#what is happening in this goddamn airport

[ashanimus]

I failed to check the expiration date on the shitty little 2 oz bag of almonds I got at the airport and took a bite and it was like WTF these are the grossest, oldest, chewiest almonds I’ve ever eaten

ALSO WHAT

HOW. In this day and age????

[falconfrost]

i don't understand how will can be from texas just based on what he wears bc like. if anything he should be wearing a cowboy hat and boots everywhere in order to proclaim his texan status and yet somehow he's done a complete 180 into socal nerd swag and decided to wear cargo shorts and flip flops to tartarus

[intern-seraph]

one of the most awful parts abt the Situation for me is seeing how many ppl that i like and trust are just out and out spouting antisemitic rhetoric without any question. i understand some of you are young and super attracted to Really Radical Violent Politics but please consider reading abt this rhetoric and actively avoiding it.

and accusing jews of "pulling the antisemitism card" to avoid culpability for your antisemitic rhetoric is not actually a progressive move. you are just being antisemitic.

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[qqueenofhades]

I'm not sure I understand what's happening (in a good way, lol). I got an email from ACLU that called Project 2025 'weird and obsessive policy'. Never seen progressives so united on a single style of insult

Listen. LISTEN. I am not only Deliberately Looking At Twitter (tm) today, I am willingly and eagerly doing so. I am refreshing it often. I am eager to see more. @silverbirching and I are sitting at our respective places of work just trading political memes back and forth on WhatsApp and laughing at JD Vance's absolutely can't-make-this-up-it's-so-bad failures. We have been so desperate not to talk about politics all year and we are now doing it, happily, all the time.

And that's because Twitter today is kind of incredible? People are just dunking on Republicans left and right. Republicans are dunking on other Republicans (Liz Cheney bodied JD Vance, to nobody's surprise). Republicans are trotting out tired old talking points/trite old stupid attacks and everyone, everyone, is just going "lol sure. Nice try, weirdo," and posting more pictures of Kamala's ginormous Wisconsin crowds and the even-more-ginormous Michigan rally that hasn't started yet but needed to be moved to an honest-to-god airport hangar since more than 50k people RSVP'd. People are gleefully savaging JD Vance for stalking Kamala at the airport and his sad little Eau Claire warehouse rally (and referencing Four Seasons Total Landscaping) at the same time there are 12k+ people at the Harris/Walz party. People are making Coach Walz jokes and Minnesota Dad memes. People are having fun.

I don't know what's going on. I genuinely don't, but there's just the tiniest possibility that we somehow fell back into the Good Timeline on July 21, and we can stay there if we do the right thing. And wow. Wow. Some of you younguns might not remember Obama's first campaign in 2008, but: It felt like this. And because of how short-notice and impossible this all has been, 2024 is even more incredible. So like. There's real, genuine hope for the first time in a while, and I don't know how, but good goddamn.

[bonefarm]

The notes on a recent post got me thinking

By nature, I’m a fan of having 2 beers and meeting strangers at a bar somewhere you’ve never been, which is a thing that we don’t do in 2023 between COVID and being afraid of one another because of the prevalence of gun violence and regular violence and misdirected road rage and the million other little deadly social erosions of the past 10 years or so.

You have got to let go of this idea that any place is a complete nothing-burger full of nothing-people.

You have to.

Its vitally important that you navigate that airport with a stranger in Denver and realize he’s got a tattoo of lyrics from your favorite song. To sing House of the Rising Sun with four people you’ve known for 2 hours (and somehow managed to get into the DNCs private bar with) in the back of an Uber in DC when it’s pissing rain and entirely too cold for your southern blood. It’s important to cooperate and solve problems together and go about it laughing and singing. We are silly little creatures that love a puzzle and a story.

It’s also important to flee a tornado in the back of a shitty red pickup at pride in Oklahoma City and feel the sky break wide-open against the lazy /tick-lok/ /tick-lok/ of the windshield wipers while racing down what once was Rte 66. Its important to know that in the face of creeping fascism that place, of all places, has entire gay neighborhoods. It’s important to wake up in an apartment high, high up in NYC and watch the sun through the buildings and boulevards and watch the glorious great goddamn of that impossible number of people all cooperating and all not. To say Hyoo-stun, that way, on purpose just to get a rise of your born and bred NY friend who does NOT think you’re funny but will make coffee for you.

You need to see a beach full of people cautiously approaching and flinching away from a floating, dead horseshoe crab on Tybee Island, Georgia the way any troupe of wild animals approaches an unknown alien thing. Cows in a field, fish in the ocean flinching from a diver. Little children squealing and wide eyed behind their parents legs. You need to be the person that walks out and picks it up and watches the rest of the crowd creep in to investigate.

I don’t get to travel a lot in the way that most people do, when I go to a place it’s usually because something bad has happened there, but I have found it universally true that most people just want to tell you a story or show you a picture on their phone of the craziest thing they’ve ever seen and they don’t particularly care who you are or what your accent is. Sometimes they do, and those people suck, but those people are not the majority.

Sometimes if you let an old redneck talk he’ll tell you everything you never wanted to know about forensic accounting. Sometimes you’ll meet someone in the middle of the biggest city in the US who knows everything about show pigs. I’ve been to the smallest Kansas towns and the biggest cities in the US and I’ve found none of them were full of nothing.

[thevisitmaxxedfriend]

so like i understand that this is a very terrifying circumstance and i am worried for kunikida but "what the hell is happening at this airport" made me laugh because goddamn kunikida's really about to fight a world ending self proclaimed divine being in an airport

[adamsrcnan]

Thinking about Wymack picking up Neil from the airport at new years. It takes him a while to spot Neil because of course his hair is back to it's natural colour but Wymack would notice those hunched over shoulders anywhere, shoulders that look like they're carrying a weight so heavy Wymack would never know the pressure of it. And that's how he knows it's his Neil. His hands always fisted around the strap of that goddamn duffle bag.

Then Neil is sitting in Wymack's car, and he can sense the tension in Neil's body, the careful way he holds himself hiding how much pain he's in, how broken he is in that moment. Neil falls asleep within minutes, so Wymack spends the rest of the journey driving as careful as he possibly can so as not to jostle Neil in the car as he sleeps. He turns the heating up too keeping Neil warm and comfortable. He tries not to think about all the questions that make his grip tighten on the steering wheel.

Next is the mission of getting Neil up to his apartment. He doesn't want to wake him, though it doesn't seem like it would be possible right now anyway. Neil seems completely gone. If it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his chest he could be dead. So Wymack grabs Neil's bag, throws it over himself before gently reaching into the car to carry Neil out. He's heavier than Wymack would have expected, considering how small he seemed when he first spotted him hunched over on the curb outside the airport.

The ride up on the elevator seems longer than usual, and at some point Wymack feels the weight of Neil's head falling back so he gently shifts him so his head lands on Wymack's shoulder instead. He sighs deeply and curses under his breath, at what he doesn't know. For a second he's back in the hallway of his apartment watching Neil flinch from him for the first time, and now he's asleep broken and bruised in his arms. There's something to be said about the irony in that he's sure.

Finally he's in his apartment, gently laying Neil down onto his sofa. He pries his shoes off and then hesitates. His hands moving automatically to unzip Neil's coat to make him more comfortable, but he doesn't want to touch him without his consent. So, he leaves the jacket. He shoves a pillow under his head though, his hand resting atop Neil's now burnt orange curls a second longer than was necessary.

He drags his desk chair into the room, careful not to make too much noise. He needs to be by his side, needs to be there when Neil wakes up so he doesn't panic. He pours himself a drink and watches Neil sleep, his eyes fixed on his chest again, focused on that steady rise and fall. Wymack drinks. Neil sleeps. Those million questions are running through his head again, but the most burning and pressing of them all is how could I let this happen to one of my kids?

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Eddie has never traveled much. Sure, he'd drive around in his van, sometimes visit Indy, but otherwise he's given up on all the touristy stuff even before he could experience it (as if - an absent mother and a criminal father don't exactly scream VACATION TIME). He finds it silly, all the magnets, postcards. As if one week somewhere else could make a difference.

Enter Steve Harrington, a very dedicated boyfriend with a no bullshit attitude and a payout from yet another government interdimensional (or cross-dimensional?) fuckup. Given how many times he's nearly died, he doesn't exactly feel like saving and investing into his future if it may never come. And so when Eddie's wounds heal, his quiet graduation passes and Hawkins isn't swarmed by monsters for a change, he doesn't ask, simply tells Eddie that his job search will have to wait for 2 weeks or so. He helps him pack a bag, winks at Wayne on his way out (seriously, were they conspiring against him all this time?!) and off to the airport they go.

Eddie has never flown anywhere and boy, is that an experience. After grasping Steve's hand tight enough for his knuckles to go white, he finally relaxes and watches the clouds in child-like awe. Steve is smiling at him from the middle seat, squeezes his hand sometimes. Of course he made sure Eddie would have the window seat. Of course he knows Eddie would find the experience magical.

One uneventful flight and slight migraine scare later, they land, Steve picks up their rented car and drives them both to a small house on the beach. Steve snorts when he sees the separate beds and pushes them together, dropping his own bag on the right mattress. And Eddie just stares, still in disbelief that this is happening, that the local freak and suspected Satanist somehow ended up on a beach vacation with white pillows, so soft it's almost ridiculous, a boyfriend kind (and hot, so goddamn hot!) beyond belief and gentle sound of the waves...

Eddie doesn't really have swimming trunks, Steve didn't really tell him what to pack except that it's going to be mostly warm, but when he tries to apologize to Steve, his boyfriend just laughs, digs in his perfectly organized bag and tosses something black at Eddie's head. When Eddie disentagles it from his face, he finds out it's a pair of trunks with small skulls on them. "Told you, baby," says Steve and presses a gentle kiss into Eddie's cheek. "You don't need to worry about anything this week."

And Eddie doesn't, for the first time in his life he feels absolutely free from everything. When he sees the ocean for the first time, he ends up doing a very undignified splat into the waves and soon finds out that the legends were true, the water is salty and god, it's disgusting. Steve gets them both cheap snorkel masks and they just float next to each other and observe the tiny creatures on the ocean floor. Steve often dives much deeper than Eddie would ever dare to go and brings up small treasures, shells and smooth pebbles. He insists Eddie should only pick the prettiest ones, but Eddie hoards them all. "If they're too heavy when we fly back, I'll just send my bag with you and walk to Hawkins on foot," he says and he might be joking. Might.

In the end, they come back to Hawkins, with Eddie's pale skin slightly red ("I told him he needed sunscreen but did he listen, Wayne? Of course not") and bags full of trinkets that quickly fill the shelves of Eddie and Wayne's new home. Wayne's mug collection grows yet again, he gives a quiet huff of laughter when the boys admit they had a competition to buy the ugliest mug possible, Eddie presents him with a disturbingly realistic seahorse mug and Steve produces a cartoon octopus mug with a sign "SEAS THE DAY". They both groan when Wayne declares it's a tie and proudly displays both.

And if Eddie sneaks to the kitchen during the night to decorate their fridge with a tacky magnet, well, who can blame him? Maybe he'll start a collection too.

[chimivx]

public occurrences. // myg.

pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader

summary: It's been almost a year since Vegas. As one would expect, life hasn't gotten any easier. If anything it's gotten even more chaotic. The world knows who you are now... There aren't anymore secrets to hide.

words: 6k

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS. use of cuss words, they talk of anxiety, some mental health situations, talks about a miscarriage, talks about Jin and other members leaving. other than that- not much else. If I missed anything PLEASE let me know.

a/n: CAN'T BELIEVE ANOTHER VEGAS IS HERE. Enjoy my loves. Thank you for all the love and support always. <3 It's just a short little drabble of one specific moment of time, but I thought it was pretty important.

~ the end of february 2023 ~

A dull pain begins to erupt where you’ve had your jaw clenched for the last twenty minutes. A soreness in your jaw you’re not quite sure will ever be able to go away. For the past few months it’s found itself in this compromised position.

Your entire body is made of steel, your joints creaking as you attempt to pull yourself together amidst the panic ensuing within your nervous system. Limbs heavy to the point you aren’t sure whether or not you’ll be able to exit the vehicle.

Breathe in, breathe out. The words repeat.

Breath in, breathe out. It made you want to sing Hobi’s song. Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhaaale. But there was no time for fun. Not when you were about to walk outside in front of cameras for the first time in eight years.

The morning was spent in a blur, the attempts to perfect your hair and makeup happening at an hour too early, much like how you rolled out of bed. An hour too early. You were awake before your daughter even had the chance to stir.

Anxiety had been simmering beneath your skin for weeks. You could barely eat, the nausea would rip through you violently. Again, for the past few months that’s how life has been, nausea, anxiety, melancholy thoughts and dreams, however this event seemed to be adding twice as much. These past few days you’ve probably accumulated a total of nine hours of sleep. You had more shuteye the week after your daughter's birth.

There seemed to be a butterfly effect from the events in Vegas. The incident that caused countless meetings and endless discussions because the company just couldn’t handle anymore media control or protection. You should never have trusted that girl.

BigHit took their time, the company drug out the announcement as long as they could so it would surpass Jin’s deployment and your goddamn wedding. Now, with it being the end of February, Yoongi’s been traveling absolutely everywhere for basketball games, photoshoots, and he’s announced a tour… It was about to happen. For the very first time in eight years you were officially about to be on camera, branded by flashes, posted online permanently, forever going to be seen and known as Min Yoongi’s wife.

Next to you, Yoongi grips your knee tight, in hopes to settle your worries. Glancing down to his knobby hand you sigh and suck in a deep breath.

“We’ll be fine,” he said softly. Meeting his comforting gaze, you attempt to smile, one that makes him laugh. “I promise. Remember everything we talked about?”

You do. Of course you do. It’s been playing on repeat for one hundred and sixty eight hours. 

That’s how many hours are in a week. You had to google that.

When this entire plan was set in place you requested a play by play, a step by step tutorial- a rehearsal even! You were walking out into the public eye with your child for the first time. People knew who you were now. 

There were going to be cameras, and fans, and paparazzi, and loud noises, and people rushing you, and standards to follow. It was all too much, it all seemed to be entirely too much. You were going to have a toddler on your hip, one who could barely stand to be in a room full of people her father worked with let alone god knows how many strangers at an airport.

“What happens first?” Yoongi asked, reaching for one of your hands to tangle his fingers with yours. He could feel your panic. “Tell me the first thing we’re going to do.”

Gulping, you respond, “Park.” Looking up at his short hair that you’re livid with- his long hair was dreamy, and sexy, and you could pull it- you receive another laugh. He hadn’t expected you to be so literal.

“Good, we’ll park,” he praised. “And then what?” Tipping his chin down his eyes widened a bit, becoming all the more endearing.

“Then, Branson and his team get out,” you said, feeling a bit better looking into his eyes. Yoongi gives you a soft smile, dragging his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Has Branson ever let you down?”

“Never,” you whispered. Almost nine incident free years with the man, after Yoongi, you depended on. 

Your husband leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Exactly,” he said. “What happens next?”

Going through the last three simple steps, everything seemed ready to go to plan. Once Branson was ready, you were going to take your daughter out of her carseat, exit the car, and follow the men inside. You would be the one to carry your daughter, just in case. People were unpredictable in these situations, and Yoongi agreed that if something were to happen to him here, you should be the one to carry her inside. As much as that little comment terrified you to hear him say, he was right.

Simple as pie. You hoped.

In a perfect world that’s how it would happen, and you want nothing more than for this to go smoothly.

People knew your name. Everyone has found out that it’s been years. The company was prepared for mass destruction, and so were you and Yoongi. A first public appearance, this is where it would all go to shit. There isn’t much chaos people can fully ensue over the internet.

As for your friends, the two of you personally asked them to stay out of it and at the drop of a hat they agreed. The five boys and Sunny shook on it. No one would say a word publicly, no one would do any interviews, no tweets, no Instagram posts, no stories pushed, no Weverse comments. Silence. Radio silence.

Jin has most definitely heard what has happened, and the next time you and Yoongi get to see him, there will be tea to spill. Your heart aches whenever you think about him, especially for Yoongi. He’s had to go through this madness and so much more without his best friend.

The week after he left was complete and utter hell for your family. And not just because of Jin.

Pushing aside all thoughts of having to redo the motions with Hobi very soon, you come to realize that steps one and two of the plan have already commenced.

The black SUV was parked in front of the airport, and Branson and his team were setting themselves up. Through the dark tinted windows there are crowds upon crowds of people, masses of them so large one would think the entire band was here. It reminded you of a concert, they were all waiting in groups with their phones out, pointing them at the vehicles that you and your team were in.

Slapping your hand on top of Yoongi's, you grip it tight, digging your nails into his palm. He places his other right on top of yours.

“I can’t do it,” you mumbled, whipping your head to shoot him a terrified look.

Yoongi smiles, though your fear threatens to crack him. If this wasn’t ordered by the company he’d whisk you away to safety, getting inside the airport without a soul knowing. He’s broken these rules before, going against what his company wants for your sake, it’s been eight years of you coming first, you topping all things that have to do with his job. 

Now that the gig was up, now that people knew who you were and knew that it’s been forever, he feels as though he owes it to his fans to do a three minute appearance. As much as he was deeply in love with you, he loved his fans almost as much. He wanted to show you off, he wanted the world to see who’s been keeping him sane all this time, who’s been the source of his happiness for years.

“Yanno, the last time you told me that you seemed to handle everything just fine,” he said, glancing at your sleeping daughter beside you. Blowing a gust of air through your lips, you roll your eyes.

“I didn’t have to do any work, D, they cut her out of me,” you grilled back, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t-” your words are cut off by a sudden short breath. “I feel like I can’t breathe,” escapes you in a whisper. 

Branson taps his fist on the window a couple of times gently, signaling that he was ready for the three of you to come out. The murmurs from the crowds can be heard, leaking through the cracks in the doors, swarming around you constricting your chest.

Yoongi slips an arm around your back, holding you against him tight. Burying your face into his chest, he rests his chin on top of your head and takes a deep breath. You can feel his beating heart steady between his lungs. This was just another day for him. He’s had ten years to grow used to this.

“I was afraid this was going to happen,” he said softly. Peeking up at him, you frown.

“What?” you question, lowering your brows. He nods a couple of times, giving you a small smile.

“I was afraid this was going to happen, because I knew this was going to happen,” he said.

“Me freaking out, right?” you sighed, your tone completely breathless. A soft hum leaves his chest as he ponders what you’ve said, then he shakes his head. “What?” you question again with more vigor.

“Well,” he huffs a gentle laugh, “I figured something along the lines of that would happen, but only ‘cause of her,” he nods to your daughter, “Not because you’re scared of going out there. You’re only worried for her. If it were seven years ago you think you’d feel this way?”

Shaking your head to answer him, the electricity coursing through your veins seems to subside.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Before her you were dancing in the streets before my shows, you were talking to people, my fans! You were prancing around stadiums and concerts like it was nothing.”

“I loved doing that,” you smiled. 

“Fuck yeah, you loved doing that,” he said, giving you the smallest shake. “And, you know what? It’s not just you going out there as my wife, right? They know what you’ve done for us, they know what you’ve made for us.”

Your smile starts to grow. He was right. The fans, the people, they loved your work. The music videos, the art, the TinyTan, the creative concepts, the photoshoots, all of it. They finally knew that it was you. The ghost creator had been unveiled.

“You probably have fans of your own,” Yoongi said matter of factly. “I guarantee you all these people are here for you, not me.” Frowning humorously, you make him laugh.

“Doubt that,” you said flatly.

“Alright, half and half,” he winked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can do this, you can do this. We’re doing it together, like we do everything. We’ll get through this together. We always do. Just think, next time we see Jin we have to tell him all about this, he’ll never believe it.” 

Averting your eyes from his, your mind is suffocated by the many, many things you’re going to have to tell Jin when you’re with him again, which you’re hoping is soon. So much has happened, so much has changed, and it’d only been about three months.

“Yeah,” you whispered, flickering your eyes up to Yoongi who’s flashing you a curious look. “He probably still thinks I’m pregnant.”

A flash of discomfort wrecks his expression for all of two seconds as he glances away from you with a breath. Swallowing hard, he relaxes his face and looks back at you, his lips pressed together tight.

“He, uh,” he began in a whisper, “He... knows.” Before you have a chance to say anything, the subtle shock on your face telling him plenty, he cuts you off. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to tell him, it’s Jin, that’s my best friend, he’s the only one I could even say the words to.”

Sitting up a bit, you reach a hand up to cup his cheek, dragging your thumb over his smooth skin. “D, it’s okay,” you reassured him, bobbing your head. His lips form a pout, one that gets you to giggle. “I promise, it’s okay.”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you, feelings swirling around the empty air as you both choose what to do or say next. Yoongi leans into you, kissing your forehead once more before placing his own there.

“You’re so incredible,” he said, watching you flutter your eyes shut. “The strongest woman I know, the most talented woman I know. On top of having such a beautiful, creative mind, you’re a fucking fantastic mother.” Yoongi pauses, taking a deep breath, as do you. “He was lucky to have you for as long as he did.”

A lump lodges in your throat. Scrunching your face, you shake your head, rubbing your forehead to his.

“Don’t make me cry,” you said, voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“Cry?” a tiny voice speaks up from your right, a yawn of the same intensity coming out of her straight after. Popping your eyes open you share a small smile with your husband, and just as you’re about to turn to your little one, Yoongi slips a hand beneath your chin, holding you in place.

“Hey,” his voice is soothing. “I love you.” Your heart flutters.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, accepting the quick kiss he gives you.

Turning to the carseat that has secured a permanent spot in this car, you smile at your daughter who has her head turned toward you and her father. Her sleepy eyes entice a happy hum from you.

“You were supposed to sleep through this,” you said sarcastically sweet. Yoongi chuckles, unbuckling from his seat. The clang of the metal on the door makes your heart skip a beat.

“No,” your daughter said. “No sleep. All done.” Her voice is tiny, and slightly broken, and not hitting all of the right sounds, but her speech has only been improving. The two of you speak to her like she’s a human being, saving the baby voices for when she’s feeling silly, which can attest to her strong vocabulary and understanding of conversation.

You’re beginning to think she is a genius like her father.

“Mama, up,” she cooed, reaching out her arms that were finally starting to get a little chubby. Her cheeks had caught up to her as well, they were finally perfectly pinchable.

Freeing her from the car seats restraints, your daughter aids you in her escape, launching herself forward and up into your arms with a shout.

“Oh!” she giggles once her arms are around your neck and her face is buried in your hair. 

“Oh!” you and Yoongi copy her, to which she responds with another shout.

Her attentive eyes point out the window when she sits herself up, tapping on your shoulder a couple of times with her palm. Lifting a hand, she tries to point at the crowds of people.

“Where?” she asked curiously, looking to either of her parents for an answer. Her voice turned you into a complete puddle, the sound coming out as ‘Wheh?’, the middle syllable is even more pronounced when she questions the two of you again.

Yoongi brings a hand to her forehead, brushing away a few dark hairs that fell into her eyes. The girl hated bows, you stopped trying.

 “We’re at the airport,” he told her, and she listened with all of her might. “We’re going on a plane, isn’t that fun? You like flying.” Her eyes blink a few times, taking her time to process the words. 

Sighing aloud, dramatically of course, she glances out the window and mumbles a jumble of sounds. Following her gaze, you gulp. 

Eager eyes of bystanders attempted to shatter the glass of the tinted windows.

“Mama,” your daughter said, looking at you. “Go, Mama,” she bounced once. “Go,” she bounced twice. You knew the moment you stepped out into the noise and the flashing lights that she would have a meltdown, but you admired her desire to get out of the car. Yoongi was right, she loved flying, it was her second favorite thing right now. Securely at number one was Jungkook, for a year and seven months. That spot was unattainable for anyone else.

“Shall we?” Yoongi offered, watching you fiercely, letting you take the lead. He waited patiently for your answer, heaving a sigh of relief when you finally gave him a tentative nod of your head.

“Dada, go,” your daughter babbled. “Mama, go. Dada, go. Mama, go.”

Sharing a laugh with Yoongi, you take a long deep breath and tighten your grip around her back, holding her in front of your chest. Smiling at you, your baby touched a hand to your cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered to her. She leans her head toward you and puts her nose on yours.

“Ah-luh-oo,” she tried her best to repeat. Stealing a kiss from her, you let Yoongi press a thousand to her cheek to make her giggle, and then it’s time.

Everything seems to move in slow motion, your vision tunneling as your husband opens the car door. Pulling a mask over his face, he sends you a reassuring wink before he rounds the vehicle.

Screams erupt from every corner of the space, and shouting from the team can already be heard. Strict shouting, like things were getting crazy already. Your daughter’s eyes are wide as she looks out the windows and up at you. Her curiosity has been swapped for a little bit of fear. 

You couldn’t let her see you panic.

Sliding off of the leather seat and onto the concrete of the airport lot, you pull a mask over your own face and instantly slip a hand to the back of your baby's head. Her legs were wrapped around your torso, and the moment you stepped outside her arms clung around your neck for safety. You already had a suspicion that you weren’t going to have to actively try to hide her face, she would want to do that herself.

Your bags were already taken care of, there wasn’t anything else you needed to grab from the car other than your child and yourself. Everything else would be taken care of for you.

With another deep, dramatic breath, you hold your daughter close, allowing her to bury her face into your neck, and you circle the car like Yoongi had. Upon rounding the back, cameras that were already flashing began to flash faster, quicker. Wide eyed and stunned by the greeting of screams, you barely have time to process anything before Branson grabs your arm. 

It’s a gentle tug, one to help keep you on track. He pulls you close to him, staying one step ahead of you as you wait for a couple of seconds in front of the car. Glancing amongst the crowd, it’s mainly full of paparazzi and probably some journalists. Behind the tall men and their cameras you can see the fans, the ones holding up their phones and jumping up and down trying to catch a glimpse at the commotion.

Airport security guards held some people back, though no one seemed to be trying to push through excessively, which was your main fear. 

“Another minute here,” Branson said to you, leaning into your ear. “They need photos, then we go.” Nodding, you peek down at your girl who was content clinging to her mother and hiding from the chaos. A sound of admiration rips through the crowd as you stroke her back, one that surprises you.

Up ahead, close to the doors, Yoongi was walking backward slowly, watching you. His fans twisted their heads side to side, from him, to you, and back again. To spice things up a bit, he gives you a wave, and everyone goes nuts.

You can’t help but laugh at him, eyes crinkling at the sides. For some reason you had thought he’d treat you differently when you were outside, but aside from following the rules, he was still your husband. He points to the baby on your chest and questions you with a thumbs up. Another giant ‘Awh!’ rolls through the chattering crowd.

Sending a thumbs up back, the fans laugh, and cheer. Then, your heart plummets to your stomach.

From somewhere within the crowd your name is shouted. And then again. Before you knew it, the entire crowd wanted your attention. Overwhelmed, feeling utterly insane, your eyes well up with tears. You're unable to make out anything else they’re saying though, there were too many people talking at once, and to you, that was a good thing.

God forbid anybody had anything bad to say. You’ve heard it before, but you don’t need to live it in real time.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled. Branson leans into you again, questioning what you’ve said. Turning to him, you smile and repeat, “Holy shit!” 

“You’re okay?” he asked, gently putting a hand over your shoulder blade. 

“I- I think so?” you said to him, raising your voice over the crowd that was only getting louder. Glancing down to your daughter who’s little fists were attempting to rip holes in your sweater, you send a look to Yoongi, and he stops walking all together. Bundled up in the safety of her mothers arms wasn’t enough for the baby, she needed to be out of this situation immediately. “Branson we have to go.”

“I don’t have the signal yet, we need Yoongi inside before we move forward,” he said. Frowning, you knew the man was just doing his job, but a cry from your daughter flipped a switch within you.

“We need to go,” you insisted, shooting him a glare. Cradling the back of her head, you press your masked lips to her hair and take a deep breath, hoping she’d feel as much of your love as possible. 

“Go! Get him inside,” Branson spoke into the tiny walkie he carried on his chest, gesturing toward the door with persistence. 

The crowd, now roaring, and growing larger, began to push. The barriers that were blocked by guards were spilling over the edge.

Branson placed a hand to the top of your shoulder and held onto you tight. Grabbing the little speaker, he spoke clearer. “We need to move forward, and we cannot do that if you cannot get him indoors.”

Up ahead your husband was watching you with a heated gaze. His attention didn’t deter from you once. His heart twisted when you cradled your daughter, when he saw Branson begin to get defensive. The hand that was placed protectively on your shoulder could make him scream, and the team behind him, calling after him to get him to step inside the airport made his thoughts fuzzy.

What the hell was he doing? Why would he ever allow the two of you, the most important people in his life, why would he allow you to do it alone? This was the very first time you’ve done this, and he’s realized now that he’s made the biggest mistake.

Forgetting everything he was told, everything he’s learned, Yoongi bounds toward you, using the fast paced walk that his fans clown him for. They absolutely lose their minds, the people around you. 

Wide eyed and shocked, you’d never think he’d break the rules on this one, you sigh in relief when he reaches your side. An arm wraps around your shoulder, Yoongi closing you in front of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you asked, giving your head a small shake.

Your husband smiles, reaching up to pull his mask off of his face, removing yours as well.

“Not letting you do it alone,” he said to you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. As you could’ve guessed, the collective lost their minds. 

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you smiled up at him, laughing as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

“You two are always worth it,” he said. “Now, c’mon,” he stepped aside to hold you behind your back, keeping you tucked beneath his arm. Using his other hand he rubbed the baby’s back and gave her cheek a quick kiss, happy to find that once he joined you two she had calmed down. “Let’s go see Kookie.”

Her head shot right up with enormous dark eyes full of stars. “Koo-hee?!”

“Koo-hee!” Both you and Yoongi copy her tiny voice, making her giggle with the silly smiles you flash at her.

The world around you seemed to melt away the second you were in your husband's arms, like all of a sudden you had the strength to handle anything the world would have thrown at you. His grip around your body as he walked with you into the airport was enough to silence the crowd, and power your legs to get through the doors without an incident.

A mere twenty minutes later, the three of you were seated on the plane, your daughter snoozing soundly on her fathers chest while you scrolled through your phone, curious to see what the internet has had to say of your appearance already. Resting his head on your shoulder, Yoongi followed along, making a sweet comment at every single photo of you.

“Oh, that one is the best,” he said quietly, your Twitter scroll stopping on a picture of the three of you before you walked off. The big, genuine, happy smiles you and Yoongi wore were priceless as you grinned at your baby girl, one whose face didn’t make it into any photos- thank the good Lord that somebody believes in. “You should post that one.”

Giving him a sideways glance, you huff a gentle laugh. “To my Instagram? It’s just gone public, you want me to blow it up even more?”

Yoongi tips his chin up, flashing you pouty puppy dog eyes. “I just want them all to know you’re mine. Both of you. I want everyone to know I’m yours, and I always have been.” You gave his forehead a kiss.

“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll post it. Her face isn’t in any of these, so I can post as many as I want.”

Settling comfortably on your shoulder once again, Yoongi gave you caption advice for the post- an emoji that seemingly had nothing to do with the photo… But, you used it anyway. The angel emoji, with a halo and little wings.

“That one’s perfect,” he whispered, tapping on it for you.

“If you say so,” you smiled. Yoongi sat up a bit, carefully to not disturb his sleeping daughter. “You always pick the random ones.”

“Every single one I use means something,” Yoongi gazed at you fiercely. “That little guy,” he pointed to the angel, “That makes four of us.”

Your lips parted in surprise, unsure of what to say. That week in December devastated you both. Your stomach flips while you watch him study your face. The whirlwind life you live hasn’t given either of you proper time to process, or grieve.

“Baby,” he whispered, closing the space between you to touch his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to post it if you don’t want to.”

Sucking in a deep breath, your eyes welling with tears, you furrow your brows. “What did I do wrong,” escaped you in an exasperated gust of air. Yoongi shifted, wrapping an arm around your back. 

“No,” he said, putting on his strong facade. “We don’t do that, we’ve talked about this. You know there wasn’t anything you did wrong. There wasn’t anything I did wrong. You heard the doctor say it, baby, multiple times. You gave him the perfect home, you’re healthy.” Yoongi paused to gauge where you were, praying that you were listening to him.

You respond after a few seconds, bobbing your head. Taking a deep breath, Yoongi swallows down the lump in his throat.

“It just wasn’t his time,” he whispered. “He wasn’t ready.”

“Yeah,” you whispered fast. Yoongi’s thumb found your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“And, you remember the last time we were there, they said we could try again whenever we were ready,” he said. The end of last month you had a check-up with your doctor, just to make sure things were back to normal, and that your body was holding up alright. Your second pregnancy was a surprise, much like the first, you and Yoongi haven’t seemed to learn your lesson. However, losing your son before you had even gotten the chance to hold him in your arms put a lot of things into perspective for the two of you.

There were routine check-ups, you were eating better- both of you! This second child was something that you and your husband both wanted, and though each of your emotions have been through the wringer… You would be willing to try again when you felt like you could handle it.

“I want to,” you whispered. Yoongi smiled, but you could see his own worries within it. “I know, I feel the same way.”

“Together,” he cuts off the nervousness quickly. “We’ll do it together.”

“Uh, we kinda have to,” you giggled, making him laugh.

“I can’t wait,” he sing-songed through clenched teeth with a grin, stealing a kiss from you. Yoongi backs away from you to check on your sleeping daughter who hasn’t made a peep. He was surprised she had let her eyes shut while she was beside the window, normally she’d be gazing out at the clouds passing by.

Picking your phone up off of your lap, you smile at the angel emoji and click post, letting the notifications flood in like wildfire. This was all brand new. You were allowed to make your Instagram public about a week ago, and since then you’ve reached four million followers, while you used to have forty-six. Silencing the notifications from the app, every photo you’ve ever posted amassed an incredible amount of likes. Your feed was a feast, and the public was hungry. 

Four million followers and counting. The number was only going to get bigger.

Watching the photo gain twenty thousand likes whenever you refreshed the page, you nudged Yoongi’s shoulder to show him what was happening, and when he turned his head to look, an unknown number you’ve never seen before popped onto your screen, calling you.

“What the…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi snatched the phone from your hand and quickly snapped a photo of the screen with his own, then he silenced yours and went into it, blocking the number who tried to reach you. He called Branson over and showed him the photo, letting the head of security take his phone with him.

“Trace this, or, do something. Tell me who's number this is,” his voice is stern, on alert.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you said, laying your head down on his shoulder. “People get scam calls all the time.”

“Not us,” he said, tone flat.

Not even ten minutes passed before Branson came back, kneeling on the row of chairs in front of your family. He placed his elbows on the head rests and took a deep breath, darting his eyes back and forth from Yoongi to yours.

“Well?” Yoongi asked. Branson handed him his phone and frowned.

“Uh,” he stumbled over a few words, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. “We, um… The phone number belongs to your mother.” His voice is hushed, quiet, like he was afraid to tell you, when in actuality he was afraid to tell Yoongi. Touchy subject. Especially now.

There had been a restraining order set in place since the day after your daughter's first birthday. Yoongi held the meetings and took care of everything, all you had to do was sign. 

Neither one of your parents were allowed to contact you, speak to you or your daughter, or try to see you in person. They were not allowed to mail anything to you, send anyone to see you in place of themselves, nor were they allowed to be in touch with anyone close to you. Sunny included. You had to make a list.

Expecting him to jump out of his seat, you stretch a hand over his lap and grab his other hand, the one on your daughter's back. Sitting up, you turn toward him ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his expression. It had not faltered. He was stone faced, and you were sick to your stomach.

“Sue her,” he said. Turning to you, he sighed. “We’re changing your number again.”

“D, come on, it’s not like-”

“I don’t care,” he said, peering down to admire his daughter. “She clearly hasn’t gotten the message that you don’t want anything to do with her.” He pointed his focus back to Branson. “Fight it. Do what you can.”

“Got it,” the guard said, and whisked himself away.

It’s quiet for a moment before Yoongi said, “Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not defending her,” you said, and he raised a brow, giving you a funny look. “It’s just… Super annoying to give everyone a new phone number for the third time.” Both your lips turn up into a smile. “Sue the bitch, I don’t care, D.” Yoongi laughs. “Just don’t make me change my number again, I beg of you.”

“Alright,” he said. “No new number. BUT!” His raised volume made your daughter stir. “One more thing happens, you’re changing it.” The little one lifted her head, blinking a few times before she grinned at her father.

“Fine,” you whispered, not that he was paying attention anymore anyway. Your daughter took his full focus, and all of his kisses. 

It seemed silly to just now realize that today was something of a confirmation of the last eight years. Living your life, being a secret to millions of others, while you and the people you cared most about knew, was nice, and secure, and peaceful. But, now… Now that everyone knew, the peace grew. It swallowed you whole, engulfing you and your family with stability and ease.

No more accidental reveals. No more false stories. No more rumors the company had to shut down. No more hiding.

You were absolutely free, and for now, that was everything.

thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece! 

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[rowretro]

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

✧CHAPTER 1✧

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood

✧tag list✧: @chlorinecake @nikisdubblchococake @enhypensccstarlight @strwberrydinosaur @sunghoonsbeautymark @strawbsj 

Riki rang the doorbell nonstop, him and Y/n wounded, the baby in his arms was wrapped in a warm blanket. The 2 were bloody and practically dying, hugging onto each other and the baby for their lives. Mr Nishimura answered the door as Riki collapsed there and then, y/n weakly caught the baby as the man stared in shock.

"YOU TWO HAD A CHILD I DIDN'T KNOW OF?! HOW COULD YOU BE SO GODDAMN IRRESPONSIBLE- YOU'RE 18 GODDAMIT NOT 25-" The man yelled, as one of his personal doctors immediately treated Riki.

"Sir it's nothing like this... this is Soobin's child... Riki killed his parents and well... there were no orphanages or churches or families willing to take him..." y/n explained as the man yanked out his gun "Fuck Riki's weaker than I expected- who would want that pest and why'd you bring that tiny thing here huh?!" Mr Nishimura sternly asked, clearly disgusted by the baby.

"Me and Riki decided to keep the baby... well he did... and I was against it at first... but now I changed my mind." Y/n said, holding the baby closer to herself. The man cocked his gun, aiming for the baby, but the gun was kicked out of his grip by Riki. "I knew you'd try to kill him..." Riki darkly said glaring at his father as he turned to y/n "Babe go wait in the car, the maids will bring my suitcases." Riki simply said as the girl did so.

Riki glared at his father who chuckled darkly "Son relax... its an easy way out, Why not kill the baby quickly in one shot?... you two stoners will torture the poor thing and give it a slow death..." The man bitterly spat, as Riki yanked the gun out of his hold. "No one will hurt my son... that's right you're a grandpa now." Riki said before running, his father ordered his guards to kill the baby and drag Riki back to him, and they tried to do so.

Riki hopped into the driver's seat "hold onto the baby tightly, put your belt on." He simply ordered as he started speeding away from the mansion, dodging every bullet. "Riki what the fuck is happening?!" Y/n asked as Riki shushed her, driving speedily, taking every shortcut he could, to reach the airport.

As soon as they got there, he boarded one of the planes, first class, knowing he's the very son of one of the most dangerous mafias of all of Asia, no one said a word, and helped him load his suitcases. The 2 sat in silence, the baby snuggled in Rowan's arms, gurgling up at her.

"Ki what's going on? where are we going?" Y/n asked as Riki looked up at her "South Korea... I have a few friends who can help us there, and I have a villa there so." The male explained as he scrolled through his phone.

Hearing Y/n wince softly, he looked up, "You ok?" he asked as y/n nodded "Yeah fine..." she lied, Riki frowned as he realized that Rowan never got her wounds treated. "Don't worry, we'll land soon..." the male simply said as he took the baby in his hands. "He little one... be grateful I'm letting you in my life... I'm not a very nice person y'know, so it should be quite shocking I spared you." Riki smiled as the baby giggled, reaching up to touch his face.

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

[absurdthirst]

Love to Hate You {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Cheating, divorce, face slapping, name calling, insults, angry sex, hate fucking, rough sex, biting, scratching, unprotected sex, sub/dom dynamics, mentions of pregnancy, angst, mentions of drug use

Comments: Married to Dieter Bravo, you lash out when you find out the man you helped become a star is cheating on you. Taking him to cleaners divorce wise, you never thought you would run into him the day the divorce was final. Leaving you two to decide to work the hatred you have for each other out in bed.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Dieter frowns when the taxi pulls up outside of his house, clothes scattered on the lawn, and he quickly pays the driver to get out and see what the fuck is going on. He’d called you from the airport to let you know he’s on his way home and now you are throwing his clothes out of the house. “Babe. What the actual fuck are you doing?” He demands when he sees you come out of the bedroom, carrying an armful of his clothes. 

“You motherfucker!” You shriek, dropping the clothes to rush up to slap him. He flinches, barely managing to grab your wrist before you can make contact. 

“Not the face. It’s the money maker.” He demands and you clench your fist, ripping your arm from his grasp. 

“You fucking cheated on me! You - you bastard!” You shriek and he shakes his head, “what the fuck are you screaming about?” You shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks and you rush over to the magazine, clearly showing him and his co-star kissing outside of a bar, shoving it towards him. “Explain this then.” You demand with a scoff

Shit. He had thought he had gotten away with that. “It’s not what it looks-“ 

You scream and fling the magazine at him. “It’s exactly what it looks like!” You yell. “You aren’t filming! You promised me! You promised me that nothing was happening with her!” You had expressed your concerns with him getting too close to his co-star, he was constantly talking about her. “Just last night you promised me and you had already fucking cheated on me!” You don’t give a damn if he had only kissed her, he lied to you. “Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!” You grab another handful of his clothes and fling them out over the balcony. 

Dieter ducks as you toss a shoe at his head. “Baby. Baby. Stop. No! She - she didn’t mean anything. You’re my fucking wife! I love you. Not her! I don’t - I fucked up.” He tries to plead but you throw the other shoe at him. 

“You fucker. We - we had phone sex last night and you promised me she was just a costar. You fucking bastard!” You scream and he holds his hands up, “baby please. Don’t do this.”

“You’re an asshole!” You had cried, wept and wallowed in misery over the fact that the man you absolutely love had betrayed you. Until you had shifted from despair to rage. Now you want to make him pay. Every fucking cent you can squeeze out of him. You had married him when he was nobody, had supported him when he quit his shit waiter jobs because they wouldn’t let him off to audition and he fucking cheats on you? Now you’re going to take everything. “Guess what Dieter?” You hold up his precious Oscar, from its place of pride on the bedside table. 

“No- no baby, not the Oscar!” Dieter begs, clapping his hands together as he pleads. 

“We don’t have a prenup, you cheating fuck.” You hiss, grinning cruelly at him. “And I gave the best goddamn divorce attorney in the state.”

Dieter shakes his head, “you can’t- you can’t divorce me. I’m fucking Dieter Bravo. Who the fuck will compare to me? You are a nobody, no one is gonna give a fuck about you. You are nothing without me. Good luck to you sweetheart if you think you’re gonna make it alone.” He scoffs, suddenly getting defensive and cruel, crossing his arms as he tries to act like he doesn’t care when he hates that you are leaving him.

You freeze, staring at him for a moment before you hurl the Oscar at his head making him duck and it shatters the mirror behind him. “Fuck you, you no talented, limp dicked prick!” You shout, turning around and grabbing the papers you are to give him and flinging them outside. “Go fucking live with your costar! She can put up with your needy ass.”

Dieter picks up his Oscar, knowing he won’t kick you out of the house but he has to take his clothes. “Can I ask least have a fucking suitcase?” He whines and you toss a roll of trash bags at him. “You’re gonna regret this.” He growls, “you’ll never have anyone as good as me.” He spits and storms out of the house, ready to pick up his clothes and drive his car over to his co-star’s house, hopefully she will let him stay. She knows he’s married and she knew that before they even started filming. He shouldn’t have cheated but he’s a movie star, that’s what being famous entails. You knew he wanted to be a movie star when you first met, this shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s cheated on you. Everyone he knows in the industry cheats. He isn’t the exception. He gathers his clothes and gets into his car, speeding out of the driveway and he swears he will fucking ruin you.

****

“We’re here today to try to mediate the division of assists between my client and Mister Bravo.” You glare across the table where Dieter is sprawled in a chair and try not to care that he looks tired. The fact that you still love him and hate his guts at the same time infuriates you. Making sure you dress to impress and remind Dieter what he’s losing, you smirk slightly when he turns and looks over at you before you turn back to your lawyer. “We’ve already drafted a settlement that we believe is more than fair considering my client helped Mister Bravo’s career become what it is today.” The demands your lawyer insisted be more that what would ever be awarded to you is produced and handed to whoever Dieter’s manager had hired to represent him. You doubt he had found an attorney himself. Hell, you had done everything for him, was his unofficial assistant after his fame had taken off. Not anymore.

Dieters lawyer grabs the settlement, reading through it to the number and his eyes widen. He leans in to whisper in Dieter’s ear and his eyes widen behind the obnoxious sunglasses he’s wearing. “How fucking much? You-  what the hell? You can’t take the house? And how much a month? Jesus Christ baby.” He shakes his head. “You’re trying to take everything I own.”

It’s hard not to soften towards him, especially when he’s looking at you like he’s wounded but you remember the picture of him kissing his co-star. Your smile is vicious. “Remember when I was supporting you because you didn’t want to wait tables so you could have the flexibility to audition.” You remind Dieter sweetly. “And then after you starting getting jobs, I had to give up my job to be your unofficial assistant.”

Dieter sighs, ��you had a nice life with me. Never wanted for anything. Why do you want to take everything I own?” He shakes his head, scratching his jaw, “she - she wasn’t you. She never was you. I- please don’t do this.” He pleads, conscious of his estate now that he has an Oscar and the money he’s made. He doesn’t want to lose it all to you.

“Did you fuck her?” You ask, leaning forward and staring at him. Dieter guiltily looks away and confirms what you already knew. He had slept with the co-star that you ‘didn’t have to worry about’. “I thought so.” You cross your arms and bite your lip so you don’t cry.

Dieter hates the look in your eyes, and he knows he owes you the truth. “It wasn’t just her. There were others.” His lawyer hisses in annoyance at his admittance even though more than one affair won’t change the settlement. “The co-star for Hunger Strike. A few fans. A model-” 

You cut him off with a choked “stop.” 

He leans back in his chair and you swallow harshly, tears now flowing freely. “I thought you’d want to know.” He says and you shake your head. 

“Just sign the papers. Please. Let me go.” You beg and he shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to let you go. I love you baby. They didn’t mean anything. You - you are the love of my life.”

“You don’t know what love is, Dieter.” Your chin trembles slightly and you shake your head. “I never - ever - cheated on you and I had opportunities to.” You reveal. “Your co-star on your movie last year. But I didn’t, because I loved you.” Your voice cracks slightly. “Now? Now I hate you. I hate you, Dieter.”

His heart breaks but he knows he has ruined your marriage. His shield comes back up and he pushes his sunglasses up his nose. “Whatever. You hate me? I fucking - I hate you for resenting me for my success. Just because you never made it as a painter. Fuck you, sweetheart. I’ll go find a new, younger pussy to fuck in a new house in Sherman Oaks. You’ll be bitter in that shitty house, drowning in memories of us. I’ll sign the papers and we will be done here.” He answers coolly, crossing his arms as he stares at you from across the table.

“Mister Bravo-“ his attorney is wide eyed and shaking his head but Dieter interrupts him. 

“I’m signing the fucking papers.” He tells him coldly. “She wants to move on and so do I.” 

You glare at him, aware that he’s just shit on the life that you had built together, the ‘shitty’ house was one that he had been giddy to sign the papers on, making love to you in every room. “Good.”

Dieter signs with flourish, using the autograph he’s perfected over the years. “Good luck to you baby, you’ll need it if you ever want someone to make you cum like I did.” He snorts, shoving the papers over to you. He wants this done with so he can go snort some coke and start home shopping to get out of his rental. He just signed another movie deal so he’s ready to move on from you and his old life.

****

You hadn’t been trying to run into your newly minted ex husband. You really hadn’t been. A week after the papers had been signed, the judge approved them and as of today, you were officially Dieter Bravo’s ex wife. The irony had been that the day of your divorce was also your wedding anniversary so many years ago. You hadn’t wanted to sit at home, slowly going through and getting rid of all the evidence that Dieter had once been the main focus of your life, taking down pictures and throwing away old hair brushes. So you had decided to go out. Making a reservation for yourself in CUT, inside the Beverly Wilshire, you never expected to find your ex husband walking into the restaurant, wrapped around a starlet.

Dieter clicks his fingers and the maitre ‘d rushes off to go get him a table and that’s when he sees you. His eyes widen behind his ever present sunglasses and he drops his arm from the young woman who is trying to cling to him. He pushes her away gently and he tells her to wait for the table, lying that he will be right back. He strides over to the table, “fancy seeing you somewhere like this, sweetheart. Not really your kind of scene, is it? Shouldn’t you be at home…knitting? Changing the cat litter for the five cats you’ve likely bought since I left?” He taunts you as he looms over you.

Your smile is vicious and you pick up the martini you had been nursing to toss back and signal for another when the waiter comes up to you. “No, no cats.” You hum, glancing up at him and hate how you still find him sexy. “Decided I need to have a little red meat tonight, to make sure I was up for later on.” You smirk and give a small shrug before you peer over at his waiting conquest. “She looks…..limber.” You offer, not seeing what he found appealing in the girl, except youth. Your martini is delivered and you smile at the waiter, picking it up and moaning at the first sip.

Your moan makes Dieter’s cock twitch and he fucking hates it but nonetheless he invites himself to sit down at the table opposite you. “She’s a fun time, but she’s too eager. You know I like a little bite.” He shrugs and he looks at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes dipping down to your cleavage. You’re still so infuriatingly sexy despite taking all of his money. “What’s later on?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

Setting your drink down, you pick up your knife and fork to cut another piece off the perfectly seared steak. “I have a ‘date’ with Patrick.” You offer, reminding him of your conversation in the lawyer’s office. “He asked if he could come over after finding out we got divorced.” You’re lying, but it serves the son of a bitch right for sleeping with half of Hollywood. “Trying to decide if I want to book a room, or break in the new bed I bought.”

Dieter narrows his eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Patrick doesn’t know how to fuck.” He admits, leaning in to smirk, “I know that because his ex wife told me that before I fucked her right.” He never got along with Patrick. “Maybe you should book a room, see if she was lying or not.”

“I should.” The knife to the heart twists deeper when you learn about another person he cheated on you with but you don’t let him see it. “Who knows? Maybe your little tartlet will be one of those silent moaners so you can hear me scream again.” You snort, smirking at the thought of your ex-husband hearing you having sex with someone who wasn’t him.

Dieter scoffs just as Anastasia comes over and caresses his shoulder, “the table is ready baby.” She coos and doesn’t even spare you a second glance. 

Dieter pushes her hand off of his shoulder, “I’m not hungry anymore. I don’t want dinner.” He says coolly. 

She frowns, “you wanna go to my place?” She asks and he shakes his head. 

“No. You’re boring as fuck. Go home and find some Ken doll to copulate with.” He waves his hand to dismiss her and her face falls. She punches his shoulder and storms off, furious at his rejection. “Now where were we? Oh yes, something about you screaming my name?”

“Your name?” You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t want to catch something.” You hiss, making Dieter frown. 

“I’m clean, I’ve been tested and you aren’t going to scream Patrick’s name, you’re going to scream mine. Just like you always did. No one makes your legs shake and your pussy gush like I do.” He brags and damn him, he has a fucking point. He has been the best fucking sex of your life. 

You smirk, deciding you want to work him out of your system. “Go rent a room, Bravo and if I feel like it, I’ll come up.”

Dieter smirks, “really?” You stare at him and when you don’t say no, just continue to stare, he scrambles to stand up. He strides over to the front desk, demanding a suite, and pays for it on a shiny credit card. He signs the papers and gets the key before he comes back over to you. “Here to make all your Pretty Woman dreams come true, baby. You want me to fuck you? I’ll be in room 1021. Don’t keep me waiting.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, sloppily, and struts off to the elevators. As much as no one made you gush like he did, no one ever made him cum as hard as you do. He’s missed you, even if he hates that you took everything from him. Tonight, he wants to indulge in the bittersweet memories of the past.

You take your time, knowing how impatient Dieter is. It will drive him crazy to wait and wonder if you will come up or if you will just leave him hanging. So you slowly consume the rest of your dinner and have one more martini before you pay the check and stand to make your way over to the elevators. You’ve decided that you aren’t going to fuck Dieter, but you wanted him to pay for an expensive suite, just so you can slap him when he opens the door.

When you knock on the door, Dieter grins and strides over to open it. This could either go horrifically wrong or epically right. He stripped down as soon as he got into the suite, thinking it would be funny to open the door naked. When he opens the door, he waggles his eyebrows and your jaw drops, eyes dipping down to his cock. He chuckles, “you missed me, baby?” 

You react quickly, hand coming up to slap him, the hit echoing in the large suite and Dieter’s eyes widen. 

“What the fuck?” He gasps and you slap him again. “You fucking bitch!” He growls and steps towards you, his hand grabbing your wrist and you falter but he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

You had meant to fight him, to push him away and tell him you would never fuck hum again but the second his lips touch yours, it’s like you’ve lost all reason. The neediness that is inherently Dieter is right there on the surface, wrapping around you and begging for you to touch him. Moaning, you sink your fingers into his curly hair and yank on it hard enough that he yelps into your mouth, cock jumping where it’s pressed against your hip. You’ll fuck him, but it’s going to be angry, just like you feel towards him. “Bastard.” You hiss, biting down on his lip and pulling. “Couldn’t- couldn’t be faithful.” You yank on his hair again and make him whine before you crush your lips to his again.

Dieter groans into your mouth, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass, and he licks along your jaw. “Because of your cold cunt. You kept pushing me away.” He grunts, kissing along your neck and he can’t resist biting down on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

Your eyes flutter and you whimper softly, “bullshit.” You argue, twisting your fingers in his hair. “I fucked you whenever you wanted. Never turned you down, you’re just a greedy asshole.” You reach down with your other hand to wrap it around his hard cock and you squeeze a little harder than you would have before you discovered his infidelities. 

He hisses at the way you grip his cock, “fuck you. You wouldn’t have any passion. You’d just let me rut into you. There was no reaction, you moaned and faked it. Did - was my cock not good enough for you?” He demands to know, reaching for the zipper of your dress to roughly drag it down.

You snort and roughly start to jerk him off, not caring that you haven’t spit in your hand or smear lube on him. You hope it’s painful. “You mean all thirty seconds of thrusting before you came?” You taunt, stomach lurching at the way his fingers peel your dress away in a frantic, needy manner. Where had this been while you were together? Why hadn’t you been good enough?

Dieter grunts, “it wasn’t thirty seconds.” Your grip is tight and it’s dry but he’s so desperate for you he doesn’t even care. He shoves your dress down your hips, leaving you in lacy underwear that has him drooling. “Who was this for?” He demands to know as he slides his hands under the elastic so he can rub your clit.

“Not you.” You bite back, knowing that it had just been to make yourself feel better. If it makes your ex husband jealous of who you were going to model it for, even better. “Fuck, Dee.” You hiss, hips jerking forward at the pressure of his fingers. “Maybe- fuck, maybe I’ll just make you eat me out.” You pant, pressing your thumb against the drooling head of his cock. “Not let you cum.”

“You know you can’t resist me inside of you. Never could end it at oral. Always had to fuck you into the mattress. Even if you made me cum down your throat. You waited until I was hard again.” He pushes two fingers inside of you, groaning at how wet you are. “Guess you’re wet over this mystery man too?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You aren’t going to admit that Dieter turns you on. Even as your pussy flutters around his fingers. “So fucking cocky for so little performance.” You smear the spurt of precum around the head and reach down to fondle his balls, probably a little firmer than before but you don’t squeeze. You’ve finally admitted to yourself that he’s going to fuck you.

“You’re always such a bitch. Can’t just admit it, can you?” He growls, pulling his fingers out of your cunt and he pushes your dress down to the floor, reaching out to try and rip your panties. “Shit.” He growls, tossing the material to the floor and he slides his hand up to remove your bra with one hand. “Get on the fucking bed.”

You want to push back, to argue just because you can but your legs are shaking and you stumble over towards the bed. Laying down and spreading your legs to show him your dripping cunt. Smirking, you slide your fingers through your folds. “Maybe I should just take care of myself. Since I’m just letting you rut over me and not enjoying myself. Hmm?”

Dieter snorts, striding over and he grabs your hand to snatch it away from your pussy. “Is that what you want? DIY job?” He mocks you, using your hand to push two of your fingers inside of you, keeping his grip on your hand to guide your fingers. “Do they feel better than mine? Do they stretch you out properly?” He coos, smirking when you whine when he pushes them deep inside of you using his own hand.

Dieter is a cocky shit, but he makes you hot. You let him pump your fingers into your cunt until he finally tires of that and makes you stop. “Don’t you want to fuck your ex wife?” You taunt. “Since I fucked you out of your money? Your house?”

He grips his cock, pumping himself after he pulls your fingers from your pussy, and he pumps himself. “You want me to fuck you? I’m gonna need you to beg for it baby.” He orders and your upper lip curls, “as if. I’ll never beg you to fuck me again.” 

He chuckles and kneels on the bed, pushing your thighs back and lifting them over his hips. Gripping his cock, he rubs your clit with the head and you moan, “you were saying?” He smirks, teasing you.

“Fuck you, Bravo.” You hiss, glaring at him and that’s the moment that he decides to push inside you. Making you cry out from the thick stretch of him. The thing about Dieter is that his cock is fucking thick, making it hard to take if you aren’t stretched out, but you are wet enough that it only pinches slightly. He pushes in hard, making you gasp as he pushes the air out of your lungs when he hits the back wall of your cunt.

Your gasp makes him chuckle and he doesn’t give you time to adjust. You want him to fuck you, he’s gonna ruin you. No one's gonna compare to him. He rocks into you, hard and fast, setting a devastating pace while he looms over you. “You have missed this cock, haven’t you baby?” He mocks you, eying the way your eyes roll back onto your head.

You hate that he’s right, you’ve missed him. You’ve missed sleeping beside him and having him wake you up for sex during the middle of the night. Instead of answering, you reach up and pinch his nipple, knowing how much he likes that. “I shouldn’t let you fuck me.” You pant. “Who knows where your dick has been?”

“Always wear a condom.” He promises, “you’re the only one I trust.” He admits, “don’t need a fucking baby mama chasing child support on top of your alimony.” He scoffs and leans down to bite your nipple, pushing your thighs back even further so he can sink deeper inside of you.

It’s fucking pathetic that his confession makes you happy. That he would trust you and not those other assholes. He could be lying but you doubt it. Not now. “Fuck Dee.” You whine, closing your eyes and reaching up to dig your nails into his arms above his tattoos, wanting to leave marks he would carry for the next few days from you.

He loves hearing you whine for him. No one else seems to moan his name like you do and he shudders above you, shifting to your other tit, he bites down and loves the way your nails dig into his arms. His manager will bitch about it but he doesn’t care right now. His cock pushes deep inside of you and he groans when your walls flutter around him. “Always been so easy to wind up.” He taunts you, kissing your sternum.

You huff, rolling your eyes and you wrap your legs around him so you can squeeze him tight. Making him hiss at how tight you grip him. “You’re a bigger asshole now.” You moan, closing your eyes so you don’t start to cry at the sudden rush of emotions. You hate him, you hate him so much.

“You’re a bigger bitch now.” He counters, sliding his hands under you so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in. He hates you, hates how you drag him back under the emotions he tries to bury. He misses you, of course he does, but you don’t understand him anymore. You don’t understand the world he operates in. If he was an average Joe with an average job, you would’ve been married still. “Fuck.” He hisses, dropping his hips to grind deeper inside of you.

You aren’t clinging to him because you want to, it’s because of how he’s fucking you. Gasping and whining in his ear every time he punches deep against your cervix and makes you clench around him. “Keep- keep it up and I -I might actually cum this time.” You pant into his hair and tighten your hold on him when he hisses into your neck. “Fuck, Dee, so close.” You moan.

Dieter grits his teeth, desperate to make you cum on his cock again, he wants to show how good it was. He groans when you clamp down on his cock after a few more thrusts. “Fuck baby. So good. So good.” He groans, “missed how you cum around me.” He confesses and lets go, ramming inside of you before he stills, cumming like he hasn’t since you first got together.

“Deeeeee.” Your head tilts back and you cry out, body tightening up underneath him as you start to cum. Loving and hating how he can make you cum and it’s always better than anyone else you’ve ever been with. Feeling the heat from his own release flooding your cunt and making you whine at how good it feels as he tries to rock it deeper with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He bites out, groaning when he pushes deep and leans over you, pressing his lips to yours despite the risk that you could bite his lip. He has regrets, of course he does, but he knows that his career would destroy you in the long run like it has him. He knows he would freak out if you were hounded by paps like he is. He pulls out of you after a moment, shifting off of the bed to redress. He needs to go. He can’t fall back in love with you, he can’t risk it. “I’m, uh, gonna go. Order whatever you want from the room service. Stay the night.”

You hadn’t expected soft words or love, but Dieter has always been a snuggly, cuddly person after sex. Sprawling all over you and insisting that he sleep inside you. Sitting up, you watch as he hastily dresses like a husband will be after him with a shotgun. “Whatever.” You snort, standing up and grabbing your bra so you can redress. “Enjoy your next conquest.” You smirk. “I know you need to book another movie to make the alimony payment.”

****

Dieter glances around the expensive suite of the Beverly Wilshire, waiting for you. It’s been 3 years since that night you spent in the hotel room together and it’s become a tradition of sorts, a revisit to your marriage. He knows he can’t give you his loyalty, and you won’t give him his freedom, so this is a compromise. Meet every year on your wedding anniversary to fuck each others brains out then leave and resume your daily lives. It scratches an itch, you once said. His knee bounces and he waits for you to arrive, maybe you changed your mind this year? He would never admit the relief he feels when he hears the knock on the door and he opens it to find you looking gorgeous as ever. “Took you fucking long enough.” He gripes, knowing you still hate him.

You roll your eyes and step into the suite, your palm itching to slap him again. You secretly wonder if Dieter likes it because he doesn’t try to stop you when you do. “I could have stayed home with my toys.” You snark, raising a brow and shaking your head. “Strip and lay down on the bed. I’m riding you this year.” You order, wishing you had brought handcuffs to tie him to the bed so you could stuff your panties in his mouth.

“Such a fucking bossy bitch. Jesus Christ.” Dieter huffs and pulls his ragged shirt over his head. Ever since he made it big, he wears shitty clothes so the paps don’t want to take his photo. “Were you this fucking bossy during our marriage?” He asks, pushing his sweats down to expose his semi hard cock. He’s always half hard just thinking of you. He kicks them aside and lays down on the bed as per your orders, folding his arms behind his head.

“Yes.” You start to strip off your clothes, fully aware that his eyes are glued to every inch of skin you start to reveal. As much as Dieter says he wanted younger, better pussy - he keeps coming back for yours. Thrilling you in a way, since he always rises to the occasion on your little anniversary interludes. “You liked it. ‘Yes ma’am. Whatever you want, just please suck my cock’.” You mock, revealing the lacy teddy you had worn underneath. You would swear it’s not for Dieter but you’d be lying. Wanting him to regret leaving you. “You hate it now, but that’s okay, because I still hate you.”

Dieter’s stomach twists at hearing you still hate him but he ignores that to watch your beautiful body as you stand there in the teddy. “If you wanna be bossy, then be bossy. Tell me what you want. Use me.” He demands, cock twitching against his stomach at the thought of you riding his face or his cock.

You give a small laugh and tilt your head as you look at him, “wrap your hands around the headboard.” You order as you move towards the bed. “Don’t touch me. You're going to make me cum on your face and then I’m going to ride your cock.”

He nods, cock leaking a drop of precum at the thought of you riding his face. “Fuck yes, baby. Come on, wanna taste that pussy.” He orders, knowing he should be rude and demand you suck he cock but he can’t. He wants you to fall apart on his face. “Hurry up!” He whines when you take too long to straddle his chest.

“So impatient.” You slap his cheek gently and smirk at the way his cock twitches behind you. “Open that dirty, cheating mouth of yours, you bastard.” Pulling the cloth covering your cunt to the side, you shuffle forward to drop your lips onto his mouth.

He groans when your tang hits his lips. His hands squeeze the headboard, wanting to touch you, but he’s had his orders. He works his tongue through your folds, flicking your clit, and he closes his eyes as he savors the taste he knows so well.

“Fuck.” You won’t admit it, but he’s still the best fucking lover you’ve ever had. Switching between demanding and submissive, it’s always fun to fuck Dieter. Reaching behind you, your fingers wrap around his cock and squeeze. “Good boy,” you moan quietly.

“Fuck.” He groans into your folds, cock twitching in your grip and combined with your praise, he’s leaking onto his stomach. You rock your hips and he licks at your cunt, suddenly ravenous and ready to make you cum. He wants to hear you cry out his name in pleasure instead of anger.

If you were still together, you would twist your body around and wrap your lips around his cock. Last year he had made you blow him until your throat was raw and the fucked you until you screamed his name. Getting another noise complaint like you do every year. You miss the weight of his cock on your tongue but this is your time. His fingers grip the head board desperately as you grind down on his face. “Maybe- maybe you should do a porno.” You pant out, looking down at his desperate eyes.

He chuckles into your flesh, knowing he would retort with “might have to do that to pay your alimony” but your pussy is smothering him so he can’t respond. He pushes his tongue inside of you instead, making sure his nose rubs your clit while he curls his tongue deep. The headboard creaks as he struggles to keep holding it, wanting to touch you instead.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck Dee.” You whine, rocking your hips harder and throwing your head back. You love how deep he can get into your soaked walls and how perfectly his tongue curls into you. “You’re gonna make me cum.” You pant. “Gonna soak your stupid face.”

He chuckles at your jab but pays it no mind as his tongue keeps curling inside of you, waiting for you to cum on his tongue for him. His hands squeeze the headboard with the need to touch you and he presses his nose against your clit.

When you cum, you cry out his name, hating that you can’t make yourself call him someone else. Anyone else. That would piss him off. Your thighs shake around his head as you flood his tongue and face with your release as you pant over him.

Dieters hands fly off of the headboard to grab your hips, keeping you pressed into his mouth so he can lap up every drop of cum you can offer him. “Fuck baby. Fuck.” He groans into your flesh, sliding his tongue through your folds until your thighs shake.

When you finally pull off his mouth, you are breathless. Desperate to have him inside you as your cum smears down his chest when you slither down his body. Wrapping your hand around his cock again to position him at your entrance, you lean forward and crush your lips to his while you sink down on his cock.

Dieter groans so loud, he’s certain the entire building just heard him. “Fuckkkk baby girl. Shit.” He hisses, eyes rolling back into his head with how wet and hot you are around him. You’re the only woman he fucks raw, no one else gets to feel all of him. He doesn’t trust anyone else with the birth control, knowing he has too much on the line for them to take from him. Also, he would never admit it to his therapist, let alone himself, that the only woman he has ever imagined having a kid with is you. “Gonna ride me?” He asks when you remain still on his cock.

Slapping your hands down on his chest, you start to move. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t cum immediately.” You snark, circling your hips and lifting off his length just to sink back down on him with a moan. You’ll go get tested, just like you do after every anniversary you spend with Dieter. Not able to trust him to not lie to you anymore, even though you know you can. Catching something was always something he had been scared of, the man couldn’t handle a fucking cold without being a baby. An STI would lay him out. “Know it’s been awhile for you. Since that model dumped you.”

Dieter huffs, sliding his hands up to squeeze your tits, and his eyes drift down to where you are sinking down on his cock, making him groan at the sight of it. He wants to admit the real reason why he was dumped but he can’t. How could he say that the model dumped him because he’s ‘still in love with his ex wife’ and instead he says “she’s like you. Couldn’t handle me being famous. Well, more famous than her.” He scoffs, closing his eyes so you can’t read him like a book. “But she rode me better than you do.” He lies, pinching your nipples, “more flexible.”

“Bastard.” You huff, clenching around him just to make him hiss. “Sorry I’m not as flexible.” Your nails scratch down his chest and you make sure that you swivel your hips even more. The idea that someone fucks him better than you to making you competitive. “Maybe I’ll - fuck, maybe I’ll take lessons on sex from that- that guru then.”

Dieter’s eyes open so he can glare at you. His old friend, the sex guru, Josh, who he fell out with after he indicated he wanted to fuck you, was not Dieter’s favorite person. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He makes shit up - to - to sell books.” He grunts when you bounce on his cock and he hits deep inside of you, taking his breath away.

Instead of arguing, you moan as he hits perfectly against your g-spot. Making you lurch forward and try to make him hit that perfect position again. “You- oh fuck, you feel so good, Dee.” You whimper, leaning in and biting his shoulder and then sucking on the skin to make sure you leave a mark for him to remember you by. Something he sees since his management sends you the alimony checks. You doubt he even knows how much he’s got or where it goes daily.

“Jesus Christ.” Dieter curses even though he changes his religion every week depending on his aura. “Fuck. You feel so good. Fucking hate that no one ever feels as good as you.” He huffs, rocking his hips up to meet yours as you grind down onto him. He knows you hate him, would never want to be married to him again, but he fucking misses this, misses you, despite knowing you can’t accept or handle his life.

If you were the bitch Dieter claims you are, you would bring up that his ex supposedly felt better, but you don’t. Secretly loving that you give Dieter what he can’t get anywhere else. Especially since you hate that no one else has ever fucked you like he can. You never let men stick around because you know you will be in this suite with him the next year like clockwork. Tied to him in ways that you can’t, or won’t, examine. You miss him, and hate that you miss him. “Dee.” You whine, biting his pec right over his heart and kissing up his jaw to his lips. “Gonna cum baby.” You moan. “You- oh fuck!” You squeal when he hits just right, clamping down on his cock as a wave of pleasure threatens to drown you.

“Yessss. Oh fuck yes!” Dieter growls when you clamp down on his cock. He fucking loves it. Loves when you cum so hard you nearly cut off his circulation. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, and he begins to rock up into you, seeking his own orgasm. “Fuck. Oh fuck. I’ve missed you. Miss you so much baby. Jesus Christ, missed this pussy.” He rambles without really thinking about it.

Closing your eyes, you listen and whine as he pants praises into your ear. Wishing it was real, but that’s just Dieter when he is pussy drunk. He hates you for divorcing him and making him pay you. You kiss his jaw and moan his name again when you feel his thrusts get sloppy. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for me Dee.” You beg.

He groans, thrusting into you a half dozen more times before he cums, pushing deep to paint your walls with his hot seed. You are so tight and wet, he can't help it. He bites down on your neck, cock twitching inside of you as he rides his orgasm.

“Fuck.” You clench down around him, enjoying the come down from another amazing orgasm. Aware that it will only be a minute or two before Dieter is ready to move on for the year. “Not bad.” You pant, kissing his shoulder before you start to sit up. Looking down at the disheveled mess that is your ex husband. “I guess the rumors of you getting too old aren’t true.” You pull off of his cock with a moan and roll to the side, knowing you need to get up and get dressed.

He sighs when you shift to get up from the bed. Dieter watches you rush to the bathroom to clean up and he rubs his cheeks, wishing he could cuddle you one more time, just hold you and breathe you in like he used to. “I’m not too old.” He shouts out at you, looking up at the ceiling of the expensive suite.

You snort as you look at yourself in the mirror, shaking your head. “There he is!” You yell back at him, washing your hands and coming out of the bathroom and walking over to pick up your dress. “What starlet are you planning on dating this month?” You ask as you start to get dressed again. “Anyone I know?”

“My PR team wants me to date some new actress to help her PR and get the press off of my back after the coke in the club photos. Some innocent thing, new to the industry, and from some podunk town.” He huffs, shifting off of the bed, “she’s gonna be so boring but it’s what they recommend.”

“Oh god.” You roll your eyes and sigh. “Try not to ruin her, Dee.” Asking him not to fuck her is an impossibility, but hopefully he won’t get her hooked on anything. “No drugs for her. Especially if she’s young.”

“She’s not that young. She’s just innocent and well…she’s younger than me. I’m getting old now.” He admits softly, reaching for his nearly threadbare boxers. “I- I am getting tired of the PR schemes, the constant dating. It’s exhausting. No one knows the real me. No one except you.” He admits softly, standing up to pull the boxers on.

Zipping up your dress, you pull it down and nod. “So forge a real connection.” As much as Dieter’s infidelity hurt you, you wanted him to be happy. It obviously hadn’t been with you, but you wanted him to find whoever could give him the life he wants. “Don’t date who they want you to. Date who you want to date. Be open, honest.” You stress. “Deep, deep down, beyond the petty, shallow bullshit, you are a good guy. A cheating bastard, but a good guy.”

Dieter pulls on his sweatpants and reaches for his t-shirt. He sighs when you tell him to go find someone who makes him happy but that’s impossible. He pulls his shirt over his head and watches you put your shoes on. “I’m not a good guy. I- I’m an asshole. I take drugs to forget about the fact that I lost the best thing in my life.” He admits softly as he pulls his cardigan on.

“God, Dieter.” You roll your eyes as you pull on your shoes. “You told me you hated our house.” You remind him. “Said you were going to go live in Sherman Oaks and be happy and I could have our shitty house.” You know he’s not talking about the house, you aren’t dumb. “You get to live in a nicer house, snort all the Coke you want, bang whatever piece of ass that catches your eye, your life’s great.”

Dieter sits down to pull on his Uggs. “Great.” The word sits heavy in his mouth, “yeah. It’s great. Being alone. People only want me for what I can give them. Not liking me for who I am. Yeah, it’s fucking fantastic.” He scoffs and stands up. “Whatever. Same time next year?” He asks you as he walks over to the door to open it.

You know that he’s wanting you to say something, to comfort him, but this is what he wanted. Or at least it’s what he chose when he decided to cheat on you. “Yep.” You pick up your purse and slide the strap over your shoulder. Walking over to him, you pat his chest and then his cheek. Leaning in and kissing his lips, you smirk and drag your finger through his patchy beard. “You’re getting grays in your beard, Bravo. You old fuck.” Turning, you walk down the hall, pretending like you don’t have a care in the world.

Dieter huffs and slumps down on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling. He feels so fucking alone now. Maybe he needs to consider getting a real partner. Someone who understands his lifestyle and his career. Who’s he kidding? No one wants him. 

****

“No. No. I can’t take that movie. Not if it’s filming in London then.” Dieter shakes his head and his manager frowns, “what do you mean ‘no’? This is a potential second offer.” 

Dieter’s manager tells him and Dieter shakes his head, “I can’t. I- I have another appointment during that month.” He doesn’t expand on his reason but his manager shakes his head. 

“Unbelievable. What could possibly be more important?” He asks Dieter who answers softly, “it’s my wedding anniversary.” His manager frowns and Dieter stands from the seat, “get the filming changed or I’m not doing it.” Dieter says before he exits the office. He won’t miss your anniversary. 

****

Dieter rubs his hands on his pants as he waits for you, the normal suite in the Beverly Wilshire, and he checks the clock. You’re late. He frowns, you’re never late. He sighs and wishes he had your number memorized. He waits another hour until he gets mad. “Fucking bitch.” He growls, standing up and he decides to head over to the house and confront you, see why you stood him up.

When the doorbell peels, you curse at your kitchen sink, turning off the water and grabbing a dish towel to wipe your hands as you rush towards the door. You need to get a damn sign to put up to just leave packages on the doorstep instead of wanting to alert you. It’s been a hectic day and all you want to do is have five minutes to sit down, maybe a nap. Most definitely a bath, but a nap most of all. “Sorry, I- Dieter!” Throwing open the door, you had been about to apologize to whatever delivery driver was standing there when you freeze, shocked by the sight of your ex husband on the doorstep of his old home. He hadn’t been back since you had kicked him out nearly five years ago. “What- what are you doing here?” You demand, glancing back into the house before looking at him nervously.

“You stood me up!” He whines and stomps his foot when he sees you standing there on the doorway. “Why? I- It’s been years that we have met up today. Hell, I turned down a goddamn movie for you - my manager said it was a possible Oscar winner - and you’re here. I want an explanation.” He demands, crossing his arms as he glares at you.

“That was today?” Your eyes widen, having lost track of the days but that’s easy to do now. “Shit, I meant to text you.” You had been planning on texting him and telling him that you felt like you needed to end the meetups on your anniversary. “Why did you turn down a role? I never asked you to do that. I would never-“ From behind you, there is a loud squawk, making your eyes widen even more because you know that’s just the beginning. Immediately followed up by the loud, frantic cry of your son, demanding to be fed like he’s been starving, rather than just waking up from his nap. “Shit.” You turn around and leave Dieter standing in the doorway. Knowing your son is more important than your ex husband’s tantrum. 

Dieter’s eyes widen when he hears the baby cry. It takes a moment to sink in, the baby is yours. He shakes his head and steps into the house after you when you rush off, leaving the door open. He walks into the living room to find you coddling a baby. It’s tiny, definitely newborn. His eyes widen and his heart breaks, expecting a man to come out into the living room at any moment. “I- I didn’t know you’d moved on.”

“What?” You are busy trying to soothe the baby, the bottle that you had gotten ready earlier was waiting for him. He hadn’t latched properly and you hated missing out on breastfeeding but it was better that he ate. You were pumping, so that was helping. Looking up, you find Dieter staring at you with a sense of hurt and anger. “Moved on- are you- oh….” You finally figure out that he doesn’t understand. “Dieter…this is our son.” You admit quietly. “He’s three months old. We- uh, my birth control failed.” You hadn’t been with anyone else for some time before meeting with Dieter and definitely not after. Your son could only be his child. 

Dieter’s eyes widen when he steps closer to the feeding baby, watching him drink the milk, and he recognizes his features mixed with yours. “No.” He gasps, shaking his head, “no. I- fuck. It can’t have failed. It can’t have. I’m not - I can’t be a father. I can’t - shit.” He’s having a panic attack now, hyperventilating as he stares at the baby in your arms.

You stare at Dieter in shock, never expecting him to react like this, although you never planned on telling him. “Breathe.” You order him softly, heart breaking when you take a step towards him only to have Dieter jump back like you are attacking him. “Dee, you need to breathe.”

“No! No!” He shouts, shaking his head as he backs up even more. “I can’t be a father. I can’t. I’m not - I’m not good enough. I can’t do it.” He chokes, knowing his worst nightmare has come true.

That pisses you off and you glare at him. “You are not a father.” You hiss. “You are a sperm donor. You aren’t on his birth certificate. I’m not going after you for child support. This is my child, not yours. I am a single mother.”

Dieter narrows his eyes as the panic recedes, “good. I didn’t want to be a fucking father anyway. I see now how it is between us.” He’s hurt that you didn’t even tell him when you found out you were pregnant. “Get the fuck on with your life, sweetheart.” He growls and storms out of your house. He’s hurt and upset and he needs to get lost in booze and drugs. He can’t be reminded of what he’s lost. The price he’s had to pay for his career, for his fame. He won’t ever be able to be who he once was, who you met. That eager, young wannabe actor from Oregon. He’s never going to be that guy again. He’s an Oscar-winning actor. He’s Dieter fucking Bravo.

The door slamming makes your son cry out again, you jumping slightly at the sound but he soon settles down to hungrily gulp down the bottle again. “I’m sorry, baby.” You coo to your son, trying not to cry. “I’m - I didn’t think he would- I’m trying to protect you.” It might be wrong, but you know how Dieter can be, his reaction just proved it. You don’t regret having his child, you get to keep a piece of the man you love and the alimony more than covers your expenses. You’ll be fine and so will he. Without Dieter.

****

Dieter has lost track of the drugs he’s taken, the amount of booze he’s drunk. He doesn’t remember most of it but he can’t get the image of you holding the baby out of his mind. It’s early morning, he hasn’t slept, and he can’t take it anymore. He gets in his car, barely sober enough to drive, and he makes his way over to your house, stumbling up to the door and ringing the doorbell.

Groaning, you turn your head to look at the clock, huffing when you see how early it is. Wondering who the hell is at your door and tempted to ignore it when the bell rings again. “Shit, shit.” You huff, dragging yourself out of the bed after a rough night with your son to go down the stairs and open the door, not caring that you are only wearing your nightgown.

Dieter stumbles when you answer the door, eyes wide, and he falls to his knees. “Baby. Oh my baby. Let me - I fucked up. I didn’t want a divorce. I didn’t want to lose you. I fucked up. I miss you. I love you. I love you! Please, let me in our house!” He begs, loud enough that the neighbors can hear.

“Jesus, Dieter!” You hiss, looking around in embarrassment before looking down at the jumbled mess of a man at your feet. “Shut up, people are sleeping. Are you high?” You demand, wanting to know if he’s hopped up on chemicals.

“No. I’m not. I- I had a few drinks. I- I can’t lose you. Please. I couldn’t - I don’t want to lose you baby. I need you. I need you to be my wife again. I want…I want to be a father. I don’t want to abandon my family anymore. I’m sick of it. Hollywood. The people. The drugs. The - the fucking fake bullshit. I don’t want it. I shouldn’t have thrown you away for it.” He sobs, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

Dieter looks pitiful and yet you see the honesty and desperation that is seeping out of his eyes. Looking up at you and begging you to believe him. “You- Dieter, I don’t want to be with a man who is going to cheat on me.” You caution. “Especially since I have Robin. I can’t raise him in a household that is chaotic.”

He shakes his head, “I am done. No one compares to you. No one makes me feel like you do. I want you, only you, and - Robin? You - you named him Robin?” He swallows harshly at hearing his son’s name.

“I did.” You nod. “Robin Harrison Bravo.” You had given him Dieter’s last name since you had never changed yours after the divorce. You had wanted the extra connection to his father but honestly never expected there to be a relationship between your son and the man who helped create him.

He shakes his head, knowing he’s messed everything up. He has destroyed any chance he had at having this family with you. “Baby. I- I’ll go. I - I know I’m not good enough to be a father, to have a second chance to be your husband. I’ll go.” He stumbles as he stands up, swaying from the emotions and the booze. 

“Dieter-“ You reach out and grab ahold of his arm. “You are in no shape to go anywhere.” You frown. “You shouldn’t have even tried to come over in the condition you are in. Come inside. I’ll make some coffee and we can talk?”

He sobs, letting you drag him inside your home - his old home - he remembers choosing it with you after he got his first major movie deal. He was so excited to be able to provide for you…finally. After you helped him, supported him emotionally and financially through his desperate attempt to make it in Hollywood. He remembers making love to you on every surface, even painting the bedroom with you since you said he’s a good painter and you didn’t want to spend money on a decorator, you wanted to do it all yourself despite him offering to pay someone. He slumps down on the sofa, watching you walk into the kitchen to get him some water.

You sigh, setting up the coffee maker for a pot and grabbing a bottle of water along with a muffin since you don’t know the last time Dieter has eaten. Bringing it back to set down on the coffee table, you pat his leg. “I’ll make a bottle since I am anticipating Robin waking up soon. We had a long night last night.”

“You did?” He asks breathlessly, opening the bottle of water to down half of it, wanting to be somewhat sober for this time he has with you before you send him away. “I- I don’t want you to do this alone.” He admits, “I want a chance to be his father.”

“You can’t half ass it, Dee.” You warn him, not being nearly as harsh as he deserves. “You’ve already said you didn’t want to be a father and now you do? What’s changed? Is this some kind of mid life crisis bender? Afraid of being alone? Our son isn’t a pet that can be ignored when you’re bored or you want to snort Coke off a model’s ass.”

“I know. I know he isn’t. I don’t want to snort coke anymore. I- I don’t want to act anymore. I- I want to produce. I don’t want to be away from you…or our son. I’m old. I just want to settle down and be with my family…if you’ll still have me. I love you. I’ve always loved you. It’s always been you. I have never wanted anyone like you. I want you. I love you. Please, give me another chance. I was selfish, an asshole, but I’m sick of being selfish. I wanna be your husband again.”

You sit down and reach out to take his hand. “Is that what you really want?” You ask softly, aware that you shouldn’t give him another chance, but you still love him. You’ve always loved him and despite it being a bad idea, you don’t know if you would ever stop. “You want to be together again? Just me and you? No one else?”

Dieter squeezes your hand, “I want you and I want Robin. Nothing else. I don’t want the fame, or the drugs, or the lovers. I want my wife. I miss you. I- I have never spent a night in a bed with anyone but you. Anyone I’ve slept with…I’ve always kicked them out before I went to sleep. I’ve only ever held you in bed. It’s only ever been you. I wake up in the middle of the night and reach for you. I love you baby. So much.”

You can’t help the tears that slip down your face. Wishing that you had heard all of this years ago but happy to hear it now. “I- I love you too. So much. It’s why I was so fucking hurt. You ripped my heart out, Dieter.” You confess softly. “But- I want to give us another chance. With therapy. And a prenup with a cheating clause.”

Hearing you say you want to give him another chance makes his heart pounding and he leans in to nudge his nose against yours, not wanting to kiss you without permission. “I love you. I’ll do whatever you want. Therapy. Prenup. I just want you and our son.” He promises, kissing your forehead as you lean against him.

You sigh quietly and close your eyes. “Are you sure you’re not saying this because I didn’t show up for our yearly hate fucking date?” You joke, wishing that this had happened years ago, that you had him around when you were carrying Robin.

Dieter shakes his head, “I mean, I did book our normal suite so we could have sex but no, I’m not just saying it. It’s…it’s been on my mind for months, remembering how we used to be. I miss you. I am still in love with you no matter how high I get, how drunk I get, or how I try to bury myself in someone else. It’s always been you.

“And I love you no matter how many times I slap your face, call you a bastard or insult your prowess in bed.” You huff, laughing at yourself. “I’ve - I kept all our photos together. They are in the attic but I couldn’t get rid of them.” You confess. “I couldn’t get rid of you.” 

Dieter smiles, leaning closer to you. “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly and you nod, looking into those dark brown eyes. He brushes his lips against yours, cupping your cheek, and he sighs when your lips meet his, eager to kiss him. It’s like coming home after being away for so damn long.

****

The front door opens and Robin just lights up, fully aware of what that means as he drops the toys in his hands and screams, “Daddy!”, as loud as he can. The joy blooming over his face as Dieter rushes through the door and throws his keys down into the bowl on the entryway table. You smile as your son can’t quite speed over to his daddy on steady legs but Dieter is the one who is running into the living room to scoop Robin up into a big hug. 

“There’s my boy.” There’s kissing and squealing as your heart stops when Dieter tosses Robin up in the air. Of course he catches him, but you always worry. 

“How was your day?” You ask, standing up to quickly pick up the living room of the toys since dinner was already in the oven. Dieter had moved back in almost immediately and true to his word, he had changed completely to put you and your son first.

“Boring as ‘shit’.” He mouths the curse word, “director is being an ‘asshole’ who wants us to produce the world's most expensive movie.” Dieter rolls his eyes, knowing his new job as a producer was hard but it kept him in town and allowed him to have normal working hours to be with his family while still allowing him to indulge in his passion and career. “Hey buddy. You been good for your mama today?” Dieter asks Robin, who wraps his arms around his father to hug him. “How’s he been?” Dieter asks you, knowing the little boy can be too much to handle sometimes.

“Energetic.” You laugh. “I’m really thinking that we need to get a playset in the backyard soon.” You tell Dieter. “He’s always wanting to go to the park and spend all day.” There’s a park down the road, but maybe a set away from the pool would be a good idea. “But he was really good.”

“We can order you a play set, huh little man? Daddy will order it tomorrow and set it up.” Dieter has discovered he’s surprisingly handy. Robin cheers and Dieter grins, kissing his son’s cheek. “Come on bud, I gotta say hello to mama.” He sets the little boy down and he smirks as he walks over to you, cupping your cheeks. “Hi, Mrs. Bravo.” He coos, pressing his lips to yours while Robin rushes over to grab his toy car.

“Hi.” You grin at your husband, having renewed your legal commitment to each other quietly at the courthouse a few months ago. He had wanted to make sure that adding him to Robin’s birth certificate went well and you didn’t want to deny him. Pulling back, you wrap your arms around his neck and look at him lovingly. “I’m happy you’re home.” You coo softly.

“Me too baby. Listen…” He trails his fingers along your arm, “it’s our wedding anniversary this Friday. I booked our usual suite at the Beverly and your mom said she would come and stay the night to look after Robin…what do you say sweetheart? Wanna recreate our sexy times?” He murmurs, kissing along your neck. 

You whimper, knowing it would be nice to have sex without worrying about waking Robin up. “Let’s do it. Are you ready to hate fuck me, baby?” You tease and Dieter smirks, “I love hate fucking you, baby. Always have.” He winks and pulls you close, relieved to have his wife back in his arms, to have his son laughing as he plays with his toy truck. Dieter was always chasing the next best thing when he was first married to you but now he knows that the best thing was right there all along.

[chuuya-kisser]

thoughts on bsd 114.5

(this is all over the place sry and yes i took most of this from what i reblogged and edited it here)

spoilers below

WHAT THE FUCK???? TRIPLE SINGULARITY?????? HAS THAT EVER EVEN HAPPENED BEFORE??????

THIS CHAPTER FUCKING KILLED ME AND SENT ME TO THE GRAVE

ALSO IF THE THING IN THE ANIME WAS THS TRIPLE SINGULARITY THEN WONT THAT MEAN THAT BONES ALREADY KNEW ABT THE PLOT DEVELOPMENT WHEN THEY WERE MAKING THE ANIME????? THAT MEANS THAT ASAGIRI HAD THIS PLANNED OUT?????? FOR GOD KNOW HOW LONG????? THEYRE IN CAHOOTS

AYA NEEDS TO BE PROTECTED IM LITERALLY CRYING FOR HER SHE CONNECTED SM WITH BRAM IN SUCH A SHORT TIME AND NOW SHE LOST HIM TOO. IN FRONT OF HER. REMEMBER THAT THE SAME DAY SHE ALSO SAW JOUNO BEING MURDERED/VAMPIFIED. AND BRAMS LAST CONSCIOUS THOUGHT WAS TO PROTECT AYA. GOODBYE IM DYING.

yeah skk always looks pretty but IMAGINE DAZAIS STRESS LEVEL. its probably skyrocketing atp bc he's aware that almost the whole agency is at the airport. where bram is. which means where fyodor now is. which means the whole agency is at risk rn and DAZAI KNOWS THIS. like he already mentioned to sigma, he's doing all this for the agency right? SO IMAGINE DAZAIS SHEER STRESS AND WORRY KNOWING THAT SOME OF THE ONLY PPL WHO ACCEPTED HIM COULD VERY POSSIBLY BE- GOD FORBID- KILLED. pls stop give them a fucking goddamn BREAK ASAGIRI. also is there any way dazai's not being in fukuzawas recollection of the agency related to this or is that just a coincidence

this mfing smugass asshole. fuck fyodor. and his ability. and him in general. how dare he even TOUCH bram. how dare he take over his body. HOW DARE HE.

i said this before and ill say it again. FYODOR FOR THE LOVE OF YOUR EVER LOVING GOD STAY. DEAD. also i agree that dazai is the only one who can kill fyodor bc dazais ability is so far universal. anything that is an ability will be nullified by dazai. so fyodors ability should also get nullified by dazais. but dazai is technically on the other side of the world and fyodor rn. How exactly would he get there????

but my question is how would it affect fyodor? like, his body swapping ability gets canceled out. what does it do?????? send him back to his original body thats dead?? kill him on the spot? thats the real question here

i dont think fyodor will want to become the singularity bc imo his style of working is from the shadows. i dont think he would want to switch his own physical body to something so... blatant? he would probably prefer it as his pawn

WHATS THIS BITCH EVEN TRYING TO DO????? WHAT DOES HE WANT TO FUCKING ACHIEVE oh. my. god. if he can control all vamps thats gonna be HORRIFYING. but in the anime end, isnt akutagawa back to normal? hes not a vamp anymore. sooooo im just theorising and grasping on straws but could fyodor's taking over bram's body possibly reset everyone bram had converted to a vampire? thus why akutagawa was back to normal in the anime

also i was thinking abt fyodors ability so theres NO WAY that dazai killing fyodor with his ability could possibly.....yk what im talking about. make dazai. yk. i dont even want to say this.

so basically endnote: that was quite a lot and this chapter left me in Shambles.

[maarrgarr]

The Unknown Heir

part four

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warnings: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

A few days after telling Ieiri about your decision to return, and she practically jumped with happiness, you received a call from an unknown number. "Hello?" you answered, "Y/n-chan?", you recognized that voice instantly, "Yaga-sensei" you said between surprised and nervous, there was a minute of silence until he spoke again, "Goddamn, girl, how long were you planning to disappear, what happened to you, are you okay?!". You felt how a lump formed in your throat and how the tears fell, you took a breath and spoke, "I'm fine, many things happened, so many that I can't explain here" he heard your voice cracking, "It's ok, little one. Ieiri told me that you want to come back and work here, you know you can come back whenever you want. Besides, it wouldn't be bad for this school, to have one of the best come to teach" he said and you felt a great relief, "Sorry, Yaga-sensei, I-" he interrupted you, "It's ok, when you come you will explain everything, ok?".

They arranged that in a month and some more, you would return to the Jujutsu College, you explained to him that first you had to fix some things where you were and he told you to take as much time as you need. You also asked him to keep your return a secret and he agreed.

First, you explained to Ryusei that you were both moving out, you were afraid that such a change would affect him in a bad way, but he took it quite well. Second, you considered selling your house, but then you decided not to, it was a very nice place and it didn't hurt to have a place to visit from time to time. Finally, it was several days of packing up all your things, with a little help from your son.

It was Emma who went to see you off at the airport, you both hugged each other, thanked her for all the help and agreed to keep in touch, Ryu also said goodbye to his dear aunt Emma and told her how much he loved her.

The trip was quite quiet for Ryusei, who only ate, slept and played a little. For you, on the other hand, it passed quite fast, you couldn't sleep much, due to the nerves that gnawed at you. It was Ieiri who greeted you once you landed, when you saw her a few tears formed in your eyes, you almost ran to hug her and she greeted you the same way.

You lifted your son up, and said, "Look Ryu, this is your Aunt Ieiri" his eyes sparkled and he opened his arms for Shoko, to lift him up. Ieiri, for a moment, froze. She knew Ryu was similar to Satoru, but she didn't think so much, seeing him through a screen was not the same as seeing him in person. "My goodness, you're beautiful, Ryu" your friend said as she pinched his cheeks softly. Ryusei was quiet for a moment and then replied, "I know."

After they both laughed at what Ryusei said and you scolded him and told him to say "Thank you very much" instead of "I know", they left for the Jujutsu College.

You were too nervous, so much so that you were almost shaking. Ieiri told you to calm down, and that everything was going to be fine, but you felt the opposite.

Gojo Satoru was calm while watching his students train, when he felt it. He felt that energy that he had not felt for a long time, but he thought that maybe he was wrong, although deep down he knew that he was never wrong.

Everything was still the same, nothing had changed, was the first thing you thought, when you returned to school.

Ieiri had left you since, apparently, a student had broken his nose while training, but before leaving he told you that Yaga-sensei was waiting for you. So you were on your way there, as you didn't want Ryusei to be there alone, so you took him with you, and you had to introduce him to the principal.

You were walking looking around, with Ryu holding your hand and looking at you in amazement at your behavior. You were afraid of meeting Satoru.

You stopped in front of the door and knocked. "Come in," you heard. When you entered, you saw who had been your master sitting, creating his next cursed body, around him were several of his "dolls", but you did not expect what happened next: Ryusei let out a cry of excitement at the sight of so many "toys", and ran towards them, wanting to play. Masamichi Yaga opened his eyes to see his worst nightmare in front of him, another Gojo Satoru in miniature version, touching their cursed bodies.

"Ryusei!" you exclaimed and quickly walked over to your son and picked him up, before any of them could do anything to him. "They are not mere toys, don't go near them!" you told him with a frown, and he quickly nodded as he noticed you were serious. "Y/n, can you explain to me who this child is?" Yaga used a serious tone, one she had very rarely used with you. "He is my son, Mochizuki Ryusei" you replied. "And why is your son identical to Gojo?" he questioned, though he could already imagine the answer. "Because he is also his son."

[brandogenius]

Stranded. (small teaser)

‼️RPF‼️

Julien x singer! Reader - enemies to lovers

(based on one of my requests! 🤭🤭🤭)

Description: after missing your flight to toronto for your next tour stop. you’re stranded in a random city with nothing but $20, a guitar, a suitcase full of clothes and a small tattooed guitarist who seems to not like you very much.

————-

“know where you’re going?”

“of course i fucking know where i’m going” you huffed, one hand on the suitcase, the other hand gripping the phone, google maps displayed on the screen.

“doesn’t seem like it.” you snap your head to glare at the other person beside you. she’s staring at the sky, cigarette between her lips. leaned up against the wall, suitcase settled beside her with the guitar case propped up on the ground.

“have you nothing better to do than complain?” you tilted your head, squinting as the rain splashed down aggressively on your head. one hand over your eyes. the tattooed woman shrugged her shoulders. “s’kinda fun watching you just give out” she gave a nod towards the phone in your hand “stop getting distracted princess. we have places to be”

“we have places to be” you mocked in a high pitched tone as you rolled your eyes “and whose fault is it that we’re in this situation?”

“hey, don’t blame me! blame the taxi cab”

“ oh yeah. i’ll blame the taxi driver who was late bringing us to the airport because you lost your goddamn phone in the hotel room” you waved your arms in the air as your voice got louder

“how could i leave my phone there? it had all my documents, my lyrics and bank details on it!” julien snapped back.

“we missed the fucking flight, julien! a flight to goddamn canada! we’re in california” you sighed loudly, getting more annoyed.

“there isn’t any more flights this week, due to this stupid fucking storm. we’re stranded here and we have a show in two days” you wiped the rain off the phone screen, zooming in to look at the nearest location to a hotel.

“it’s fine-“ julien leaned off the wall. grabbing her suitcase and guitar. “get a cheap hotel for the night, rent a car and drive over to toronto, simple. we’ll make it there in no time”

“that’s easy for you to say” you scoffed, walking ahead of her, following the map.

“it’s true. what’s the worst that can happen?”

[preet-01]

blinking my big wet eyes at you what are your maxiel political au ideas

Anything for you ☺️ so this au is set in the US because that’s the election process/political system/geography I know best. Max is a Senator from New York and his family doesn’t have any political background. Daniel is from a very prominent political family (think Kennedys, Roosevelts, the Bush family) and his dad is the former governor of California. Daniel met Sebastian at either Yale when he was doing his undergraduate degree or at Georgetown when he was getting his JD. At the start of the story, Daniel is a constitutional lawyer.

Ideally, the story would go from about 3 years before the campaign trail to announcing a reelection bid. Here’s a bit from the campaign trail

“Why does the campaign trail always have to start in bumfuck, USA?” Daniel groans as they’re driven from the airport to the hotel they’re staying in. Their bus is filled with campaign staff, but Daniel, Max, and Sebastian are sat in the back. They should be going over a plan or the schedule of events. But Daniel had found a new hate of Iowa’s endless farms and corn. God he missed DC, hell even New Haven had been better than this, California and New York even better.

Iowa is not on the list of states that Daniel would like to visit. Like what even is in Iowa?? He’s never found out, nor does he particularly care to find out. But their country seems to be beholden to the whims of Iowa when it comes to the campaign trail.

Despite not being representative of the country’s population, the Iowa caucus remains the first campaign event. So much so that it’s written into law or something like that they remain the first event of the trail — one of his professors at Yale had grumbled about it a lot from what he remembers.

“It’s a longstanding tradition, Daniel,” Max says, unlike Daniel, he’s got a file in hand filled with important information about Iowa and its goddamned corn. “Did you know that Iowa’s eastern and western borders are made almost entirely of rivers? They are the only state where this is so,” Max says. With a quick glance at the file in Max’s hand, Daniel realizes that this is not a fact that is written out, but one that Max just knows.

“I did not know that, Maxy,” Daniel replies because what else is he to say to that?

“Don’t be so glum about being in the middle of nowhere, Iowa is the ice cream capital of the world. So you get to eat all the ice cream you want at most of the campaign events in Iowa,” Seb kindly informs him. Well that’s something to look forward to, he supposes.

After a while, Seb leaves them in the back and goes towards the front where the press secretary is.

Bored of the endless corn that makes up his view, Daniel turns his attention to his dear husband. In their DC and New York brownstones, they’d kept separate bedrooms despite being ‘married’ for almost three years now. But on the campaign trail, Seb had told them that they would need to share a bedroom. Lest the opposition or press find out that the Senator from New York does not have the picture perfect marriage that most people are jealous of.

“You should fuck me tonight,” Daniel states with no preamble. And as expected, Max sputters.

“What??” His precious file is completely forgotten as he looks at Daniel with his big blue eyes and yeah Daniel wants to get fucked tonight. Specifically by his husband — it had been much too long since the last time it happened in his opinion.