm breath tickles your ear as he presses his nose into your neck. Next, his lips follow suit. "Wanna fuck you, so bad baby. You'd like that, right?"

His words earn him a chuckle from Akaashi, who merely licks two of his fingers, wetting them and sliding into you. Your mouth parts, shaky breaths barely expelled from your lungs. You're hyper-aware of the fact that you're literally being fingered on a beach in the middle of the night, and you can't bring yourself to care. It feels good to be pampered by the two men you love.

For every moan, Akaashi gives you double for your efforts, thrusting his fingers just right, curving them in such a way that has your back arching off Bokuto, who has also taken to fondling your nipples. With every roll of his hips, you feel his cock against your ass, and it pushes you further into Akaashi's fingers.

Your impending orgasm sweeps by so close and yet so far away. All you can do is rock yourself faster.

"Please," you whimper. "W-Wanna come."

Akaashi crooks his fingers, pressing into the perfect spot that sends you hurtling over the edge. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching in intervals you have no control over until his hand is coated with your wet, slick juices that keep coming the more you squirt all over him.

"She's so wet 'Kaashi. Look at our pretty girl."

Akaashi places a chaste kiss on your forehead with a smile.

"She's doing well, so far. Let's see if she can keep going."

Bokuto shimmies his shorts off enough to free his hard cock. He had been uncharacteristically patient until now, but that was soon to change as he lines himself up with your cunt, teasing you with just the tip.

Your whining is unintelligible, but both men understand you more or less.

"Give the pretty girl what she wants," Akaashi says. He strokes his own hard-on at the sight of Bokuto's pushing past your wet folds. "I know she can take more than that."

Bokuto has always been girthy, and it takes you more than a few seconds to adjust to his size, but when you finally do, it feels like heaven.

The position you're in gives Bokuto all the power to thrust into you like a ragdoll. But it's only when you make eye contact with Akaashi that you realize that it's, in fact, the other way around for him in particular. From where he sits, stroking his cock with flushed cheeks and choked moans, you see just how much control you have over him.

"Kiss me." You moan.

Akaashi doesn't let you repeat yourself. He kisses you long and hard even as you grip his throat with one hand and his hair with the other. He kisses you until his lips are red and bruised.

"Good boy. Both of y-you."

Bokuto groans loudly. "Say it again. Keep saying it!"

"Y-You're both so good. I-" your hips stutter against Akaashi's fingers that are rubbing circles into your clit. "Good, so good-"

That's all it takes to take Bokuto over the edge, blowing his load. "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

You can feel another orgasm swelling up inside your belly. You try to tell them but can't, too overcome by the feeling of your body tingling with desire. It's too much, overwhelmingly so; your vision blurs with unshed tears as Bokuto continues to pound into sopping pussy. Pleasure floods every fiber of your being until you're limp and every nerve in your body is set alight.

Bokuto slips out of you easily, a string of his semen following.

You can only look on in a drowsy haze as Bokuto leans over and kisses you and then Akaashi, working him over with a tight fist.

♥️

The following morning, you’re the first to wake, but only because there’s a limb jammed into your back and a heavy weight on your chest. It takes you a moment to realize, but it’s Bokuto’s elbow poking you and Akaashi’s head resting on you.

All three of you are a tangle of limbs in bed, but you aren’t sure how you’d gotten there.

“G’mornin’” Bokuto breathes. His lips caress the column of your neck.

“Morning.”

You shift into a more comfortable position. Though doing so presses Akaashi’s morning wood against your thigh.

“Keiji, you awake yet?”

“Mmm barely.” Akaashi looks up at you through his lashes, then smiles and nuzzles closer into your chest.

Bokuto, content with being your big spoon, reaches over to touch Akaashi, hands cupping his cheek. “It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“That’s true, should we do something special.”

Thinking about the previous night, you feel desire stirring in your gut. “Could we just... do it again?”

Both men look to each other then back at you, sporting matching smiles.

“Why not?”

#bokuaka x reader #bokuto x reader #koutarou bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu smut

[somensfw-blue]

This might be a bit early for thoughts to keep you up at night but I am flowing with imagines today:

Imagine sexting simpbur

Imagine dressing up as a maid for the burs

Imagine being called kitty by Revivebur

You being a whiny mess under Eret

Shlatt eating you out

Leaving marks over the burs necks.....oh dear godbur have mercy.....

Imagine Godbur and some mutual masterbation

Hybrid!Wilbur.....

Imagine pogtopiabur accidentally spitting in your mouth and he finds it hot

Grinding onto Godburs lap

Eret fucking you and you realise you have a bulge in your stomach

Ghostbur wanting to breed you

-🌘 anon

it's like 5:30pm so it's close enough. it's never too early for thoughts to keep you up at night

it's starts off innocent enough, just sharing photos of your outfits. but the clothing gets tighter, and then it gets less. the messages accompanying the photos goes from asking about his opinion on the outfit, to wishing he was there to help take the clothes off. until one day you send the message "want to feel your fingertips brush my skin as you help me out of my clothes. would you help me out, wilbur?" simpbur swore he had a religious experience. he had assumed that you didn't mean to send the messages to him because you never addressed the messages in person. but including his name? "if i help you out of your clothes, i can't promise i'll be able to stop myself from doing more" "who said i don't want you, bur"

maid outfit, fishnet stockings, you will be fucked with your skirt flipped over your ass. "a pretty little maid, just for me? can't wait to give you pretty red and purple marks, gonna look so nice against the black and white"

"feel so good, kitten. taking me so well. look so pretty all fucked out. aw, kitten, make up your mind. is it too much? or do you want more? what was that? more? okay. but that does mean, kitten, that I'm going to fuck you until you're crying for me" his cock pumps in and out roughly, and you're moaning and writhing as he speeds up to fulfil your plead for more "my pretty kitten was so good while i was gone, gonna give them whatever they want as a reward

you can't make out proper words, feeling so good from eret's relentless fucking. whining and pleading with them as you feel yourself quickly reaching your fifth climax of the night

one hand threaded in his hair, the other holding onto the base of one of his horns. his mutton chops create a burn against your inner thighs, but it's easily ignored was he sucks your clit, tongue running over the nerves, while his fingers pump in and out, curling up to make sure he grazes that spot inside of you. (for amab anatomy, his nose brushes your pubes as he slides his mouth up and down your cock, your tip occasionally hitting the back of his throat. his hands stroke whatever part of your cock he can't force down his throat, and touch and squeeze at your balls) (as you can tell i have a lot of thoughts about c!schlatt's mouth)

i mean, we've already covered how pretty his neck and throat would look covered in the reds and purples of hickeys and bites

you're curled up against his side, lazily stroking his cock, while his hand works against you. it's gentle and lazy and there is no urgency. just a mortal and a god revelling in the feeling of each other

now hybrid what because there are so many good hybrids

your head is tilted back and he's leaned over you. the spit gathers in his mouth as he fights to keep quiet (for no reason other than he just doesn't want to be loud), but he opens his mouth as a moan fights back, and a string of the spit falls into your open mouth. you don't even think before you swallow, and he moans again at the sight of you greedily swallowing his spit

he may be a god but he still has responsibilities. but you want attention. so you slide onto his lap and start grinding. "pretty thing i can't right now. I've got work to do" he doesn't even look down at you and your hips don't stop moving "can i just- can i ride your lap? don't even have to touch me. just need to feel you"

eret would consider themself tall, not big, so it wasn't something they even considered. but one night while their fucking you from behind, they press their hand to your belly to stabilise themself when the feel it. eret has to pause, before quickly pulling out, flipping you over, and immediately thrusting back in. you don't even really register what's happening, they're so quick. but then you notice they are thrusting slowly and staring down at your belly. and then you see it too. the bulge from their cock inside you

"gonna breed you. cum deep inside you to make it stick. make you forget all about alivebur. I'm gonna make your belly swell with cum, then plug you up so it can't leak out."

#someblue thoughts #🌘 anon #c:WLBR #c:RVVBR #c:GDBR #c:SMPBR #c:ERET #c:JSCHLTT #c:PGTPBR #c:VLBR #c:GHSTBR