#...and i find the whole 'LOVE YOURSELF' to be daunting and scary because it's not where i'm at...

[uncanny-tranny]

I just heard this ad that says therapy is just "learning how to love yourself," and quite honestly, I disagree with that sentiment. I think it puts uneeded pressure on people to "love themselves."

I don't think you need to love yourself to benefit from therapy, and therapy shouldn't just be "learning to love yourself." It certainly is beneficial for some people to learn skills that we call self-love, like setting boundaries, hygiene that works for you, eating full and balanced meals that you enjoy, for instance, but that doesn't need to include this air of being in love with yourself.

I think therapy is about learning how to live with yourself. You don't have to love your flatmates (for example), but you often respect them as people. So, you'll clean up after yourself, and you'll communicate with them, and you'll even make small talk with them. That's kind of how I see therapy. You don't have to love yourself, but you often need to learn how to respect yourself, and I think those are slightly different things.

[sminiac]

hi!! can i request bf!hunter like the ones you did with the other members? thank you so much if you do 🥰

💌 — You’re so sweet, I’m so sorry this took me so long, hopefully it meets a few expectations :,) Also this is the last member for my Bf!Xikers, isn’t that crazy?

Though Bf!Hunter’s exterior can be difficult to navigate your way around without knowing him first, because of how he’s truly such a soft, gentle being the crush to lover process is so enjoyable in every aspect. If you’re more on the introverted side he does his best in helping you toe that seemingly daunting line outside of your comfort zone, even if it’s by just a little, he’s so incredibly proud. The type to learn and pay attention to your boundaries and habits, how much you can and can’t handle and when. Just knows how to take care of a socially anxious partner because he’s so observant, so curious about the way your brain works which makes for a lot of long conversations about why you are the way you are, loves listening to you, because it means by the end of it he’ll be able to say that he knows you even better. He’s always so supportive if you manage to do something you find a little scary, or even not, “You don’t have to babe, I won’t be upset, promise.” Ugh he’s so.

Ex: Always so considerate of your state of mind, your social batteries running exceptionally low and you’re becoming a little too overstimulated by your surroundings and the boys? No worries, he’s already letting everyone know that the two of you are done for the night without over explaining why. The type to never be upset if the two of you end up leaving functions earlier than he anticipated, just wants to make sure you’re enjoying yourself and that you’re comfortable, loves how clingy you become when exhausted. Idk but he’s really built and tall right? Would be nice to be wrapped up in him after being out.

Bf!Hunter who would naturally be so protective and assertive for your sake, he’s so “Y/n doesn’t like that.” whenever the boys are pressing a little too hard about you trying something, or doing something new that can be a little irritating to the senses. The thing about it though is that he wouldn’t be mean about it either which is so whdhajsh!!! like he’d say it so politely but the firmness to his words doesn’t lessen by any.

Ex: This also makes me think of him having a habit of judging new foods based off of you taste without being asked to, he’s just so: “Mm, no, babe you wouldn’t like that,” and is quickly pointing out something else you’d like instead, he’d be so accurate with it too.

Bf!Hunter who would make you copy what he’s saying in a language you don’t speak fluently solely so he could feed into his own delusions before he knew that you liked him back. He’d be giggling so much, hands zipping up to cover his face from your sight, and he’d always refuse to tell you exactly what you said. With this, when the two of you are finally together he’d either mutter small compliments under his breath or with his whole chest in front of your face, and still, he’d never tell you what he’s saying.

Bf!Hunter who never fails to have the cutest, most visible pout whenever you’ve got any kind of lip product on because he doesn’t want to make you keep reapplying it over and over again. The same with skincare/face makeup, doesn’t want to ruin it but god does he want to kiss you so bad :( I think to compensate he’d just like to have his face as close to yours as possible without making a movement that would cause any disturbance to whatever you have on in the moment, settling for quick pecks to your neck, jaw, the back of your hand, your hair.

Ex: Has developed a habit of looking at your lips before he kisses you, sometimes he’ll notice you have something on and continues to kiss you anyways, pulling away with his pretty smile on display and a: “Thank you baby.”

Bf!Hunter who would somehow always find a way to get along with your siblings no matter what their age is, would put in so much effort to build a relationship with them and maintain it even when he’s away by returning with gifts and stories :(

Bf!Hunter who certainly has a habit of always ending up crushing you in the middle of the night because he loves being as close to you as possible when sleeping, but that means his limbs always find ways to be rested over top of you, whines out complaints whilst half asleep when you attempt to shift him off of you, and only falls back asleep if you’re the one making contact with him.

Ex: Scratching his head, rubbing his back, holding his hand, even just a hand on his face is enough, just needs some sort of contact with you 😞 despite adjusting him inevitably you’ll wake up with him clinging to you, arms wrapped significantly tight around you, face buried in your neck :(

Bf!Hunter who adores you so much that his love languages couldn’t possibly be wrapped up into just one.

Words of affirmation? He’s definitely very articulate when it comes to expressing his feelings with you, and he doesn’t like being hasty about it, so if you’re ever having any sudden thoughts or concerns he’s quick to walk away from whatever’s keeping him busy if he can to help make sense of the situation you’re struggling with.

Acts of service? Yes! I think he’s the type to purposely go out of his way to clear things off of your to-do list that are starting to pile up to the point of overwhelming you, reassures you that he wanted to, even grabs you a little treat so that you can’t possibly be upset about him doing something that you swore you would get to by yourself.

Gift giving? He’s horrible for it, when it comes to buying something for you the price of the item couldn’t be further from concern, it’s absurd. The type of boyfriend that any other boyfriend couldn’t compete with when it comes to gifts, takes pride in it too.

Quality time? Loves going on the most random dates with you when he has the opportunity, it will be a random Tuesday morning and he’s just like “Babe do you want to go feed some deer with me later?” He’d also spend time searching for good places to eat whether it’s from a mutual friend, family or a random website, loves making little hole in the wall restaurants your spot.

Physical touch? Everything about him screams that he loves teasing, playing footsies under the table with him, purposely stepping on the back of your shoe when he’s walking behind you, holding things above your head that the tips of your fingers merely skim over yet he doesn’t want to let go of your other hand for the life of him. Definitely has a habit of slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans when walking together, or having your arm looped through his, loves having you all over him, especially in public.

Bf!Hunter who is so… Boyfriend??? Like there’s no other way to possibly explain it.

[lackadaisycats]

I love everything of your work, every page is a piece of art, textures, lights, perspective, characters and the script, with perfect balance of hilarious and engaging lore.... It keeps me inspired everyday and gives me the energies to continue my projects. I can't describe the extreme joy your works gives me and I couldn't be more grateful, because it keeps me dreaming and helped me to understand what I want to do in the near future. Thank you so so much \(^ヮ^)/.

I have one question : Do you have any advices for making comics and put them in the world? For some time I had the urge to share my works, but idk what to do :/.

That's exceedingly kind. I'm touched to hear you've enjoyed my work, and if it helped you to understand what creative things you want to do, well, that makes my heart glad. Thanks for sharing that.

Very wordy response to the making and sharing comics question below....

-----------------------

Making comics is a Whole Big Thing as topics go. It's a little difficult to provide salient advice on something so broad. So much of it depends on what you're specifically trying to achieve, and what your preferences are as an individual. Here are a few bulletpoints, though:

-- Make the comic about things you love unabashedly so that it's fun and engaging to work on. It will still be difficult - it's always difficult - but you're more likely to keep doing the work it if you're in love with it.

-- Don't put off starting until you're 'good enough'. Good Enough is a fantasy place, and Perfect is a big lie. You'll never find either and pursuing them easily turns into eternal procrastination. Get started while the fire is burning, because getting good at something happens while you're actually doing the thing, and less so while you're thinking about maybe doing it. Try to be at peace with the idea that your work will be flawed. All art is. That's what makes it interesting.

-- Try to work with your strengths, not against them. Comic making is already immensely challenging. I'd suggest not making it extra impossible by demanding an entire personality change of yourself in order to do it. For example, if you tend to have intense but short-lived interest in things, don't torture yourself by embarking on a project that is going to take years-long, single-minded devotion. Do an anthology of shorter stories instead of a sprawling epic. Do one-off joke comics, or thoughtful vignettes. Or even break up something longer into short bursts of contained chapters.

-- Don't hurt yourself. Eat right, sleep, get a comfortable chair that's good for your back, get out of that chair and move around at intervals. If something starts aching, stop and rest. If it's aching chronically, see a medical professional. Career ending injuries and health troubles for artists are insidious - they creep up all quiet and mundane while you're busy patting yourself on the back for pulling another all-nighter.

-------------------------

About sharing online - also a tricky topic! The internet has changed a lot since I began Lackadaisy. The advice I could give derived from my personal experiences in publishing and audience building is a relic of a bygone era at this point…but here are some more bulletpoints (er, paragraphs) that I think are generally pertinent:

-- If publishing publicly sounds daunting and a bit scary, dip your toes in the water before plunging in. Do a publishing test run. If there's a Discord community you're comfortable with or a social media platform you use where you can post for mutuals only, maybe try that first. Or just share directly with a handful of people and ask them for feedback. When I'm unsure about something I'm preparing to post, I usually run it by some creator friends of mine because I trust them to be honest with me. Even if they have some criticisms, it's often reassuring that I can proceed to show it to others without dying inside.

-- Places with a big, built in audience can be great for getting eyeballs on your work, but it’s a mixed bag. Webtoon is the obvious example right now. Just be wary of anyone showing a little too much interest, or coming at you with paperwork to sign. Don't rush into putting your name on something that 1) commits you to unreasonable amounts of output for barely livable wages 2) relinquishes your ownership of your IP, or grants anyone any license to your work without clearly defined boundaries (like a limited term and agreement-ending conditions) -- Contract agreements warrant lots of consideration. Involve a lawyer of your own if you can. At the very least, have friends or family read over anything you might sign. And if it sounds too good to be true, it is. Scams are unfortunately abundant, so do your research/due diligence on whoever you're in discussions with.

-- Make yourself easy to find. Use social media to your advantage. Don't feel like you have to be in every single place, though. Some platforms might not be a good fit for your work, and some might be too much of a hassle or a mental drain to do battle with. -- Scrape out your own space online if you're able - a personal web page, a little WordPress/ComicPress site, or even just a link hub so that people can relocate your work if they lose track. The point is to avoid putting your eggs all in single basket that you have no control over. You never know when the social network growth you've been nurturing for the past several years will just succumb to a billionaire rampaging around like a sociopathic kaiju in the midst of the world's most public midlife crisis.

-- Don't worry about being an immediate sensation. Seeing people respond to your work is a wonderful and immensely gratifying feeling at times, but be patient if all hear are crickets chirping for a while. Longform storytelling in particular takes time to catch its momentum, and readers take time to get invested. Meteoric rises and virality do happen now and then, but honestly, slow and steady audience buildup is probably the more sustainable and less psychologically bewildering way to experience the fun of sharing your stuff with the world.

-- Consistently put your identifier (name/watermark, URL, copyright info, or all of these things) on everything you post online.

---------------------- I hope something here is useful, and if you decide to start making and publishing comics, I hope you find much success and happiness in it!

[wardenparker]

Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 2

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 30k Warnings: *Contains flashbacks*. Cursing, food/alcohol, drug use referenced underage substance abuse), controlling/abusive parent, false positive pregnancy, reference to underage sex with an adult, depression, really bad coping mechanisms, loss of virginity, praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, piercings, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex. Summary: The blurred lines of playing lovers and being lovers have been blurred for you and Dieter before, but it seems like this time you might be much closer to your characters than either of you want to admit. Notes: Guys this story came out of a silly little dream that I had about hanging out with a movie star and allllll this angst is what poured out onto the page. Keri is a magician at helping me unravel all my wild thoughts 🧡🧡 The play we used for reference as their Broadway show is “In the Next Room (or The Vibrator Play)” by Sarah Ruhl in case anyone is wondering!

It should have been useless to be anxious when you got to the theater that night, but you couldn't help it. After delivering terrifying-yet-somehow-still-exciting news to Dieter before your shift at the restaurant, and then that shift going disastrously badly because you weren't feeling well, you were just hoping you could talk to him and try to come up with some kind of plan. You'd been dating for ten whole months, for crying out loud. You love each other. Surely you could come up with some kind of pathway through your future that could allow both of you to have your careers and still love this– this baby that you had created together.

Baby.

For such a small word it's fearsome. The idea of being a mother is more daunting than anything you've ever faced in your life but with him? Dieter makes you feel like you can do anything. His praise is like armor that shields you from the world. From all the scary things and hurtful things and the things that make you unsure of yourself. With him, you're sure you can make this work. Which is why you sit on your anxious hands and wait. Wait and wait, wondering if he's running late to show tonight since it's well past call time.

******

Dieter’s hands shake, from the nerves, too many cigarettes and fear when the phone rings and his father’s name comes up on the screen. He should have known he would find out quickly. The Hollywood circle is far smaller than people believe and Baxter Bravo was still in the center of it despite his ‘retirement’ ten years ago. “Dad.”

"Dieter." The elder Bravo coughs halfway through his son's name and doesn't bother to cover his mouth, making a hideous sound through the phone line. "You got a call today, unless I'm mistaken." And Baxter Bravo is never mistaken. "It's a good role. Decent enough, anyway. I'm having the maid air out your room."

“Yeah.” Dieter hesitates, still reeling over your news and honestly piss scared about it. “I might not take the roll.” He admits, knowing his father will disapprove. “I just found out that my girlfriend might be pregnant.”

"Don't be stupid." His father scoffs, the derisive laugh making him rattle. "Of course she thinks she's pregnant. How else is that pitiful little corn-fed thing supposed to get you to stick around?" He had met his son's paramour only once – at the opening night festivities that he attended with an appropriate smile on his face despite loathing Broadway – and he had been glad to forget the girl's name immediately after. "You can't possibly think she's serious. Of course you're taking the role."

“Dad, I love her.” It terrifies him, but he actually loves you. It had started out as something casual, a way to feed his ego and to get laid but there was something about you. He hadn’t gotten bored within weeks like he had expected. And watching you mature as a performer made him give serious thought about giving up acting and becoming an instructor. The only thing that stopped him was dear old dad. “I’m happy on the stage. The audience is amazing.”

"I knew I never should have let you go out there." Baxter huffs and loudly smacks on the end of his cigar. "I know she's been an amusement, Dieter. And that's fine. But you've been bred for far better than some mid-Western virgin and a smattering of applause. There is no immortality on the stage, son. Besides which, I've already accepted the role for you. So you'll come home immediately and I will graciously forget that you considered being disobedient."

“I’m fucking twenty-six, Dad!” Dieter shouts, frustrated that his father isn’t listening to him. Though that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t listen when he told him he didn’t want to act at six, or that he just wanted to go to school like a normal kid. Definitely didn’t listen when he said he wanted to go to school for art.

"Whatever does that have to do with anything?" His father asks, confused by the assertion, but rambles on before Dieter can reply in any way or shape. "I've had the attorney inform your landlord that you'll be out in forty-eight hours, and your airline ticket is being held at the service desk for when you arrive tomorrow. Noon flight, and if you're late I'll have to pay a fee to have the fare transferred to another flight, so please don't be a nuisance about it."

Dieter closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No.” He decides. “I’m going to stay here.” He tells his father firmly. “I can’t leave her if she’s pregnant.”

"She's not, though." There's boredom in his father's voice, as though Baxter has gotten tired of even having to speak to his own son. "She's a poor girl trying to trap a rich boy in the oldest way possible." A lazy puff of smoke curls out of his mouth and he sighs drearily. "But I can simply cut you off, if you're so determined to prove a point. Raising a bastard child that may or may not be yours on the streets of New York ought to be fun for you. Homeless and self-righteous. Is that what you want?"

“My money is from my acting when I was a child!” Dieter doesn’t know exactly how the money gets to him, just that he gets a healthy check every month.

"Your money goes through me." The reminder is as dark as it is serious, making his father's chuckle on the other end sound even more ominous. "Every cent you've ever made has gone into an account managed solely by me, Dieter. One call to a doctor and I can have a conservatorship in place faster than you dial a telephone. Pack, Dieter. Pack and come home to take your rightful place here or I will force you to. Am I making myself clear?"

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, running his hand through his hair as he paces in the apartment he had called home for the last three years. Knowing that he can’t see you, he’ll stay if he does. He’ll lose everything.

“You are a Bravo.” His father reminds him when he doesn’t say yes right away. “You will do the right thing, you have a family legacy to uphold.”

Closing his eyes, Dieter's lip trembles and he imagines your face. Tries to imagine it when he tells you he’s leaving and the way you would look so heartbroken. He can’t. He can’t see that. He can’t do it.

“Yes sir.” Dieter responds woodenly, hearing his father’s satisfied grunt on the other end.

“See you tomorrow.” Baxter hangs up the phone, satisfied his son will do as he is told.

******

"What do you mean he's not here?" You're supposed to be face to face with Dieter right now. Places has been called and the curtain is about to go up, but you're standing with his understudy and the stage manager on the verge of tears. It's worry more than it is anything else. If he's not here, is he okay? Is he hurt? Sick? Anything could have happened.

“He got the call.” The stage manager knows the two of you are sleeping together, everyone knows. It hasn’t been a secret for the entire run of this play. Although he had expected Dieter to tell you what was going on. “He left for L.A. Apparently got the role of a lifetime.”

"He..." In an instant, your heart and stomach drop through the floor and tears well up in your eyes. "He's..." The words won't even come, even breathing makes you feel like you're going to be sick all over the floor. "He's gone?"

“Shit, we’re about be ready for the curtain.” The stage manager looks at you with a mixture of pity and worry. It’s obvious Dieter didn’t say a word to you and just skipped town. Hating that he had to tell you the bad news and potentially interfere with tonight’s production. “Do you need a minute?”

"Ye–I–I–" The prop on the table a foot away from you catches your eye and you sob, loudly and openly. The baby doll is all wrapped up and swaddled to open the first scene. Just you and that little doll for a full minute until Dieter is supposed to walk out onstage to join you. But it won't be him. It won't be him on that stage or anywhere else, you realize all at once. When that baby doll in your arms is replaced with a real one, he won't be there either. "Stall." You beg, finally forming a full word as you throw yourself toward the nearest bathroom. "Two minutes!" You're a professional. A real professional, but you definitely do need to go throw up and rinse with a half bottle of mouthwash before you go out on that stage. He left you. He's gone.

Hiding in the darkest part of the theatre, Dieter keeps his hoodie up, not wanting anyone to recognize him. He knows that he shouldn’t have come. It would have been better to just walk away clean. To ‘wipe the slate clean’ like his father likes to say after so many of his misdoings or affairs when they were done. Getting to watch you perform rather than being a part of it. You’re beautiful, your performance even stronger than it normally is when he is your co-star. Making him realize that you don’t need him. Maybe you never did. All he had done was hold you back from your full potential. Right as the last curtain falls, Dieter turns around and heads for the exit. Away from New York and the one person who he had honestly loved.

******

In the month since filming began, an awkward truce has settled between you and Dieter. You don't openly antagonize each other any more, or even give each other the periodic silent treatment. You've become oddly respectful to the point of making it uncomfortably polite for people around you. The way the two of you tiptoe around each other is like the polar opposite of the way your assistants have become attached at the hip during every second of downtime that they have. Sadie and Desiree are possibly the sweetest couple you've seen in a long time, and as happy as you are for them, it makes you ache in the deepest corners of your heart and mind.

Dieter is in hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You don’t insult him. You don’t ignore him. You’re polite to him. Making his skin crawl as he remembers all the times people were sickeningly sweet to him only to want something, but he can’t figure out what you would want besides this movie to be done. Snorting coke only goes so far and he’s almost bored with getting blitzed every night after filming is done, knowing you are next door and hating himself for wanting to go to you.

"I wish you would tell me what's going through your head." Sadie had asked you this morning, when you blankly accepted the cup of tea she handed you. Your anxiety had been high lately so she had insisted on cutting back on your caffeine intake. "You know you can talk to me." You can talk to her. And you probably should. But the fact is that you can't really find the words for what you're feeling. Being polite to Dieter is the only way you can get through the day without wanting to go to him and you can't do that. So you've just sort of...shut down. Everyone on set gets perfect manners from you, and no one can see the riot going on inside you.

Sadie frowns slightly and sighs, knowing you won’t open up. Ever since that first night, something has changed. “Let me go help Desiree.” She slaps her hands on her thighs. “Make sure he didn’t OD.”

"Is it really that bad?" You can't help the way your head pops up at such a casual remark, or the fear in your eyes when it does.

“It’s not good. Something– I don’t know. Desiree said he’s just given up.” She told you that she would tell you anything about Dieter, but she’s been hesitant to bring it up. “All he does is sit in his room and get bombed on whatever he has. She’s had a hard time getting him to eat.”

"I thought he'd lost weight." It's not as though you haven't paid attention. You spend most of every single day with the man. Blowing out a breath, you shake your head and stand up. "Will you do me a favor, honey?" When she nods, you wipe your hands on your pants nervously and return the gesture. "Order a pot of green tea and three shots of espresso to Dieter's room, and whatever Desiree says his favorite breakfast is. It used to be French toast, but I don't know if that's still true." Maybe you can get through to him and maybe you can't, but either way, you're going to try – and just hope you can keep your head on straight while you're at it.

“Okaaaaay.” Sadie frowns but she’s going to do what you ask of her. “It’s your day off today.” She reminds you. “You have tickets to the Tower of London and that tea room you wanted to try.” It’s been rare to get days off with the grueling schedule and luckily Dieter has sobered up enough to put in a spectacular performance everyday but it’s been rough.

"If it's my day off, then it's his day off." Considering you have very few scenes apart, your schedules tend to be identical. They won't be separate until you get to the location in France. "I–" When you turn to look at Sadie your eyebrows are knitted together in concern. "I'm worried about him," you admit quietly.

“Desiree is too.” She confesses quietly. “He’s – well, at least he’s been somewhat normal on set, but it’s been something.” She shakes her head, thankful that her boss wasn’t going through something like Dieter is, although Desiree is protective of him.

"She cares about him." It's good to see. And you do like Desiree a lot – she's a kind woman with fierce loyalties and a huge heart. And she looks at Sadie like she hung the stars in the sky. "I'm just...he might not want to talk to me. But I have to at least try."

“He might not know who you are, depending on what he’s taken.” Sadie warns you, aware that Dieter has done that with her quite a few times. “It’s fucking amazing he remembers his lines and the blocking.”

"I have to try." You reach out to squeeze her arm and head out the door, just to take six steps in the hallway to knock on his door. "Dieter?" His name is soft on your lips and there's no answer, so you try again. "Dee? It's me...can I come in?"

Dieter stares at the wall, not moving, not blinking. Barely breathing. Lost in his mind, fuzzy and muted. Barely hearing the sounds coming from the door. Staring at a single spot in the wallpaper that doesn’t match the rest. The pattern is off, just slightly. Like the wall was damaged and had to be repaired.

It's Desiree who opens the door, face drawn in concern. "It's not a good time," she tells you gently, glancing back toward the bedroom where Dieter is lying almost entirely catatonic.

"Sadie said he hasn't been doing well?" You're not about to let her close the door on you. Not when you're this concerned about him. You know things have been off lately, but that doesn't mean you're detached from it all. "I'm not here to chat or play board games, Des. I'm honestly worried about him."

“I–” Desiree bites her lip and decides to be blunt. “What happened that night? Did you see him? Did you talk?” She knows something had to happen for Dieter to sink this low. You seem to be a trigger for him, good or bad, she hasn’t decided.

"I'm afraid there's more than one that night to pick from." You tell her when she steps back to let you and Sadie inside. "If you mean the first night of filming? Yeah...we...we ran into each other at dinner. And I...I got mad. It's not my proudest moment, I'm afraid."

“What happened?” Desiree’s heart drops and she bites her lip as she looks back towards Dieter. Unsure of how to snap him out of this particular funk. She normally can, but nothing is working this time.

"He had a sketchbook with him." It's really not anything you're proud of, but you're honestly shocked that whoever had filmed it in the restaurant that day hadn't put it online. "I–I saw him drawing me and I kind of...well, I yelled. We came back here when I insisted that he explain to me why he was drawing me and he...well," you exhale deeply, remembering the deep lines of hurt in his face right before he walked out your door. "It didn't go well."

She can’t even begin to imagine what Dieter is thinking, but she nods. “Okay.” She glances over at Sadie and bites her lip. “We’ll go downstairs to give you two a few minutes.” She decides, desperate to have her boss back and willing to do whatever it takes.

Silent hugs of encouragement are had between the three of you, and you watch Sadie and Desiree go out the door before you step back toward the bedroom door. It’s open but you still knock, not wanting to startle Dieter. “Dee?” From the doorway you can see that the room has been left to get messy along with his mind. He’s laying on the bed staring at the walls and you gulp nervously. “Dee, is it okay if I come in?”

Dieter grunts, hearing you although it sounds like he is in a water tank. Wondering why he hears you, you shouldn’t be in his room. The blissful feeling of floating is starting to wane and he knows that he’s coming down from his high. Must be his call time for the day.

When the biggest response you get out of him is a nonverbal sound, you leave your bag at the door and push inside with worry worn on your face. “Can you talk?” You ask gently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Fifteen.” Dieter croaks out. His voice is rough and raspy from not using it for so long. He always sounds a little hoarse, but it’s amplified by the cottonmouth the drugs leave him with.

“Fifteen what, Dee?” A deeply ingrained part of you just wants to reach out and wrap your arms around him but the fear is overwhelming. He might lash out or he might not want you here at all – regardless of you just trying to help.

“She was– was my father’s girlfriend.” Dieter tells you, tone flat and void of all emotion.

“Your father had fifteen girlfriends?” You ask, not understanding at all. Of course, you knew his father for a womanizing asshole, but not much else. Dieter has seemed to fear and revere him when he was younger, but you had only met the man once.

“N-no. Yes.” Dieter doesn’t know why he is thinking about this, but it’s what he keeps replaying in his head. “I was– fifteen when she– he sent her to my room.” His father had decided he was tired of his son being a shy virgin. So he had sent his twenty-one year old girlfriend to him to show him what to do.

“Oh god.” Dread curls on your stomach when you realize what he’s saying, and you shift closer to him on the mattress. “That’s all done now, Dee. It’s over. And he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” While the news of Baxter Bravo’s death rocked Hollywood a few years ago, you had paid it little mind. Now, though? Even that one little piece of information makes you want to dance on his grave when you get back to California.

“He had my money.” Dieter croaks, frowning and closing his eyes. “Threa-threatened to cut me off. If I didn’t– if I stayed in theatre.” His thoughts have shifted to his father, guilt and anger fusing together. “First time I got drunk was because of him. Eight years old at his party.”

“Shit…” He’s bouncing all over the place in his memory, and unfortunately there is a lot about his father that you just don’t know. But the piece about theater sticks directly into your heart – because the only time Dieter was in the theater was around the time you met. “When did he say he’d disown you?” You ask, trying to get him on a clear train of thought if that’s at all possible.

“I watched you.” His eyes open again and he turns his head to look at you for the first time. “I was in the back, I watched the entire thing. I couldn’t go without seeing it– you. It was your best performance. Without me.”

“The night you…” It’s an impulse, the way you reach for his hand, but your fingers tighten around his and the gesture feels so small. Not nearly enough, but you’re afraid to go further. “You watched the show the night you left?” You were broken that night – sobbing and sick to your stomach at every turn, lashing out at people who tried to take care of you because you were hurt and terrified. You couldn’t even let yourself drink after the show to numb the feeling because you thought you were pregnant. “Dee…” Your inhale is ragged. “It wasn’t my best performance. Not by a long shot. I was a shell that night.”

“It was beautiful.” Dieter insists, frowning at you, showing emotion for the first time since anyone entered his room this morning. “You were beautiful. And I–” he swallows. “I couldn’t keep you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“Because of your father?” The pieces begin to slide into place in your mind, but the puzzle is still wildly incomplete. “Is that what happened?”

Dieter blinks, frowning slightly and then lifts his head. “Bambi?” He asks quietly. “Are you really here?” He’s talked about this so many times to a figment of his imagination he doesn’t know if you are real.

“Yeah, Dee.” You shift another few inches up the bed, keeping his hand in yours until you’re sitting right next to him. His eyes are glossy from whatever he’s taken but his words are coming a little clearer, and you’re hoping that’s a sign that he’s coming down. “I’m right here. I was…I’m worried about you.” There’s no past tense about it, but you bite your lip from saying anything deeper when he’s not entirely himself. “So I came over to check on you.”

“Why?” That confuses him. You hate him, you have every right to hate him after what he had done. Not just twelve years ago, but the way he had prodded at you and taunted you since then, fueling the hatred because it was easier for you to hate him than to delve into his losing you. “I– I left you. I left you for him.” He grunts, disgusted with himself for choosing a man who had never viewed Dieter as anything more than an extension of himself. Forcing him to choose the Bravo family dynasty and then dying on him a few years later, leaving a widow that was nearly too young for even Dieter to date.

“Because—” It sticks in your throat, choking you with truth and sadness and tears of regret. With anger and frustration. With things you have never said out loud to anyone before, not even Sadie or your therapist. “Because I c—care about you,” you manage to choke out, feeling the half-truth of it crack in your chest. The decade of anger and disgust really boils down to hurt and worry, when you’re honest with yourself.

“You shouldn’t.” That is the crux of Dieter’s issues. He knows he is completely unworthy of someone caring about him. It’s easier to not care when you push people away and they look at you in disgust. “I–” he closes his eyes again, humming to himself. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly, his mind settling and the rush of the high wears off as he fades into fatigue.

“Dee, can you stay awake for me?” You don’t know a whole lot about drugs or their side effects but you know that there are a whole lot of things that can make a person tired or even pass out, and you’re about as prepared for that as you are to handle what he just said to you — which is to say, not at all. You don’t know whether to trust it or not. Whether he would have said it at all, or if he would even come close to meaning it when his mind is his own. The best you can do is try to keep him awake and hope that Desiree sends up his breakfast soon.

“Hmmmm.” Dieter doesn’t want to, not when he is feeling this tired. “Bottle–” he gestures with one lazy hand towards the nightstand. “Red pill.” He needs a hit of speed to be ready for his call time. “Need.”

“What are the red ones?” You’re not prepared to give him more drugs, but if it’s an antacid or a simple ibuprofen or something, that’s different.

“First time I took speed– I was ten.” Dieter grunts. “Dad gave it to me. Needed to stay up for a night shoot.”

“Fucking hell…” If his father wasn’t already dead you’d be hunting him down yourself. How could a grown man do that to his child? “It’s okay,” you tell him quietly, putting your other hand over his. “We don’t need that today.” Or ever, but one step at a time. “We’re just going to sit together today, is that okay? Just you and me? Have something to eat and if you need to nap we can ask Desiree, okay?” At the very least, Des can give you a better idea of what his symptoms and side effects look like. She can give you some kind of idea of what to expect.

“Gotta–” Dieter opens his eyes again and gives you a soft smile. “Bambi.” He murmurs breathlessly. “Still so innocent.”

“A little less than I used to be.” In this, though? In the world of these abusive experiences and using drugs to compensate? You really are very innocent.

“Great ass.” Dieter groans, acting more like his normal front for a moment, but he means it. “I lied, your tits are amazing.”

You can’t help but snort, holding back an appreciative laugh because you don’t want him to think you’re laughing at him. “You were always a big fan of them.”

“Why did you rip my sketches?” He asks quietly, a question he has pondered for a long time but never asked. “Were they bad?”

“Because I—” Unconsciously, your hands tighten slightly around him, not wanting him to pull away. “I thought you were making fun of me. That you wanted to remember how much you had hurt me…and then I saw more and I…I was just confused as to why you kept drawing me.”

“That's all I have left of my beautiful Bambi.” Dieter chokes out, his face twisted in sorrow and remorse.

“Dee…” It makes you deflate, the confusion and the anxiety leaving your body so you nearly sag beside him on the mattress and shake your head. “You really loved me, didn’t you?” For years you had convinced yourself that it was a lie. That he had just told you what you wanted to hear and that he had never meant it. But the voice in the back of your mind that knew it wasn’t true seems to have been right all along.

“Told him I was staying.” He rambles, shaking his head. “Not going to Cali, but he said I would be cut off. Raising the baby on the streets. I’d be a bad dad.”

It doesn’t matter that the tests had been wrong – it was the fear that was real. And the fear that his father had instilled in him was real, too. “I’m sorry you were scared.” You murmur, still holding onto him. “I was scared, too.”

“I shoulda stayed.” Dieter huffs. “Been stronger. Always been so weak. You’re strong. So strong. Better than me.”

“It’s not about ‘better’.” It breaks your heart to hear him say that, and you shake your head. “We’re just different. That’s…that’s why we were good together. Balance.”

With his confessions off his chest, Dieter falls asleep, his soft snores coming out evenly with his breathing relaxed. Hand going slack in yours.

Once it’s clear he’s sleeping and not in some kind of stupor, you text Desiree to let her know that he seemed lucid before the snoring started and you sit back to wait. Unfortunately, you’re somewhat of a restless person and sitting while someone else sleeps just isn’t your cup of tea. So the compulsive cleaning starts. First it’s tucking him in properly, then dropping his rejected sweaters and t-shirts into the laundry basket in his wardrobe. It’s tidying his stacks of books, then art supplies, and scattered notebooks that you assume hold more sketches. It’s curiosity that does it – that same old thing that got the cat and now you.

The first sketchbook is the one you recognize from the sandwich shop, and you very carefully and quietly set to work taping the pages back in that you tore. The next has images of sets and landscapes – nothing out of the ordinary there. But the third seems to be self-portraits. Gruesome renderings of his own visage with gore and mutations, some intentionally missing whole chunks of himself from the image. Drawings where his chest has been torn open, or where he seems to have no space for a heart at all. It’s an overwhelming discovery, and you compulsively find yourself flipping through every single image until you’re sitting in the corner armchair silently crying.

Dieter sleeps for several hours without dreaming. Just the deep sleep of the exhausted. Until images of you start to creep in. Moments he has missed until he is running towards you and he can’t seem to catch you. “Bambi!” He moans, the word coming out gargled and far quieter than he has said in his dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The second you hear your name – your nickname – your head shoots up from the book you were reading and you head for the bed to sit with him again. Desiree had said he said Bambi in his sleep and she was being honest, though he had always talked in his sleep from time to time before. “I’m right here.” You take his hand again, not caring if you wake him up. He’s been asleep for hours and he needs to eat something. God only knows how long it’s been since he had a proper meal. “I’m right here, Dee.”

You’re running away from him, making him run faster. Trying to catch you before you disappear out of sight. Until you leave him. “Don’t go.” He whimpers, feeling a pressure in his hand and he squeezes it in desperation. “Please. Please Bambi.”

“I’m right here,” you repeat, watching his face contort in the dream, and you find yourself wondering if it’s unsafe to wake someone from a nightmare if they’re still tripping. But since you have no idea if he is still high, you decide to say fuck it and put your other hand on his shoulder very deliberately. “Dee, wake up.” You barely keep yourself from calling him baby — cooing the way you would have years ago. It’s too easy to slip back into. “Wake up for me? Please?”

Dieter’s eyes shoot open, like he’s had a shot of adrenaline shoved into his heart. Reaching out and grabbing your hand on his shoulder. “Bambi!” He gasps before he realizes he’s awake and gives you a confused look, “did I– where am I?”

“The hotel.” You nearly jump three feet off the bed when he woke up, but you manage to keep your voice calm. “We’re in the hotel. In London. Does that ring a bell?”

“Yeah.” Dieter groans and looks around, blinking owlishly, although his vision is a shit ton better since the lasik surgery. “Did I miss my call time?”

“It’s our day off.” He hasn’t let go of your hand and you don’t let go either. “You haven’t—I mean I—” You exhale to let the shakiness out of your voice. “I’m worried about you. Desiree says you haven’t been eating.”

“What?” He makes a face and then gives a small shrug before he grunts and sits up. “Not hungry.” He murmurs, feeling like everything tastes like despair.

“Says the guy who used to be able to eat two entire cheeseburgers plus fries in a sitting.” Looking down at your joined hands, you’re not sure if coming over here was a good idea or not, but you’re here. You made the decision. So you’re going to stick with it. “Does whatever you’re taking make you not hungry? Or is it the depression?” It’s not like you haven’t dealt with it yourself. You know what depression can do to a person and you know it firsthand.

Dieter looks away guiltily, remembering all the times that his father would tell him that there’s nothing a snort of coke or a tight pussy couldn’t fix. “I just– nothing tastes good.” He says finally, registering that his mouth is dry. “I gotta–” he moves to get up, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“There’s water right here.” That, at least, you could have ready for him. The bottle is ready and waiting on his side table where you point to it. “Do you…” your voice wavers but you clear your throat. “Do you remember talking to me this morning? At all?”

Dieter’s eyes narrow and and despite the drugs that he takes, he unfortunately remembers it all. The curse of a photographic memory, though it serves him well in memorizing lines. “I told you about that day. And my dad.” He gulps down the water thirstily and sighs when it’s gone.

“You did.” He also said that he loves you – present tense – but if he doesn’t remember that part you’re not going to put more pressure on the situation. “I’m sorry, Dee. I had no idea he was so hard on you.” You knew he was strict, obviously, but some of the things he described were downright odious.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter rubs the back of his neck and sighs. Aware of what he had blurted out to you in his very honest dialogue. “You can just– pretend I didn’t say anything. It’s okay. I won’t blame you.”

“Do you want me to forget?” It’s a very touchy game you’re playing here, and you’re not sure which way he’s leaning.

“I know you can’t forgive me.” Dieter murmurs quietly. “But no. Use it to make yourself feel better about how shitty I did you.”

“It sounds like things were a lot more complicated than I ever knew.” The urge to just reach out and hug him is so hard to ignore. There’s always been a magnet between you and it seems to have been recharged as more and more information came to light today. “I wish you had at least said goodbye, but I get now that you didn’t have a choice in leaving. We…we were just kids.”

Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “I was a grown ass man. I should have told him to go fuck himself. Sued him for my money.” There've been plenty of regrets and ‘would haves’ where you and that situation was concerned. “If I had said goodbye, I would have–” he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I knew I couldn’t face you. I’m a coward.”

“He was abusing you.” If he’s been in therapy, then he knows that already. But the stubborn voice inside you refuses to let him get away with putting himself down. “Of course you were afraid of him. He did that on purpose. But Dee…” You shake your own head this time and sigh. “He’s gone. He doesn’t get to keep hurting you like this.”

“The ghost of Baxter Bravo always haunts me.” Dieter tells you. “It’s like a never ending A Christmas Carol.”

“Is there…” It sticks in your throat like lava, some kind of fear that you can’t name, but you manage to swallow. “Is there anything I can do? To help, I mean?”

Dieter shakes his head, knowing it’s not your place to fix him. He doesn’t even know if you can. He’d just drag you down with him. “Doubtful. Unless you want to show me your tits?” He asks hopefully, lifting his brows.

You roll your eyes, seeing his walls go back up and shut you out all over again. Making it clear that he doesn’t want you looking into that part of his life anymore. “You’ll see them on set in a week.”

“I don’t–” he sees the way your expression falls, the annoyance you are trying to hide. “Thank you.” He offers, swallowing. “Life is full of regrets, right?”

“I guess so. Or…I don’t know anyone whose isn’t. So it must be universal.” This conversation feels like a time bomb, ticking away to the point of oblivion, and you just don’t know when the explosion is going to come. You’d thought it was just a second ago, but apparently not. So you try a different olive branch. “I don’t like being mad at you, for the record. Even if we’re not…what we were…I still don’t want to hate you.”

Dieter licks his lips, eyes quickly darting between yours and he lunges forward, desperately pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is needy and wanting.

It makes sense that your first impulse is to push him away. This impulse of his seemingly came out of nowhere, after all. The problem – or maybe more accurately, the complication – is that as soon as you register the fact that Dieter is kissing you, you become twenty-one all over again and hold onto him for dear life instead of using your hands on his chest to create distance. It’s pull instead of push, and the kiss lingers just long enough to become soft before your mind comes back down from whatever cloud it lighted on and you have to part for air.

He frowns when you pull back, wanting the kiss to go on longer, for it to never end. Opening his eyes with a small pout on his lips and wishing he could lean in again but your hand is on his chest gently keeping him in place.

“Wha—” With your mind going a hundred miles a minute, you feel like you’re spinning and holding on to him is the only thing keeping you from drifting away. “That—” One hand drifts to your lips to touch them like you’re not sure if the sensation is real or not. “You meant it, didn’t you?” Is what eventually comes out of your mouth, utter bewilderment obvious in your tone.

“Meant what?” Dieter asks, not sure exactly what you are talking about. He had meant everything he said.

“Before you fell asleep…” It’s been ringing in your head for hours. “You…said you love me.”

“Yes.” Dieter admits it quietly. “I don’t – I’m honest when I’m high. I have no filter.”

“I just…I spent a long time thinking you hated me. Or…or that you didn’t think anything about me. It’s…” You swallow again, fingers still tangled in his shirt. “An adjustment.”

“I’m sorry.” Dieter bites his lip. “It’s a – it's a safety thing. Push people away before they can hurt you.” He’s not proud of it, nor would he say that it’s right, but it’s what he does.

“I get it.” Shifting in place from mounting anxiety, you find yourself moving closer to him instead of just adjusting in place. “I mean…I haven’t had a relationship last longer than six months in…” You huff at yourself when you do the math. “In twelve years.”

He knows that’s his fault. He caused you to be that way. He had taken his Bambi, his innocent Bambi, and ruined you. He sighs softly and shakes his head. “I’m a piece of shit for that.”

“What happened was complicated.” That’s a very kind way of putting it, but you can’t bring yourself to be ferociously upset or angry with him anymore. Not now that you’re starting to have a picture of how bad the abuse was that he endured. “But it’s good to know that you didn’t do it on purpose. That’s…that means more than you know.”

Dieter nods, feeling like he should say something else but not knowing what. He’s not…good with emotional entanglements. Trying to keep everything surface level for so long had fucked with his heart. “I– that’s good.” He says awkwardly, his stomach deciding it would be the perfect time to rumble like Mt. Vesuvius.

“You need to eat.” It’s the spell that breaks the tension, and you sit back again on the mattress with renewed awkwardness. “I’ll, um…I’ll call for room service?”

“You don’t have to stay.” Dieter knows that you might not want to spend too much time with him. “It’s your day off. I doubt you want to spend it with me.”

“If you don’t want me to stay, that’s one thing,” you tell him honestly. “But if it’s up to me, I’d rather stay. I haven’t stopped being worried about you just because we talked without screaming at each other.”

Dieter frowns and wonders why you are worried about him. But he also doesn’t want to be alone. Instead he nods. “I– I need to shower. I feel grimy.” He knows he looks homeless routinely, but he does shower regularly. “Could you– could you order us something to eat? If you’re staying?”

“I’ll order some food, you go shower.” That gets you up at last, moving across the room to grab the hotel’s service binder from the table it’s sitting on in his front room. After a second you step back, hanging in the bedroom doorway. “Our assistants are dating, by the way. I don’t know if you know.”

“I figured when she snapped up the reservation she had made for me.” Dieter mumbles. And it explains why another woman had been coming into his room. “That’s how you found out about me talking about you in my sleep.”

“Yeah.” You nod slightly, but look up at him with a lopsided smile. “But you always talked into your sleep anyway. I could have been bluffing.”

He pouts, knowing that you could have been bluffing and he would have believed it, because he does dream about you. “True. But you burp in your sleep.”

“Which I’m pretty sure is the reason nobody sticks around more than a few months.” It’s a friendly jab at yourself, and you shrug it off. “Go shower. I’m gonna get us some food and let Desiree know you’re up.”

Dieter turns and stops. “Thank you.” He tells you seriously. “You could have just left me to my misery.”

“Turns out I might have a little soft spot for you.” A fact which is going to have your stomach, nerves, and heart in knots all at once.

“Don’t know why, but I’ll take it.” Dieter turns and walks into the bathroom, only pushing the door instead of latching it.

As soon as you hear the shower turn on, you call down for a sizable lunch plus a whole pot of the green tea he seems to be favoring these days, and then turn right around and call Desiree to give her an update. She and Sadie had gone down to Sadie's room to wait things out, and while you realize you might be calling in the middle of...things, it's worth the risk of interrupting them to let her know that Dieter is okay.

Standing under the hottest water the hotel provides, he leans against the shower tiles and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why you are here, but he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. His head is pounding but he’s not reaching for the bottle on the counter just yet. Groaning as the water beats down on his skin and he reaches for the soap he prefers, eager to scrub himself clean.

******

The day has been such a whirlwind that you barely know what's happened except that from rehearsal to dinner to the cab right back across the city, you and Dieter have been inseparable. He’s been so kind and so attentive, answering all of your questions about what it was like to grow up in Hollywood and all of the exotic places he’s visited. He’s told you stories from movie sets and all about the sunny beaches out West that just beg for anyone to enjoy them. And now – on top of it all – you’re sitting in the living room of his upper East side apartment with him with glasses of sticky sweet rum and Coke to drink while you listen to someone across the small neighborhood playing piano with their windows thrown open. It’s so romantic you could cry, or maybe jump for joy. You certainly wouldn’t want to cry right now, with his fingers grazing your shoulder gently – a little more every time they pass.

He doesn’t understand how you are still untouched, so fucking pretty and clever, sociable when you want to be. Keeping his own ‘losing his virginity’ story to himself because what can he really tell you about that? Instead his fingers trail over your bare shoulder, your tank top is a toy at times as he hums. Itching with the need to draw you, another talent he doesn’t talk about. It was highly discouraged in his household. Hell, the only thing that was encouraged was acting and being a slut. Living up to the old man’s reputation. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is how your body inches closer to him and those kisses that you’ve been enthusiastic about sharing have turned slightly greedy.

The dam broke at rehearsal, of course. The script calls for a kiss and he had kindly suggested that it would make it less awkward in the future to share a few early on. That led to a fairly intense make out session in your dressing room, and now this moment on his couch. You’re so drawn to him – unsure of how or why this is happening but determined to make the most of it. Dieter toys with the strap of your tank top, sliding it off your shoulder and grazing his fingertips across the bare skin to make you sigh and shiver. It’s divine and slightly intoxicating and he has completely wiped every thought from your head except for him.

"You need another refill?" Dieter hesitates to ask the real question he wants to. Wanting you to be comfortable. "Or water?" He probably drinks a little more than he should, smokes some grass and pops a few pills when he isn't working, but he wants you clear headed for what he wants tonight.

“I guess water might be smart.” You fluster slightly at the fact that you probably would have just had another drink if he hadn’t offered an alternative. To you, that signals the end of the night – he’ll be walking you to the door and sending you home soon. But what a day it’s been.

He nods, reluctantly removing his arm from around you so he can stand to get you a new glass. “Let me get it for you.” He bites his lip, wondering what you are thinking as you play with your rum glass. “So how do you like kissing me?”

The straightforward question earns an embarrassed giggle from you, and you take the last sip of rum and Coke from your glass while you think of the least embarrassing way to answer. "A lot," you admit, hiding your flustered face behind the glass. "I like it a lot. But I'm sure I'm not the first girl to tell you that."

“No, but you’re the only girl I want to hear it from.” Dieter flirts, turning around and winking at you from around the corner to the small galley style kitchen.

"It's going to be a really remarkable show." The playwright is amazing, the rest of the cast is phenomenal, and you're basically feeling like an imposter being a complete unknown and leading this cast of incredible talent. The fact that you've had a crush on your leading man since you knew what a crush was doesn't hurt either.

“Yes it is.” It only takes him a few moments to get your glass and he brings it back over to you and sits down to face you as he grins. “Because you are in it.”

"You're so sweet to me." You put down your empty glass to accept the water and feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Between how he keeps flattering you and being nearly desperate to kiss him again, you feel like you're on fire from head to toe – and the center is that familiar and powerful want that starts between your legs and grows infinitely.

“I want to talk to you about something very serious.” Dieter raises his brows and looks at you playfully, in a way that he can only manage when he wants to know something naughty. His fingers find your bare arms and he strokes the skin softly.

"Okay." There has been no shortage of conversation between the two of you, which has been nice, but you call yourself to order for something serious.

“So we’ve been….doing this–” he motions between the two of you and bites his lip, aware that you might not be ready for something like this. “But….do you want to have sex with me?” He asks. “It’s okay if you don’t, but I really want you.”

"I–" The surprise on your face is obvious as you set the glass of water down carefully on the table beside you and turn back to Dieter on the sofa. The answer is obviously yes, but it's a shock to hear him ask out loud. And a shock that he would want you when he could have his choice of anyone in the world. The signals in your mind cross themselves, and you're nodding yes right away, but what comes out of your mouth is slightly different. "I'm a virgin," you blurt out, unable to stop yourself from being honest to a fault.

He had known that. The way you responded to him had told him that, but his half hard cock twitches at the words. “That’s okay.” He promises you. “It’s okay Bambi, I don’t mind if you’re a virgin.”

"You don't?" As far as you understood, that was the worst thing a girl could be. It smacked of being prudish or snobbish, and even though there just hadn't been any boys at home that you were interested in. In the city you had focused entirely on your studies. Now your studies have led you here...and to him.

“I love that.” Dieter confesses, sliding closer another inch, his cock throbbing now and he knows if you look down, you’ll see his hard on straining against the joggers he was wearing. “I want to be the first one to touch you, maybe the only one.” He’s breathless, as if it would be a treasure to cherish.

The only one. It takes your breath away unexpectedly, and you can feel yourself staring with your mouth slightly open. He's remarkable and magnetic and the closer he moves to you the more you move to meet him, and your hand tentatively rests on his leg to steady yourself. "I want you to be, too."

Grinning, he raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure. “You want me to take your virginity?”

"I've..." Your fingers dig into his leg a little, curling as you lean forward a little and nod. "I've dreamed about it." You confess quietly. Those dreams were long before you met him, obviously, but here you are.

He nods seriously and points to your water. “Drink up Bambi, I want to show you my bedroom.”

“I’m not drunk,” you promise him, but drink the water anyway. It’s probably good to give you a minute to cool down before you spontaneously combust right next to him.

He smirks and shakes his head. “I know. I just want you in complete control of the decisions you make.”

“Saying yes to you isn’t exactly a difficult decision.” In fact, you’d be hard pressed to think of any time or place you would say no — the idea of turning down Dieter Bravo is unfathomable.

“Yeah but…” he doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want you to regret it, instead he just leans in and kisses your throat. “I want you begging for it.”

Somehow you really don’t think that’s going to be an issue, and the whimper that escapes your lips when you feel his tongue flick across your pulse tells him so. It’s all you can do to gulp down the water remaining in the glass he brought you so you can have both hands on him as he kisses his way along your throat and shoulder, then back up to your jaw again.

“You want to go to my bedroom?” He asks softly, keeping his voice low and easy. Hands ghosting over your sides and grazing over your breasts.

“Yes.” The emphatic nodding would have given your answer but you whine on the word, making it come out strained and eager. Like you’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. And maybe – as of this moment – you haven’t. “Yes—I—please?”

Standing up, Dieter drags you up into his arms and rushes you towards the bedroom. He’s lucky that he even has a bedroom, most apartments are studio closets like yours. He nearly picks you up in his rush to usher you through the apartment, and you giggle against his lips as he moves you. Dieter groans and giggles as he slams his shoulder into the door frame in his eagerness to get you into the bedroom.

You’ve heard things, because of course you have, from girls around you. About how the first time is always bad, or it hurts, or it doesn’t last more than two minutes. There are always plenty of bad stories in circulation as warnings. But you can’t imagine Dieter would be a disappointment like that. Whether it’s the rose-colored tint of brand new feelings or that very long-distance crush that you nursed for forever…or even just the surety that anyone who kisses as well as he does can’t be bad in bed. Whatever it is, you’re more excited than you are scared.

“Now.” Dieter collapses on the bed with you and rushes to kiss you again. “I’m gonna lick your pussy.” He groans, reaching for your leggings. “Don’t be shy and try to hide from me.”

For just a second you’re tempted to point out that he seems to like when you’re shy, but when you register what he’s said you end up gobsmacked instead. Almost every girl you know has bitched and moaned about their boyfriends hating to eat pussy — and here you are with an international movie star about to strip your panties off.

Some people call him selfish, and he is. Dieter can be a needy, selfish asshole but he also has a massive praise kink. Learning quickly from his first encounter that the easiest way to earn moaned praises is for him to service his partner. Making them willing to fuck him again the next time, so he is a man who will happily bury his face in a cunt or wrap his lips around a cock. Now, he pulls back to drag your panties down, spreading your legs wide and tutting when you try to close your legs. Sensing your embarrassment, he flashes you a grin. “Don’t worry Bambi, I don’t shave either.”

“I would have…” You mumble, heat flooding your cheeks that has nothing to do with arousal. “But I never expected this.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi.” Dieter scoffs. “I like the au natural look.” He promises. “It’s womanly.” He grips your thighs and ducks down to suck your clit into his mouth.

It’s a shock to your system that makes you tense up at first, keening at the sensation that is completely unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. No fumbling hand in your panties could ever come close to the sensation of hot breath and plush lips on your clit. Not that any of the boys that came before him ever even knew where your clit was. This is the kind of pleasure that makes your back arch and your brain shut off immediately.

Humming, he smirks against your mound. Reaching up to push your shirt up so he can reach your tits. Eager to touch them. He’s wanted to see your tits since he’s kissed you. You shiver under his attention, body responding to everything all at once and yet focused entirely on the places that he’s touching you. He grunts in disapproval when he feels you move, but it’s just so that you can peel your tank top off, stripping away your bra along with it to leave yourself completely bare for him.

Groaning, Dieter reaches up with both hands, filling them with your tits and massaging them as he spells his name into your folds with his tongue, making sure to flick it over your clit as much as possible.

The breadth of his frame keeps your legs pinned open, body moving in waves underneath him as you arch up and roll your hips down alternately. You’re trying to chase every single sensation possible as the pressure mounts in your core, unashamedly whimpering and moaning at every turn. By the time your legs are shaking you’ve nearly forgotten your own name, but you sure as hell remember his – chanting “Dee” in increasingly breathless moans until the damn breaks and your orgasm washes over you with an intensity you’ve never felt before.

For his part, he’s incredibly patient for a man in his twenties giving pleasure to someone else. Keeping his tongue sweeping over your nerves with practiced skill and precision, groaning when you shamelessly press yourself harder into his mouth. Wanting and willing you to come apart so he can witness the spectacular sight.

“Oh my fucking god.” Most of the time, you really don’t swear. It’s not a big part of your vocabulary, or at least it hasn’t been so far. But as the aftershocks of that first orgasm at his mercy roll through you, you can’t seem to form a sentence that doesn’t include a curse. “D—Dieter—shit…that was…” It was amazing, but you’re not sure if gushing about it just makes it all the more obvious that he’s the first person ever to make you cum that way.

He chuckles as he gives your soaked folds another lazy lick before turning his head and kissing along your thigh. “You enjoy that, Bambi? I fucking love the way you taste. So sweet for me.”

“You’re so fucking incredible.” Without him holding you in place, you easily twist down the bed to meet him, eagerly tasting your own essence on his lips and tongue. Some people might not like it – most men you’ve known say they don’t – but you don’t care. All you care about right now is being as close to him as possible.

The kiss is messy, frantic. Aided by your fingers pulling at his clothes. The role of shy virgin peeled away and he’s left with his Bambi who is desperate for him. Dieter groans, hating that his lips break away from yours long enough to pull his shirt over his head, he has to be the one thinking rationally. “Condom.” He gasps, nearly whining when you cup him through his pants.

Like a shock to your system, you pull your hand back immediately and look guiltily away. Since you never thought anything like this could happen in a million years, you certainly didn’t come prepared. “Shit…” the murmur that passes your lips is fully regretful and your face drops.

“No.” Dieter cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours firmly. “I need to get a condom.” He clarifies. “I have one.” He keeps them in his dresser. He was just so overwhelmed he was reminding himself he needed to protect you.

“Oh.” Your whole face burns in embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you look away. “Right. I—I knew that—”

“It’s not on you to provide condoms.” Dieter has a fucked up view on sex and love, but he had always been taught to fucking wrap it up. His father didn’t want scandals about his son catching the clap.

“Okay.” Taking it as fact from someone who knows far better than you, you nod your understanding and tentatively press in to kiss him softly. “Whatever you say.”

He smirks, wonderfully entranced with your easy acceptance and he shuffles over, still kissing you so that he can open the small nightstand and pull out a ribbon of condoms. “Fuck baby, you’re so good to me.” He groans. “Lay back. Let me get this on.”

There is no instinct in you to question him or the situation. Absolutely nothing matters more here or now than him, and you just naturally assume that you aren’t the only girl to have ever felt that way. After all, how could you be? He’s a movie star. Of course he’s had sex with plenty of other people. But your mind rings with him saying he wants to be the only one to touch you and it’s the most utterly special you’ve ever felt in your life.

Dieter hops off the bed and smirks, making a little show of stripping off his pants and underwear. Watching your eyes widen gives him a quick ego stroke. Ripping open the foil packet with his teeth, he frowns slightly as he rolls the rubber down his length and strokes himself a few quick times. “Are you ready?”

It’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before – you’ve had boyfriends after all – but this is more significant than a hand job after prom or messing around on spring break. This is something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. And you couldn’t be happier that it’s him, feeling like a string exists between the two of you that will keep you tied together forever. “I’m ready.”

Dieter climbs back onto the bed, his protected cock swinging underneath him as he slots himself into the cradle of your thighs. Taking his time to kiss you softly, letting it build up as if you have all the time in the world. The muted taste of rum on your tongue and your need are intoxicating and making him feel drunk off of you.

Desire outweighs your nerves, teaching your body how to move without the need for more formal instructions. Your hands wander and your hips roll, lips trailing down the column of his neck and tracing the prominent veins there in an attempt to memorize him completely. If he was handsome before – and he definitely was – he’s stunning now, moaning in your ear when your fingernails graze over his chest and scrape his nipple — which you somehow hadn’t realized was pierced in the darkness of his bedroom.

“Shit.” He hisses, cock throbbing at the sharp burst of pleasure. He rocks his hips forward, cock laying between your lips. “So sexy.” He moans quietly into your mouth when you find each other in the darkness again.

“What is?” You hum into the kiss, feeling emboldened by his praise. “This?” Nails finding their mark again, this time you bring both hands down his chest to play with the sensitive buds.

“Fuck, fuck.” Dieter whines, snapping his hips forward to grind against you. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.”

“You are, Dee.” The more he grinds against your mound, the slicker and more swollen your clit gets, making you lean into the motion more and more.

“You want me to slide inside you?” He asks, moans the question in your ear. “Break open your needy pussy on my cock?”

“Fuck.” Needy is definitely the right word, as you actually might combust if he doesn’t. “Please,” you nod frantically, rendering what he said about wanting you to beg. “Oh god, please do it—”

It takes just a moment for him to drop his hips and feel the tip of his cock catch at your dripping entrance. Your legs widen even more to let him in and he captures your lips again as he starts to rock forward. The feeling of fullness is indescribable, beginning right in the core of your whole self and spreading outward until even your fingers and toes feel different somehow. Even kissing him seems fuller now, although that might be from the reverberating moans you share as he sinks deeper inside your body.

“You’re so good.” He praises, breaking away from your lips so he can roll his hips back. “Tell me you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you. Tell me you are feeling this.” He begs quietly between kisses.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You promise him, shaking your head and brushing kisses across his lips and jaw. “Feels amazing, baby.” The little term of endearment slips without thinking about it. You might have been more self conscious or doubting about it if he weren’t inside you, but since he is you just relish it. The physical closeness and the intimacy of this moment that is so much more incredible than you could have expected. It is…different than you expected, though, and you squirm slightly under him. “So full, Dee. Fuck, I—does it feel as good for you?”

“So goddamn good.” He moans, ducking his head and tucking his face against your throat. Needing a minute himself shows how tight you get when you contract those muscles. “So good.”

The long moments – maybe whole minutes or more – that it takes both of you to get your breath back are exquisite. You start moving under him sooner than he moves on his own, not because you're impatient but because it feels too good not to. He takes his time establishing a rhythm. Letting you roll your hips up to meet his thrusts. Pinning you down every other thrust and letting you feel every inch of his cock as he pushes forward.

Every girl you know said that their first time was over in the blink of an eye, but this is practically lazy. Dieter is in no rush to have the night over with and though you're already climbing your way back up that immense mountain of pleasure, you're in no hurry for it to be over. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling a little bolder every time he groans at the tight squeeze of your velvet walls.

He’s determined to make this good for you. Kissing and sucking on your skin. Groaning because he feels how your walls tremble when he rasps in your ear. “So good baby.” He moans. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You'll feel him tomorrow in every way that counts, from the ache between your legs to the bruises he’s leaving on your skin. You'll taste him on your tongue and have the ghost of his kisses left on your lips, and every time you remember how deep his voice gets when he moans in your ear, your toes will curl all over again. Tonight, though, as you gasp and keen, wailing his name into the darkness, you can't help the curiosity rolling through you alongside the pleasure. "Want to t-try–" Gasping between thrusts, your lips practically tremble at his ear. "More, baby, please. I want to try everything."

“We will, baby.” He promises, twitching inside you. “Fuck, all of it. Gonna do everything with you, to you.” He wraps his hand around your shoulder to have better leverage to thrust into you.

"Everything." It's a vast, bottomless promise but somehow you don't doubt him. Like everything that he's done is everything that you're aching to try, and the things that he hasn't are the things that you were always meant to try together. The new angle he achieves with his arms wrapped around you like this gives him the perfect opportunity to strike a spot inside you that you've never felt before – one that turns keening wails of his name into shapeless cries and shouts, too lost in pleasure to even find words to express how fucking good it feels.

Once he gets that response out of you, Dieter clenches his teeth together and concentrates. Making sure he hits it again and again, wanting to hear you squeal his name. “There it is. Oh fuck, you gonna cum Bambi? You gonna soak my cock?”

Without enough presence of mind to even be able to form the word "Yes", you manage a nod, clinging to him and moaning so deeply you can feel it in your toes. It feels like you're about to shake apart and yet if you let go of him for even a second you might crumble from the inside out. Orgasms have never felt like this before – like a ticking time bomb inside your body might go off if he just strokes that spot inside you one more time.

Rocking into you is as close to secular prayer as Dieter has gotten…ever. “Oh god, oh god.” Is chanted on repeat, barely able to keep his eyes open as works his cock in and out of your pussy, poised on the edge of spasming around him.

It takes two more strokes, not one, but when you fall off the edge of pleasure you manage just a single syllable - crying "Dee!" Out into the night and sobbing as wave after wave of pleasure crests across the two of you. Your whole body seems to draw him in, cunt clenching and arms tightening, legs twitching at his waist before you slip away into a sky of stars that burst behind your eyes. The poets were not exaggerating, not one little bit.

He is tumbling right after you. Pushing as deep as he can with a worshipful groan of your name. Thankful for the condom because he would have never been able to pull out in time as he fills the prophylactic with a shudder.

The rush of endorphins that hits a second later has you giggling, dusting kisses across his lips and every inch of skin you can manage while pinned underneath him. “I—” As articulate as you try to be in everyday life, words fail you now. “Wow.”

As soon as Dieter gets done, he’s burrowing into your neck. Becoming an adorably snuggly koala. Always loving the post coitus high that comes from sex. “So fucking good.” He praises, scattering kisses over every inch of skin he can reach.

“You’re amazing.” Still working to catch your breath, your legs may drop back to the mattress but your arms keep him close.

Dieter’s hand slides between you to hold the condom as he pulls his hips back, but he doesn’t make any effort to move beyond that. “You’re amazing.” He counters. “How do you feel?”

“Empty.” The pout you throw at him and the way you bat your eyelashes is purely playful, but you do already mourn the loss of not having him inside you. “I feel amazing, baby.”

“Yeah? Give me twenty minutes and if you aren’t too sore we can go again.” Dieter chuckles quietly.

“You’re on.” The giddiness of it - the lightness - makes you feel like you’re floating on air. Either every girl you know was wrong, or you now have the world’s best experience of losing your virginity.

“I think I’ve created a monster.” Dieter moans playfully, pulling his head up so he can kiss the tip of your nose. “Wanna stay tonight?”

“Of course I do.” In this moment, you’re certain you would stay forever if he asked you.

“Okay.” Dieter kisses you again before he starts to actually move. “Let me get this condom off.”

******

“Clear the set!” The order goes out after everything has been readied, everyone but essential crew retreating to other tasks to allow for intimacy on set. It’s a day you’ve been anticipating with immense nerves. These last two weeks have been complicated — more time spent with Dieter and less fighting has only left you questioning how you feel about him all these years later. Things had happened that he never shared. That you never knew about. And while he still hurt you, you can understand now why he acted the way he did. Maybe even forgive it, if he ever asked you. This scene is one you have been nervous for, not for nudity but for having to be almost entirely naked in a bed with Dieter? It’s consumed almost every thought for the last few days leading up to this shoot. So much so that yesterday when he sat next to you in your trailer, you erupted in goosebumps and immediately put on a sweater.

Dieter slaps himself, looking in the mirror at his reflection. While the lack of eating had cut some unwanted pounds off of his belly, he was still nervous about this scene. Crazy considering he was never shy about flaunting his body no matter what kind of shape he was in. He was nervous now because it’s you. Since that day, things have changed but he can’t say that you have forgiven him. The awkward moments are still there, but you are treating him like he’s a fragile bird with a broken wing. Which, he is, but he doesn’t want to upset the very relieving truce between you. His own dickishness to keep you at arms length had fallen away, with a quiet desire to be with you starting to take hold.

Only a few people are on set when you come out of your trailer, wrapped in a robe and striding toward the newly-finished bedroom set that makes your palms sweat. But you’re a professional above all else, so you hand off your robe to the only production assistant and slip under the sheets.

“Remember she doesn’t actually want you.” Dieter had actually agreed to the modesty sock, even though he tries to avoid it as often as possible. The last time he had a scene where it called for one, he had taped his dick to his thigh.

“You’re wearing it?” When he hands off his robe to the PA you can’t even hate yourself for looking. You have to work with this man. To function around him. You can’t hate yourself for looking, but you can curse yourself for being affected by him. “I half expected you to show up naked like the Emperor showing off new clothing.”

“Didn’t think you would want to see me in all my middle aged glory.” Dieter jokes, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the bed. The intimacy coordinator is nearby but she had already said that she wanted to see how you organically greet each other.

“Why do you think I got here first?” You have to laugh at yourself, at least a little, being so anxious around the first man who ever saw you completely naked. It should be ridiculous, but instead your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest.

“Things have changed.” He also didn’t know what you would think about the…piercing he got after coming back to Hollywood. He doubts you’ve heard about it.

“You should get in.” Reflexively, you pull the sheets on the other side of the bedside to let him climb in, studiously keeping your eyes on his face.

It’s hard not to think back to that tiny apartment on the upper East side. Sharing a queen sized bed with you for months and thinking about asking you to move in when your lease was up. He has never told you that. Knowing it would just be another bittersweet symbol of the hurt he had done. Nodding, he slips beneath the sheets and settles on his back.

“I want to give you guys the chance to find a comfortable position organically,” Sam steps closer to the bed on set and crosses his arms over his chest. The director has no idea what has been going on between his lead actors, but he knows things are tense. “But you will have to touch. Sooner than eventually.”

Dieter twists his head and looks over at you, knowing that this scene calls for you to be on top of him. “Not like you haven’t been there before.” He murmurs quietly so no one else can hear.

You snort under your breath, knowing he’s right, and shift closer to him. It’s a simple matter of situating yourself above his waist, but you’re desperately afraid of giving yourself away when you do. Not that you might be aroused - being in a room full of relative strangers - but that he’ll remember the other things. Goosebumps and shallow breath, the way you squirm when something feels particularly good.

“It’s okay, Bambi.” Dieter knows that you are an accomplished actress. He might have a copy of every thing you’ve ever been in, but you are biting your lip like you are that shy virgin all over again. His chest aches with how badly he wants to kiss you. “You’re a professional. Just another day at work.”

“We both know it’s not.” It’s sweet of him to say so, though, and you hate the way it makes you ache that he’s started using your nickname in private again. It takes a deep breath on your part before you have the nerve to sit up, twisting the sheet around you for modesty and making it pool around the place you’re connected. It looks perfectly like you’re straddling him but you’re actually hovering a few inches north of where actual sex would require you to be. And yet? All either of you would have to do is shift once and you would be in place.

“No, it’s not.” Dieter can agree to that and his hand slowly slides up to hover over your waist. “Can I touch you?” He asks before setting his hand on your skin.

Goosebumps. You can feel them the second they happen, but there’s nothing you can do now. They’re there, and Sam has noticed enough to call for the heat to be turned up on set, mistaking it for you being cold. “We’ll never get through this if we can’t at least touch each other.”

“Figured I would ask.” He shrugs, not giving a damn if it takes longer than Sam would like. It’s more important that his partner is comfortable. He can’t flirt and joke like he would with someone else, because of your history together.

“And I appreciate that.” Tentatively, you let both of your hands down onto his chest the way the script had described. If Sam wants it changed, he can say so. Right now you’re just trying to baby step your way to even a tiny bit of comfort. “Are you…okay? I’m not sitting on you weirdly or something, am I?”

“I’m good, just let me…” Dieter slides his hand between the two of you to adjust the ‘sock’. “I’ll try to keep it under control.” He murmurs.

It takes a second, but the half-guilty and half-flattered grin that overtakes your face comes with a snort of amusement to cap it all off. You snort again, suppressing a giggle, and shake your head at him. “Good luck with that. He has a mind of his own.” Sam hasn’t said a word as he watches the two of you get comfortable, but even he smiles seeing you relax.

“Okay,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s just find the motion, before we add in the dialogue. I want you guys to see how easy or awkward or difficult it will be for you to switch places from here. Dieter, just go ahead and roll her over carefully, and that will lead us into the kiss and the rest of the dialogue.”

There is a thirty second pause. Ten seconds of that is Dieter staring up at you, as himself. Then the set of his jaw changes, his eyes darken and his brow pulls down just enough to signal a change into character. He’s not Dieter Bravo now, he’s the character he’s bringing to life. His arm swings around you and his hips roll, making a seamless transition to push you under him and as blocked out, his mouth fuses to yours in a frenzy of need and lust.

It’s acting. It’s all acting, you promise yourself, not letting yourself react in any way beyond wrapping your arms around his shoulders and returning the rapacious kiss. It’s false. Entirely the character in a way that the scenes of the two of you screaming at each other truly isn’t. “Hold.” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, his footsteps on the wooden floor audible over the heavy breathing in the set. It might have been false, but it was still a kiss. “Try it again,” Sam insists. “Less forceful this time?” He hums while he thinks – a habit of his.

“Maybe we can get a beat of looking into each other’s eyes right before the kiss?”

That seems to be a good idea to the young director, and he nods. “Make the decision,” he tells Dieter. “I want to see you make the decision to have her.”

Dieter nods and resets, waiting for you to get back into position and covered like you had been before. It takes less time to slip into the skin of his character this time and the way he holds your eyes is more assessing before you see the way his face changes almost imperceptibly. Rolling you over again and the kiss is less forceful but just as passionate as the last.

This time your fingers are in his hair when Sam calls for a hold, and it takes you a second to come back to yourself, but the real problem is that kissing him again is doing things to you. You squirm slightly, hoping no one notices, and try to clear your mind enough to pay attention to whatever the hell Sam is saying. At the very least, you’re just determined not to make eye contact with Dieter between these rehearsal moments. It’ll give you away – but you aren’t even sure what feeling you would be betraying at this point.

“Something’s missing,” Sam is saying when you finally tune in. “There’s so much honesty…and I don’t…” He huffs out a sigh. “I don’t believe you. Either of you. When you hated each other, I believed you. The confusion, the yearning, the—everything else. But I don’t believe that when the cameras cut, you’re going to tear each other apart.”

Dieter frowns slightly. “What do you mean?” He huffs, not sure what the director is looking for. The way your hand had tugged at his hair with just the right pressure had made him start to harden. He had been working so hard on holding himself back. Not making it real.

“I mean…” Sam pauses, trying to suss out the right way to explain it. “There’s something about the other scenes that makes me hold my breath when you two get going. Something honest about them. But I’m not holding my breath now.”

“So you’re saying…” you sigh, pinned underneath Dieter and trying desperately not to react to what might be his cock twitching or might just be the fabric of the modesty sock against your thigh. “You can tell that we’re acting?”

Dieter mulls over the director's words, his fingers pressing against the divot of your hip and he nods. “We’ll reset and then I’m going to change it slightly.” He offers, looking down at you and silently asking for permission.

“You have an idea?” The question is more or less rhetorical, but he nods and you swallow your nerves. “Okay. Let’s reset.”

Dieter reaches down between you and removes the modesty sock and shoves it under the pillow to hide it from the crew as you adjust.

The second you sit up again to put your leg over his waist, your eyes widen and you look down at Dieter with an expression halfway in between murdering him and melting. Even if you'd never sat on his cock before you would definitely realize the difference between fabric and skin, and you swallow a gasp when you look down at him. "This is your idea?" You whisper, shifting on his lap to try to raise yourself up off of him so you're not sitting directly on what is now his hardening cock.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dieter shoots back with a snort before he grins at you. “Hey—”

Cutting him off by settling yourself directly on top of him isn't quite the victory you imagine it is, because you have to bite your lip to keep from reacting and end up pinching your eyes shut as you twist to wrap the sheet around you again. Thank god, at least, for pasties. No one needs to see your nipples bud and pebble with arousal. "This is going to be interesting," you murmur, looking down at him from this more-familiar position. There's a pretty solid chance that this counts as cock warming. Or it would, if your own modesty garment weren't in the way.

Dieter bites back a groan and stares up at you. “Do you want to have sex with me?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"The first time you asked me that, the answer was my virginity," you remind him extremely quietly, as if he might have forgotten what had happened then. The problem, though? Is that you want to say yes. You actually, completely, in this exact moment – you want to say yes.

This time, the expression is less the character and more Dieter. Letting his own emotions and confusing needs blend with that of his character, reaching up and cupping your breast over the sheet while he rolls you under him desperately.

You don't gasp this time, but whine. It's your sound, the one you make naturally, and the one that is automatic when Dieter grinds against your core. Your eyelashes flutter of their own accord and your hand reaches to grasp his hip in turn. The internal war of whether or not to succumb to him that your character is supposed to be having reads in your confused eyes as clearly as a neon sign, and this time when he leans down to kiss you, you meet him halfway there.

This time, there's a need that is more raw, realistic. It’s his need. His want that comes through the slot of his lips against yours. The subtle slide of his tongue into your mouth.

The hand you have in his hair pulls a little harder this time, your body lifts off the mattress and your other arm wraps around his torso to drag him closer instead of draping prettily on his shoulders. It's barely acting, in the sense that you're currently presenting as two fictional characters. That's the surface of what is happening, as you moan softly into his kiss. But the fact is that if he slipped inside you right now, you probably wouldn't hesitate to let him have you right there on that set. Which...is something you're going to need to think about later when your mind isn't completely fogged by desire.

Dieter doesn’t pull back, doesn’t stop kissing you. His hand squeezes your tit softly, knowing that there are thirty people watching the two of you simulate working up to having sex.

Neither of you heard the command from your director to hold, too wrapped up in each other and too overwhelmed by the pounding of your own blood to have noticed. It's only when you break the kiss to have a gasp of air and turn your head to the side for Dieter to trail his lips down your neck that you open your hazy eyes and see Sam standing there with his arms crossed and a slightly gobsmacked look on his face. "Well," he chuckles, when you snap back to reality and open your eyes in his direction. "That's more like it. Let's reset and get ready to roll cameras."

Dieter pants and closes his eyes, leaning down and pressing his head against your clavicle for a second before he moves over onto his back again. “That’s what you want?” He asks Sam, wanting to make sure he doesn’t need to change anything.

"See if you can add a growl without making it sound forced." Sam chuckles at the thought and steps off the edge of the set, bound for the chair with his name on it.

Dieter chuckles, closing his eyes for a moment and blowing out a deep sigh to try to calm down his raging boner. “Sounds good.”

“Need another second?” Since you know what he did - and have an inkling as to how thin the shred of Dieter’s self control can be, you don’t want to just hop back on his waist without warning. You’d either knee him in the dick by accident or end up making him moan out loud for real.

“I’m good.” Dieter knows that you are fully aware of what is going on under the sheet, and another conversation will need to happen. He will have to apologize to you. But for now, he reaches for you so he can be as close as he can be to you.

Onto his lap one more time, you wrap the sheet around your torso artfully and let the set dresser nitpick the specific placement of things until she’s satisfied and steps away. You place your hands on his bare chest and note with a frown that his own previously pierced nipple has healed through, but school your expression back into place when Sam calls for “Action!”

This time, Dieter gives the scene his all. Taking his need up a notch and just like Sam had asked, he included a small growl into the scene as he rolls you under him again and presses against you.

It’s a fucking miracle you can remember your lines or deliver then clearly enough for the boom mic hanging a foot and a half over Dieter’s head to pick up, because when Sam calls cut you half want to kick everyone off set and just rip the sheet away. “Let’s just set up for the next scene,” Sam instructs, sending the crew scurrying all around you. “Guys, you’re doing great,” he promises, stepping back up onto the set. “I want to try the image two ways – once spooning and once having you face each other. We’ll see which one we like better in post, okay?”

“S-sure—” You manage a vague nod, trying to remember what the next shot even is. Ah. Right. It’s him watching you sleep. The page in the script has whispered words of love and a kiss to your head while you sleep, and you had decided stubbornly not to read it ever again after the read through. The idea of Dieter ever saying sweet things to you again had been horrible at the time. But now? It twists deep in your heart how much you have to admit to missing those days.

The first set up is Dieter facing you. He’s managed to slip back on the modesty sock and his cock is only half hard now that the scene has cooled down and he doesn’t have his hands on you. “You good, Bambi?” He asks quietly after you get positioned.

“I’m good.” You have to be. There’s no option to go running off the set because you got horny and emotional during the last shot. “I just…” A soft exhale comes when you rest your head on the pillow next to him. “I wasn’t expecting Sam to want more.”

“No, no, no.” Sam huffs, like he has developed sonar hearing out of nowhere. “Get closer. You guys look like you’re politely keeping your distance at your in-laws. Sprawl out over Dieter,” he instructs you, coming back onto the set to look at things from the angle he wants. “One leg over his, hand on his chest. Intimate.”

Dieter reaches for you, pulling you closer and draping his arm around you. He moves closer and presses his face right up against you. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly.

“Hey.” It’s just a little whisper, but you smile as you flick your eyes up to look at him before closing them again when Sam pronounces the shot to be perfect. “You’re comfy,” you murmur before you can stop yourself, and squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.

Dieter sighs softly, reaching up and his fingers brush over your cheek. “Dee! Wait for the call!” Sam yells, making him drop his hand. That part hadn’t been scripted.

“Yeah, Dee,” you can’t help the way you giggle under your breath, like you ought to be sticking out your tongue at him. Under the sheets, though, your hand comes to rest softly on his chest after not really being sure where to go. It’s a small gesture of comfort between you, but it’s there.

There's a small grin, quickly squashed before you close your eyes and Dieter settles down. When the director finally calls 'Action!', he reaches up again to brush your face lightly as he watches your face. "I do love you." He whispers softly, "I'm not a good man, I don't know why I am the way I am. I don't want to say the things that come out of my mouth." He murmurs quietly. "You are my world, even when you aren't around."

Professionalism, you remind yourself, trying desperately to keep your eyes shut and not react at all even though you’re fighting every instinct you have that wants to surge up and kiss him now that that dam has been broken again. It’s all you can do to keep perfectly still until Sam calls cut and tells you to hold your position so they can fiddle with the camera position for another angle. Your eyes flutter open, lip bitten as you try not to smile too much. “Good line delivery,” you murmur quietly, looking up at Dieter from your place in his chest.

"Dee, Dee." Sam tuts and walks over. "You are a man in love." He stresses. "Obsessed and yet completely aware that you have treated your lady wrong. This is supposed to be almost like your act of atonement." He sighs and motions. "Reset."

“You okay?” The direction seems harsh to you, but you don’t want to get in the middle of things. Your only job right now is to not react, but you still check on him.

"I'm good." Dieter brushes off your concern and waits for you to close your eyes again. Channeling images of the last time he saw you twelve years ago, watching you take your bow on stage before he turned around and walked out of that theatre and your life "Action!"

There’s something Sam is looking for but he can’t quite describe it. There’s a feeling that he’s gotten from the other big scenes that has made him want to alternately jump out of his chair in excitement or apologize for intruding on such an intimate moment. That’s what he’s looking for.

There are tears in his eyes when the director calls for the scene to end. The dialogue changed slightly, more personalized. Words that he had wished he could have said to you so many years ago come pouring out of his mouth as his fingers fan your face, tenderly brush over your features as if he’s memorizing every curve and valley.

“I don’t think we need to do the other set up.” Sam decides, apparently satisfied with the set up and the reset he has just gotten. With his hands on his hips, he seems to look at you and Dieter in that bed on set but not see you at all. “Good work today. Let’s call it an early night tonight.”

Blinking, Dieter shuffles back from you as Desiree rushes over with his robe. "Good work, Dee." She coos as he sits up and shrugs into the robe. He's a little raw, unable to look over at you at the moment as the lines between his character and himself have blurred more than he had anticipated. "Thanks."

“Dee?” Sadie has your robe out to you barely a second later, and you thank her with a nod and a silent moment of eye contact before turning back to him. “Can we…um…can we maybe talk?” The last few weeks have been so careful – such a tiptoeing around each other – that you haven’t done much meaningful talking. Just surface level stuff or spending time together in relative silence. Now, though, you feel like you need to talk to him or you’ll burst.

Nodding, he stands and quickly ties the robe shut. “Ten minutes?” He asks, needing a few moments to try and find an emotional balance so he doesn’t collapse against you and sob. “Or back at the hotel?”

“I’ll meet you at your trailer and we can drive back together?” You’re afraid of losing your nerve if you wait too long, but you also don’t want to scare him. Dieter can be like a horse sometimes – he spooks easily.

Agreeing, he gives you a quick nod and turns around to practically run back to the safety of his trailer. Feeling exposed and vulnerable as Desiree rushes along beside him.

“Do you guys have plans tonight?” You loop one arm through Sadie’s on the way back to your own trailer, trying to keep your spirits up.

“Just a night in.” Sadie admits with a grin. The relationship is everything she’s wanted and to be honest, she’s not looking forward to when the filming wraps. “With Dieter behaving, Desiree wants to stick close by just in case and to relax.”

“So if I send a bottle of something bubbly and dessert from room service, should it be to your room or hers?” Seeing Sadie this happy has been such a sweet thing. She’s not only fantastically on the ball as an employee but she’s also been just a wonderful influence on your life in general, and you want to do everything you can to help that happiness grow for her.

“I think I’m staying in her room tonight. But you don’t have to do that.” She protests. “Dieter just has her room number memorized and he might call on the hotel phone since he likes that better than cell phones.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” At the door to your trailer, you unlock and push inside first to let her in after you. “You take such amazing care of me. If I can do little things now and then to make you smile, I’m going to.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you back to the hotel?” She had assumed you meant to ride with Dieter and the assistants ride together since the cars needed to get back.

“You and Des enjoy some quiet time. I’ll drive Dieter and me.” Amongst other eccentricities, the man hates to drive. It’s secretly one of the reasons he loves cities and having an assistant. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car voluntarily since he got his license. “I—honestly I kind of need to talk to him. And I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to say.”

“The scenes were very…intimate.” Sadie answers honestly. “I know you are on better terms but talking will be good.”

“It was…a lot more intimate than it looked.” Disappearing into the tiny trailer bathroom to peel the modesty garment off your skin – thank god for bikini waxes – you re-emerge a second later and step into the little bedroom for clean clothes. “If not for that shred of adhesive, we would officially be making a porn.”

“Did he remove the sock?” Sadie asks, “Desiree swears she saw him remove the sock.”

Half-dressed, you stick just your head around the door of the little room to look Sadie dead in the eyes. “Oh yeah.” You confirm with a look of slight desperation. “Your girlfriend’s got a sharp eye.”

“Jesus.” Sadie shakes her head in horror. “I– what was he thinking?” She is still operating under the assumption that while things are better between you, you want nothing to do with Dieter Bravo once this movie ends.

“That it would be a more authentic reaction from both of us.” You shove away from the door again long enough to pull on your blouse and cardigan before coming out. “Which, let’s be fair. He was right. But I—” You blow out a breath and shrug your shoulders almost desperately. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Sadie. I don’t know what I feel, I don’t know what I want, and I don’t know what he wants either. It’s going to drive me crazy to do this whole movie without knowing when he’s crossing the line into reality and when he’s not.”

“Oh God.” Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open slightly. Realizing that her boss is falling in love with the man who broke her heart again. “Yes.” She decides firmly, nodding. “You need to talk.”

“The trouble is that talking to Dieter Bravo is like talking to a forest sprite or a fae or something.” With another shake off your head, you reach into the mini fridge for your water bottle and sigh after a sip. “You’re not going to get a straight answer, or if you do, it’s not going to be anything like you expected. And it’s going to cost you just for asking.”

“But you love him.” She murmurs quietly.

“I—” Most of the time, you really would like to think that you know yourself. The things that you want and the things that will help you be healthy and happy. Right now? You really don’t know if the thing you want is going to be good for you at all. “I don’t think I ever stopped,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think you can be as angry as I was with him for so long without there still being love left. That’s why it hurt so much.”

Sadie walks over to you, taking your hands in hers and staring into your eyes. “I love you, you are my friend and I want nothing but the best for you.” She assures you softly. “Talk to him. Be honest and make sure you know what you are getting into.”

“I love you too, honey.” While most of Hollywood would tell you that you were silly or overly sentimental for being friends with your assistant, but you hold her in a tight hug and let the tension roll out of you for a minute before exhaling deeply. “Okay. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” She’ll cross her fingers and her toes for you if it means that you can have a significant, meaningful conversation with Dieter.

Dieter’s trailer is only a few doors down, and you walk over together so Sadie can pick up Desiree at the same time. You swear it feels like walking out in front of a judge when you knock on the trailer door, but since you haven’t been sick from nerves in years, it’s still a win.

Desiree opens the door with a grin. “Come on in. Dieter is just finishing getting dressed.”

“Long day.” The sun has well since set, and if it weren’t for how tense the last few hours had been, you would probably be starving.

“It has been.” Desiree nods, having calmed her boss down enough to be able to change and interact like a semi-normal human being after a small cry. “We are planning on marking it an early night. And he asked me to order room service for both of you.”

“That sounds like a good plan. And thank you.” Desiree’s exceptional eye for details and time spent with Sadie means she zeroed in on your favorite foods extremely quickly and anytime you’ve eaten with Dieter or as a group, she’s been pretty on point ordering for you. Although, the last time that the four of you all had room service together, you had splurged on luxury items and watched a few episodes of Black Sails together. That was actually a very fun night.

Dieter emerges from the back bedroom wearing a pair of loose palazzo style pants, a t-shirt and a crocheted sweater with his crocs. Hair still wet from his five minute shower and his face shiny and free of makeup. “Hey.” He murmurs quietly when he sees you, rubbing his hands on his pants nervously.

“Hey.” It’s such a small word for all the big things you’re feeling, but you put on a smile and point your finger at the door. “I’ll drive. You can look out the windows or meditate on the way back if you want.”

Swallowing hastily, Dieter nods. "Thanks, you know how much I hate driving." Especially here he was always driving on the wrong damn side of the road. It was nerve wracking. "Are you ready? I'm ready."

“Yeah, I’m ready.” To drive, anyway. You have no idea if you’re ready for this conversation. At least the hotel isn’t more than a twenty-minute drive away.

“Okay.” Dieter is the last one out of the trailer even though Desiree locks it for him. Trailing behind you and waiting for some kind of sign about what you want to talk about. Fingers twitching as he reaches for the ever-present candy in his pocket.

“You’re not in trouble,” you murmur with a shake of your head, opening his door for him when you reach the rental car.

“Shouldn’t I open the door for you?” He frowns at the reversal of roles and the way that all the women in his life are walking on eggshells around him right now.

“I was just trying to be nice…” It makes you frown much more deeply than you expected when the small act of kindness seems to upset him. And within seconds you’re rethinking everything you wanted to say, wondering if you didn’t just get caught up in the moment with him all over again.

“I know.” He blows out a sigh and shakes his head as you put on your seatbelt. “I just – I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not – I should be apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” If you surprise yourself with the honesty of it, he must be shocked. “Not really. I mean…I could have told you no. Or to put the damn sock back on. But I didn’t.” Both of you are buckled in and the car is on, but you haven’t pulled out of the lot yet. “Maybe it says more about me than it does about you, I don’t know. But the last few weeks have really…they’ve really proved to me…” You blow out an unsteady breath. “How much I’ve missed you.”

He bites his lip, closing his eyes and wondering briefly if he’s imagined you saying that. He’s had auditory hallucinations when he’s detoxed before and it’s been nearly seventy-two hours since he’s done anything more potent than weed or ‘shrooms. “I– can you say that again.” He begs softly. “Please?”

Your hand reaches carefully over the console, covering his larger one but not pressing any further. Just simple skin on skin in the most innocent way possible. “I missed you, Dee.”

“I miss you too.” Dieter turns his hand over and squeezes yours when your palm hits his. “I– today was– it wasn’t my character.” He confesses quietly. “It was me.”

“Apparently, it was both.” There’s a certain amount of pride in your voice for that fact, and you squeeze his hand back more tightly this time. “But…I was sort of hoping you would say that…that I was right when I heard you through the lines.”

“I’ve never done that.” He shakes his head in amazement. “Never.”

“Not even the first day of filming?” It seems silly to ask, but that moment had felt so real. Hell, it had been real enough for you to go berserk on him at the tea shop.

Dieter frowns and tries to remember what the first day of filming was. His brows shoot up when he remembers. “No.” He shakes his head furiously. “Not– no, I– not even then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pull the slap.” It was unprofessional if nothing else, and you do regret hurting him. It had been such a horrible, complicated day. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. No matter how upset I was.”

“I deserved it.” Dieter can admit that. He absolutely deserved that. He had been hurt that you had seemed to anticipate it with glee, but he thinks you hadn’t enjoyed it very much afterwards. You hadn’t gloated, at least.

“This is the kind of stuff I wanted to talk to you about.” Carefully pulling the car out of its space and through the lot, you weave into London nighttime traffic deftly. “I just…I’m anxious as hell to talk about any of this. But I feel like the longer I put it off…I’ll psych myself out or convince myself that I’m overreacting. Or reading into things too much.”

“If I overstepped…..I’m sorry.” Dieter turns his head and looks out at the passing city. His heart aches when he realizes that he had been hoping for some kind of reunion of sorts but it sounds like you are not interested. “I know that when we are done with the press junket and whatever that you won’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Dee...” His hand is still encompassing yours and you thread your fingers through his when you hear the heartbreak in his voice. “That’s kind of the opposite of where I wanted to go with this conversation,” you admit quietly.

“Wha—” he doesn’t trust himself to ask that question. Instead he just turns and looks at you in confusion.

“I don’t know how any of this will work with us now.” When you sigh this time it’s admitting to yourself that yes, this conversation is happening in a moving vehicle so no, you absolutely can’t cry during it. “We’re different people than we used to be in a lot of ways, but at the same time the fundamentals of who we are…well, they’re kind of baked into us.” At the next stop light, you turn to look at him and are so sure you see hope in his eyes. “And I don’t know how it would work. Or if it would work. But of all the things I regret, I don’t want to regret not taking a second chance when we had it.”

“You want….me?” Dieter asks, bewildered by that confession. “Like– another chance? You want to give me another chance?” He’s so confused, but his voice breaks. “Y-yeah.”

“I had planned on being more eloquent than this.” A whole speech had been forming in your head, rolling over and over as you tried to figure out exactly what you wanted to say. But in the end it has turned out not to matter. “I had this whole plan. I was going to have champagne and chocolates sent to Sadie and Des and to us and make it this whole romantic thing and I just…please don’t take the fact that I asked you like this instead of doing something absurdly romantic to mean that I’m any less sincere.”

“You wanted to give me chocolates and champagne?” His voice sounds awe-filled, as if he had never even had someone consider doing something like that for him. “We can still have them. I’ll order them.” He offers, squeezing your hand again.

“Then it’s you giving them to me and not me giving them to you…” The distinction is important to you, considering there was a time when you couldn’t give him more than a glass of water.

“I–okay.” He murmurs quietly. “Um,” he glances back at you briefly before looking out the window again. “This isn’t because you feel sorry for me, is it?” He doesn’t know if it would hurt him more or less than he had already been hurting.

“No.” The speed of your answer should probably speak for yourself, but you still keep a hold of his hand. “Pity isn’t a foundation for a relationship.”

His sigh of relief is quiet, but he knows you hear it. Realistically, he knows he doesn’t deserve another chance. Not after what he’s done, but you are giving him one. “Good.”

“It’s…” you steer the car into the underground parking below the hotel you’re staying at and glance over at him as darkness overtakes the car. “It’s because kissing you…even on set, even through the lens of characters…” Your voice is shaking as you park the car and you can hear it, so there’s no doubt he can too. “Kissing you today felt like coming home.”

“I’ve never been happier than in that little shitty apartment, wrapped up with you.” Dieter admits, swallowing down the thick emotions. “Not even winning that fucking Oscar.”

Now that the car is parked and things are out in the open, you sink back in your seat and unbuckle your seatbelt. “Maybe we’ll win one together this time,” you tease, trying not to think of the note he sent to your house after you lost a few months ago. That wasn’t really him. It was a coping mechanism.

“Yeah.” Dieter nods. “I meant what I said to you. You deserved it, and hopefully next time you’re nominated, you win.”

“You sent me a note that said ‘Whoops. Better luck when Meryl isn’t nominated.’” Actually saying it out loud makes you pause, and you shake your head at yourself for getting so wrapped up in seven stupid words.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, wincing slightly. “It’s Meryl, I’m happy I don’t have to go up against her.” He huffs. “You would have won if her movie had come out the next year.”

“Come on.” One more squeeze of his hand and you let it go to pull the keys from the ignition and retrieve your purse from the backseat. “Let’s go upstairs? I’ll catch hell from Desiree if I don’t feed you, and that girl is scary when she defends you.”

Chuckling, he climbs out of the car. “She scares me.” He admits with a grin. “I think that’s why my agent loves her.”

“Your agent loves her because she is impossible for you to talk into your bed.” You grin at him as you round the hood of the car and hold out your hand for him to take again.

“That too.” He admits shamelessly. “Girl doesn’t like dick at all.” He huffs, smirking slightly. She had a knack for putting him in his place and it was something that was needed every now and again.

“She and Sadie have that in common.” The elevator to go upstairs isn’t far away and you let Dieter press the call button as you unconsciously lean into his side. “They’re very sweet together. I think Sadie’s nervous that you and I won’t be on good terms when filming ends. Like that would affect their relationship. I didn’t…I didn’t really tell her what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Not all of it, anyway.”

“You aren’t giving me another chance because of your assistant, are you?” He’s joking, but he stares at you suspiciously.

“No.” The elevator doors open and you nudge him inside, pressing the button for your floor yourself. “I’m asking if you want to try again because I’ve…I’ve never loved anyone in the world as much as you.”

“There’s a reason why I couldn’t get a relationship to last.” Dieter admits quietly. “They weren’t you. And I fucked up the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Well…” The elevator car starts to move and you shrug a little. “Better later than never. Isn’t it?”

“Twelve years later.” Dieter sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bambi.”

“The person who owes us both an apology is your father.” Something which you will never get, unfortunately. “But barring that? I’d say…maybe we focus on the future instead of the past?”

The idea of a fresh start isn’t new to Dieter, they talk about that shit all the time in therapy but he bobbles his head, wanting it now. “Okay.” He agrees quickly.

From the elevator to his room, the two of you stay connected long enough to get inside and long enough for you to call room service for those bottles of bubbly and boxes of chocolates that you had planned for. According to the staff member on the other end, Desiree has already arranged your dinners. “I swear,” you hum, resting your head on his chest. “Between the two of them, they might start reading our minds.”

“I think they know us better than we know ourselves.” Dieter huffs, pleased that you have wanted to do something for him. “Um–” Dieter rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a little shy about showing you his sketchbook since you had freaked out last time. “Do you want to see the rest of my sketches?” He asks quietly. You’ve done something for him, so he wants to do the same.

"Yes." They're intensely personal to him, you understand that now. It was something you couldn't wrap your head around before and you're embarrassed by how you reacted weeks ago. "I'm sorry I–um...is there any real way to repair the book? I'm so sorry, Dee..."

“I redrew it.” Dieter admits. “When I was – when I was high.”

"You've been doing that less." There's no judgment behind it. It's just an observation on your part. He's barely touched anything in the last few weeks, and nothing dangerous at that.

“You said you were worried.” Dieter explains. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

"How do you feel without it?" Mostly you were worried that he was going to overdose out of sheer desperation or depression, but from everything you can see, he's actually doing okay being more sober on a day-to-day basis. Or maybe he's just a good enough actor to get through the daily motions of life on autopilot.

“I–I don’t know?” He shrugs carelessly. “Weird. It’s all too bright.”

"That's the pot. It makes you more photosensitive. Not to a degree that could hurt you, but just enough that sunglasses are good." You follow him through to the bedroom of his suite where he keeps his sketchbooks, shrugging your own shoulders in turn when he looks at you in confusion. "I–I did some reading. In case you started having withdrawal symptoms or anything like that."

“I don’t know if I should have known or shake my head at you.” He snorts. “I’m sure you could have asked Desiree. I think the woman has a binder of all the drugs I take and their effects.”

"I wanted to put in the effort myself." It means a lot to you, to be able to step out of your comfort zone for him, and it probably is an obvious clue that you still felt strongly about him far before you were able to admit it to yourself. "What if something happened to you on her day off? Or in the middle of the night when I'm here and she isn't?"

Dieter swallows and feels guilty for putting so much responsibility on you. “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay." Your hand touches his arm gently and you offer him a smile, not wanting to dwell on too many heavy things all at once. "Do you still want to show me your sketches?"

“Yeah.” Dieter picks up the book and hesitates for a moment before he offers it to you. Reminding himself that you wouldn’t tear it up again. Maybe you would be impressed with the sketches now that you aren’t angry at him.

Cradling the book carefully, you sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed and smile at the fact that Desiree found time to make it – because he certainly didn't do it himself. The early pages of the sketchbook are rough images of your face with your eyes closed, followed by several more that concentrate entirely on your eyes being open. As the book goes on, the images become larger and more varied. A full page is dedicated to a sketching of you wearing a dress that you particularly loved – it had been in magazines, if you recall correctly. The designer was someone previously unknown who had sent you a thank you card for mentioning her name to a reporter. The ones of you smiling are the most remarkable, though. With nothing but pencils, paper, and raw talent, he's made you more lifelike in that book that you are in some days of your own life. "They're..." you exhale shakily when you flip to a page that shows you sleeping. One hand lays in front of your face with a ring on your finger, almost like a dream. "They're stunning, Dee. You're incredible."

“I–” Dieter reaches out and touches the binding of the book. “I bring this book with me everywhere.” He admits quietly. “Desiree never touches my backpack. I don’t allow her to. It’s my carryon.”

"You bring me everywhere?" It touches you far more than you can really say, sticking in your throat and making you swallow thickly.

“Yeah.” Dieter knows that it’s dumb, perhaps even creepy to someone if they were to think about it. “Just– wanted you to know.”

"I'm flattered." When you reach for this hand this time you press a kiss to his palm and smile. "And I'm sorry again for...for being so over dramatic about discovering them. You have every right to express yourself and keep your memories however you want to."

“I get it.” He hadn’t been able to recreate that sketch in the new book. Not wanting to see that look again. “I understand, I do.”

"Maybe in the future there can be happier reasons to draw." Trying as hard as you can to lighten the mood, you tip your chin back to look at him and waggle your eyebrows. "Or sexy reasons?"

“Yeah?” Dieter’s brows shoot up and he gets a hopeful look on his face. “Would you model for me sometime?”

"I'm surprised you never asked me to before." You chew on your lip, brows furrowing. "Or...did you not draw back then?"

“Not really. Nothing beyond doodles.” Dieter snorts. “The idea of Baxter Bravo’s son being an artist beyond the silver screen was never an option.”

"You can do whatever you want now, you know." Arguably, he could before. But abusive parents have a way of caging in their children that cannot be easily broken. "I mean...even if you wanted to go as far as quitting acting altogether, you could."

“What the hell would I do?” Dieter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Not even imagining what he would do since he’s not doing as many drugs and he doubts you would be interested in orgies.

"I'm not saying that you have to, or even that you should. You're an amazing actor, and you did deserve that Oscar." A knock on the suite door has you standing from his bed and putting the sketchbook back down on the blankets. "I just want you to be happy. That's all."

Happy. What would that entail? He frowns as you open the door, thinking about what would actually make him happy. You, for one. You would make him happy. He watches as they wheel in the cart of food and you sign off on the bill. “What did she order us?” He asks, striding over as the server discreetly exits.

"Looks like a roast dinner for two." The covered platters of beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, and Yorkshire pudding are as English as it gets, and the boat of gravy is steaming away happily. Beside it, the ice bucket of champagne and box of chocolates are a decadent cap to the meal. "She ordered us a celebration."

“Sounds good.” Dieter has showered but you are still wearing remnants of the makeup from the set. “Do you want to shower before we eat?” He asks, wondering if you would go back to your room after dinner or stay. Feeling off kilter from the way things have turned out. Who knew you would be the stronger of the two of you?

“Five minutes?” Considering your room is right next to his, you could be in and out in no time and come back in pajamas. “Everything will stay warm if we keep the lids on and…if today’s already been a lot we can just watch a movie or something. I don’t really mind…I just…” It feels so silly, yet it’s true. “I just want to be around you.”

“You could always shower here.” He offers quietly. “But – no, that’s stupid.” He shakes his head and waves. “Go shower and change. I’ll be right here.”

“Why is that stupid?” You tilt your head at him.

“You don’t have clothes and I–” he shrugs one shoulder. “I know that it’s dumb to not want you to leave for five minutes.”

“I—” Biting back the suggestion at first, a smirk ends up creeping across your face anyway. “If I shower after dinner I just…might not get dressed afterward?” It wasn’t so many hours ago that he was grinding against you in that bed on set and the memory is still making you a little hazy.

Dieter has been trying sooooo hard not to turn things sexual, especially given the way that he had finally been on even ground with you. Groaning quietly, he bites his lip. “What would you wear?” He’s a little breathless at the thought, remembering how you looked even with the modesty garments on.

“Um…I was kind of leaning toward wearing nothing? But I can borrow one of your shirts if that’s too fast or too uncomfortable.” The question makes you stumble a little, wondering if you misread any of the conversation that the two of you have been having. He had said that nothing this afternoon was faked, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s ready to just dive into bed with you.

Dieter closes his eyes for a moment, lips parted as if he is in prayer. “I–I can’t guarantee I won’t get down on my fucking knees and beg to touch you,” he admits, cock twitching in his pants. “Fuck.”

The reverence and desperation in his voice has your eyes flicking up to meet his again, and your lips twist into a relieved smile. “I wouldn’t be suggesting that I get naked in your hotel room unless you were going to be allowed to touch me.”

“You– want to have sex with me?” Dieter asks, slowly opening his eyes. “Or– is this something where I need to make things up to you?” He’s had partners that have been more dominant and denied him an orgasm. He didn’t mind it, as long as he got to eventually cum.

“It’s not a game.” You never played psychological games with him back then and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now. “I thought…after what happened on set…that you wanted to?”

“I want to.” Dieter nearly makes himself dizzy, nodding so quickly. “I– fuck, I’m aching.” He admits. “Been hard all goddamn day around you.”

“Yeah…” You smirk a little, cheeks burning at the memory. “I noticed.”

“No one could get me as hard as you fucking could with a look.” He huffs, pouting at you like it’s entirely your fault.

“Well I’m very sorry.” You’re not. At all. And your tone would make it obvious even if you weren’t stepping closer to him. “I’ll make sure never to look at you like I want you again.”

“You better.” Dieter whines. “I want sex in my relationship with you.”

Just hearing him say he wants a relationship - any kind of relationship - with you is enough to make you giddy, but this little back and forth you're having is fun. "We generally had a lot more trouble keeping our hands off of each other than not, if I remember correctly."

“I am older.” He warns you with a grimace. “And drugs can sometimes make things…uh, not hard.”

"I don't expect either of us to have the same sex drive we had in our early twenties." That would be completely ridiculous, and you reach out to offer him a place in your arms with a soft smile. "Things aren't going to be the same as they used to be, and that's fine. We're different people than we were. For now, all I care about is that you're willing to give this a try."

“I want that.” He doesn’t have to think about it. Of course he wants to have a relationship with you. He’s wanted you ever since he walked away.

"Then...?" You hold out your arms again with a little shrug, still hoping for a hug or almost anything that isn't propelled by a script or a set. As intense as filming had been, and as honest, it was still not fully you.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you want a hug and Dieter rockets forward to wrap his arms around you. Sighing softly. There's a distinct difference between how Dieter holds people on set versus in real life when he's only himself. When he's himself it's like being enveloped in the beaming embrace of summer sun. He's a blanket of warmth and comfort that could best be compared to hugging a weighted blanket. Your nose burrows into his chest and you let out a sigh that almost matches his, squeezing your arms tightly around him before just relaxing into him.

“This is nice.” He hums. Rubbing your back gently as he tries to stretch out the much needed hug.

"You've always been a sucker for cuddles," you chuckle softly, nuzzling against him as naturally as breathing. "Glad to see that hasn't changed."

“Didn’t get this when I was a kid.” He murmurs, not bothering to even try to move away.

"Glad to change that for you." The food can get cold, for all you care. Having him with his arms around you again is the most heavenly comfort that you've been without for so long. No one gives hugs like Dieter does.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there, wrapped up in each other's arms. The comfort of the moment is one that neither one of you is willing to give up. Not until he realizes that it’s getting late and you have to be uncomfortable with the makeup and adhesives from modesty garments still sticking to your skin. “Go shower. I will set up our plates in front of the tv.” He offers as he pulls away.

"If you insist." It takes you a second to open your eyes, and even longer to be willing to let your arms drop from him. "I'm going to steal one of your t-shirts to wear while we eat, if that's okay?"

“Yeah.” He grins, biting his lip and congratulates himself on not immediately popping off with something dirty. “That’s okay with me. They are huge and comfortable.”

"I'll be right back." It's only a single moment of hesitation, but you decide that you've talked enough for it to be safe and you lean forward to kiss his cheek before turning to head through his bedroom to the large bathroom that matches your own on the other side of the wall.

Dieter rubs his cheek, grinning again as he rushes over to the dresser where Desiree had put all his clothes. Picking out the softest shirt he had that wasn’t currently on his body.

Some old habits apparently will never die, and you’re grateful to see that Dieter’s obsessive exfoliation is one of them. His loofah is perfect for scrubbing away the last remnants of the work day, and whatever fancy formula shampoo he talked about once in an interview that he now has a lifetime supply of, is divine. Five minutes in scalding hot water from start to finish and you feel like a new person when you step out of the shower. There’s a towel on the counter that you didn’t put there and you smile to yourself – an expression that only grows wider when you step out into the bedroom after drying off to find that he’s picked out a t-shirt for you. It’s soft as a feather and a nondescript blue-gray color that looks as though he’s worn it a hundred times or more, and you’re swimming in the stretched out cotton when you put it on. After a quick debate about whether or not to dig through your eternally over-packed purse for the clean panties you know are in there through force of habit, you decide not to. You’ve already talked about having sex tonight. If you decide not to? Well, you can put panties on then.

He has moved the dinner from the couch to the bed and back again nearly half a dozen times. Unsure of when he became this neurotic, he justifies himself with the fact that he wants to make things good for you. Despite you wanting him, he knows he needs to make up for the hurt he had caused you. So now the plates are sitting on the coffee table and he’s even dug out those candles that were in the large gift basket waiting in his room when he arrived a month ago. The small lamp, the only other source of light beyond the tv, already turned to a movie that he vaguely remembers you enjoying.

"I was only gone for five or six minutes..." When you step out of the bedroom to find the living room has been transformed into a little oasis of romance, you almost sigh audibly. Candles and dim light accentuate the still screen of a favorite drama he's pulled up on the tv, and your dinner is sat out in front of the couch with the ice bucket of champagne and two glasses standing ready. It's so sweet that it makes your face burn. "You went for romance and I went slightly slutty."

“I like slutty.” Dieter nearly shouts it. “I like it a lot. Slutty romance.” He nods, patting the couch. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing panties?”

"You want to find out?" Of course he does, but you can't resist teasing him a little. You saunter up to the sofa to sit down next to him and make sure to flash him just a tiny bit in the process.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs until you cross them. “Eating– we– we need to eat.” He reminds himself.

"Sorry if the waxing is a disappointment," you eye him as you both pick up your plates. "But those modesty things we have to wear are sticky and the last thing I want to do after a day of filming is pull out my pubic hair by hand."

“It’s your hair.” He shakes his head slightly and shrugs. “Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

"I distinctly remember being told that you liked the au natural look because it was womanly." It's not as though you've forgotten a single thing from that night. It was one of the most important nights of your life. And happiest, honestly.

He smirks, remembering how suave that had sounded at the time. “That was good, wasn’t it?” He hums, sliding closer to you. “Smooth.”

"Considering how desperately in love with you I already was, you probably could have just grunted at me and I would have thought it was the sexiest thing in the whole world." It's honest, at least, and you lean into his side with the champagne bottle in your hands. "But it was definitely smooth."

“You’ve done really well.” Dieter compliments. “Your career is amazing and Heat Rush is probably one of my favorite movies of yours.”

"You've actually seen my movies?" It shouldn't surprise you, considering you now know he's had feelings for you all along, but it still makes you flush hot and duck your head before concentrating on uncorking the champagne bottle.

“I don’t watch my own movies, but I watch yours.” What that says about him, he’s not quite sure, but he shrugs and tries not to look too pleased with himself for you suddenly seeming bashful. “I was invited to a couple of your premieres, but I’d have ruined it for you if I had shown up.”

"Well, you're going to have to come now." Concentrating on pouring out two glasses means you don't have to look him in the eye, which saves you from looking him in the eye and letting him see how touched you really are. "Can't have my agent trying to manufacture a date for me when I can take an actual date to things."

“That might be better for you, considering my reputation.” Dieter knows the image that he has crafted for himself, so often compared his father.

Frowning, you had him a glass of champagne and examine his face before shaking your head. "Do you really think that I would hide the fact that I love you?"

“People will talk.” He points out, not upset about it, he doesn’t care what people think. About him. You are a different story. “Start a countdown for how long it takes until it blows up.”

"And?" The shrug of your shoulders is pointed as you turn to face him on the couch. "Worst case scenario is we find out we are very different people than we used to be, and we part as friends." A scenario – as you call it – which is highly unlikely because you doubt you could ever just be his friend, but if he decided that he didn't want to be with you after all you would take whatever relationship you got to have with him. "But if you ask me? It will be fun to watch them all eat their words one by one when we prove everybody wrong."

Everyone who has ever tried to ‘date’ him in the last twelve years has tried to change him. To make sure that his image is revamped and they prove to the world that they are the one who ‘tamed Dieter Bravo’, like they used to want to do with his dad and Warren Beatty. Although Beatty was a bigger prize since he had never married. Baxter was always sore about that. To hear you just casually say that their opinions would change is refreshing.

"I wouldn't start something with you if I didn't think it could last," you tell him, hoping that he remembers your policy of honesty in relationships. It had served the two of you well right up until the day his father stepped between you. "And...I would hope that you feel that same way."

“I just don’t want you to regret it.” Dieter admits. “You have before.”

“What I regretted was a situation I didn’t fully understand.” You put your glass down and sit up fully, trying to figure out if this is him telling you to run. If he unconsciously is trying to give you some signal or other. If it is, unconscious isn’t good enough. “The only reason I would back off now is if you told me that you didn’t want me for some reason. But the inability to see the future isn’t a reason not to try.”

Dieter nods and reaches for your hand. “I’m scared.” He admits. “I know if you walked away from me – hypocrisy, I know – it would kill me. Because I walked away and it nearly killed me then.”

“It’s okay to be scared.” Your fingers twine together and you squeeze his hand gently. “I’m scared, too. But…life is kind of terrifying on its own. So I’d rather be scared with the person I love than without you.”

Nodding, he sighs softly. “I know. I just–” frowning, he turns his eyes towards you seriously. “I’m tired of hurting you.” He confesses. “I’m worried that I will.”

“Then how about we talk about things?” It seems so easy and so obvious, but sitting down and having a serious conversation can be one of the most difficult things in the world sometimes. “Any time one of us is feeling off-kilter, or worried, or anything like that - we talk about it before it gets bad. That way we don’t ever get to the point of something dramatic or hurtful happening.”

That’s the smartest thing to do, but no one has ever accused Dieter of being the brightest. Still, he’s willing to do anything in order to make sure he doesn’t screw up again. “Yeah. Yeah, we should do that. And I– I’ll start writing down when I’m feeling off.”

"We can set aside some journaling or sketching time, if you want." You tilt your head at him, knowing he doesn't know you keep a journal. You hadn't back then. "It's...something I've been doing since I started seeing a therapist a long time ago. I don't see her very frequently anymore, but I've kept up with my journal. It helps me keep my thoughts straight."

He winces slightly. “I can only imagine what is written in them about me.” He’s not vain enough to think you’ve thought about him a lot over the past twelve years unless it’s when he runs into you and there’s some little spat.

Frankly, you don't want him to imagine it. There've been some truly not-very-nice things that you've thought about him over the last decade, but they all came from a place of being hurt. A place that you are very much not in anymore. "It doesn't matter anymore," you promise him, picking up your glass again. "What matters is that we are good going forward. Together."

He chuckles and lifts a brow. “That bad, huh?” He teases. “I deserve it. I picked at you to keep you angry at me.” He admits.

"It was easier to be angry than to admit that I was still hurting." You shrug slightly and take a sip from your glass. "But that's...that's when I didn't want to admit to myself that I was hurt because I still have feelings for you."

“I’m surprised you do.” He’s gobsmacked by that if he’s honest. “I would have imagined it would have resulted in you not pissing on me if I was on fire.”

"Love seems to be a very illogical thing." Nudging him to pick up his plate, you trade your glass for your own dinner. "Fortunately, I'm a stubborn and illogical person to begin with, so I'm okay with it."

Laughing, he shakes his head and holds up his champagne glass to yours. “To being completely illogical.” He offers with a smile.

“Here, here.” Now that is something you will absolutely drink to.

Once the mini toast is done, Dieter removes the lids off the dinner. “We should eat before it gets too cold.”

"What a very logical thing to say." You tease, despite doing exactly as he suggests. For the first time in ages, you might truly be relaxed.

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” He jokes, feeling more at ease with the situation. You’ve never lied to him, and if you say you want to have sex with him, that’s the truth. “Have to eat dinner before I can have dessert.”

That earns him a half-snorted laugh as you take your first bite, and you shake your head at him. "Eat up then. I'm in the mood for sweets tonight."

“Yeah? You want to drink champagne and eat those chocolates while I eat you?” The idea has him twitching in interest, the lazy indulgence of it enticing.

"Oh, I just meant that I want you." He always has been, and still seems to be, incredibly sweet. That's part of what his anger and seeming hatred had stung so badly. "But if you want to be fully hedonistic, I'm on board."

“Been a long time.” He admits with a shrug. “Need to get back into the habit.”

"If I ever object to having my pussy eaten, call a doctor because I've been body snatched." You tell him definitively.

He snorts and then busts out into a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Things really start to feel normal as you eat, joking at the movie and reciting your favorite lines here and there until your plates are empty. You creep closer together on the couch as time ticks by, pulled together with that same magnetic attachment that has always seemed to bring you together. Before you know it you're leaning into his side, fingers threading together and head on his shoulder.

There’s a sweetness to the moment that Dieter is reluctant to end. It could have been twelve years ago, the two of you sitting on his tiny loveseat couch in that apartment. Or in your dressing room.

"I missed this." It's a big thought for such a quiet moment, but you sigh into it and just let the truth of it settle around you. It's not a heavy or foreboding thought anymore, and that feels like a weight off your shoulders.

“Me too.” His hand slides around your shoulder and he pulls you against him even more.

"I'd suggest sleeping right here if we didn't both have the backs of people over thirty now." Back then, the two of you could and would sleep wherever you dropped. It was usually a bed, sure, but not always. One memorable night saw you falling asleep in his lap when you couldn't bear to tear yourselves apart after riding him.

He snorts and shakes his head. “We are getting old.” He admits. “Hangovers take forever to get over now. Do you remember when we used to perform while still drunk from the night before?”

"It's a fucking miracle I could remember my lines sometimes." Theater work really has differences from film work, and you giggle about it almost wistfully. "I think...I miss theater, too. I haven't been on an actual stage in years."

“Me too.” He hasn’t stepped foot on a stage since leaving the production you worked on together. His father would have pitched a fit and he didn’t have the heart to do it anymore.

"Can you imagine?" It earns another small laugh from you. "If we wrapped this movie and then ran off to play on a stage somewhere? Gossip magazines would practically sell our tickets for us."

He snorts and gives a fond smirk. “We find some hole-in-the-wall theatre in Nebraska and make it bigger than Broadway.”

"Would you go all classical on me and want to do Shakespeare and Chekov and Tennessee Williams?" It sounds like fun for once. Like something you could do without looking over your shoulder and making sure you're doing precisely what ten thousand sets of eyes want you to be doing.

“Why not? Or Oklahoma.” He chuckles, smirking at how his father would roll over in his grave. “Or do you think it’s sacrilege to perform that in Nebraska?”

"I think it's a sacrilege to perform Oklahoma! at all," you snort, enjoying the image of him in a cowboy hat regardless. "We'd do Shakespeare and musicals and classics and experimental whatevers whenever we felt like. The king and queen of Midwestern regional theater."

“Build a theatre that rivals Juilliard for performances for students.” Dieter slips into the dream a little more, enjoying the idea of it. “Teach the next generation of performers.” Hell, if he were honest, he thinks of you as a mentee of his.

"An institute for performers, staring with high school." There is a smile on your lips when you tilt your head to look at him. "Not kids. Kids should get to just be kids. No stage parents thrusting their children on our stages. We'd make sure of that."’

“Absolutely.” He nods in full agreement, hating being dragged around to auditions when all he wanted was to go outside and play.

"It's a beautiful dream, Dee." One that wouldn't necessarily be so difficult to achieve, given his multiple generations of accumulated wealth. It would take a little while to bring together the right people for a school, but a theater? The two of you could fund that yourselves without a lot of effort.

“It’s been a long time since I had a dream that was fun.” He admits softly. Smiling at the idea and tracing a pattering on your shoulder under the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Maybe it's worth going back on stage first to make sure it's as good as you remember?" Support is something that you know he hasn't really had, and that's definitely something you can give him. Your full and unconditional support for moving in a positive direction. Positive being whatever makes him truly happy.

“Yeah. It’s not good to just jump in.” He reminds himself, not wanting to jump in too deep, too quickly.

"But if you could..." He loves to dream - or at least he used to - and you don't want him to just box up the thought and tuck it away in his brain to forget about. "Where would you want to open it? Anywhere in the country. Or hell, anywhere in the world?"

Dieter frowns and considers it seriously. “I’m not really sure. Where would you want to go?”

"I mean, if we were really thinking about it?" You lean back against his arm on the couch and smile softly, letting childhood memories come through to the surface. "The theater that I did my first show at ever is in my hometown in Washington. It was this big deal summer stock left over from the 1930s or 40s, and they'd built up a hotel around it for a while. But the hotel went under and the theater squeaked by for a few decades more after it was demolished and..." you shrug slightly, knowing how nostalgic you sound. "I grew up in the mountains, so now it's this big, defunct theater in the middle of a valley. I wish it could be restored and turned into something great again. But I don't know if Snoqualmie, Washington is the place you want to build your legacy."

“That’s pretty cool though.” Dieter grins. “You get all the Hollywood types out there for the summer theatre program and then the local kids and kids who dream of theatre and can’t get the lessons.”

“Can you imagine?” It warms through you, the idea of your little town reinvigorated. “We get occasional tourists because they filmed some of Twin Peaks in my town. But a whole theater and a school? It would be something else to see.”

“That would be cool. Bring some more life to the area. Is it a nice vibe? I like a good view.” Dieter asks, not really caring about much, but this is the first thing that’s gotten him thinking about more than himself in a while.

“I thought it was boring growing up, but I like going back for the holidays and family stuff when I can. It’s pretty. And there’s something to be said for having all four seasons.” He sounds like he’s actually thinking about it, which makes you smile more than you would have expected. “If you decide this is actually something you want to do, I can help you look at different places. If…if you want me to, I mean.” It would be a drastic change in how he lives his life, and if he wanted you to come with him it would be a drastic change in yours. Who knows when or if it would ever happen. All you know is that it’s good for Dieter to dream.

“You would want that too?” He asks, surprised. Your career is taking off, still running like a freight train without the hints of or outright scandals he has weathered.

"I mean...I'm not thinking about taking a running leap out of Hollywood anytime in the next year or two, but I've definitely thought about what I would want to do when I get out. And I want to get out on my own terms, not because people have stopped returning my calls or because the only offers I'm getting are witches or overbearing mothers." You shrug slightly, nuzzling deeper against him as you do. "I don't want to wash up or fade away. I want to be present to enjoy every stage of my life. That's what I've always wanted."

“Whatever you do, you’ll be great at it.” Dieter knows that without even considering it very much. You’ve always had the raw talent that most people are in awe of.

"So will you." You're not about to let him think less of himself or avoid the very honest compliment just because he redirected the conversation. "And besides, if you decided to open your theater and drama school in my hometown I would certainly hope you would want me involved in things. It only seems fair."

“Oh it’s fair, huh?” He cracks a sardonic grin. “Because it was your idea?” He knows that if he did do something like that, he would absolutely want you involved. Your talent as an actor has only gotten better.

"Alright, maybe not fair." You have to laugh at it yourself, even a little, and bat your eyelashes at him. "More like...wishful thinking?"

“Wishful thinking.” He hums, enjoying the idea of you being interested in taking that on with him. “It’s something to think about. I think we do need more theatres.”

Empty plates and empty glasses stand by on the coffee table, and you smile from your place, tucked into his side on the sofa. It’s comfortable and also comforting, to be able to sit and talk like this. When you were young everything was about the here and now, but now that you’re adults the dreams are a vital part of pushing through each day’s monotony.

When the two of you are like this, Dieter wonders how the hell he had ever walked away from you. The way you calm him down amazes him, the nervous energy dispelled easily without the need for chemicals.

The movie ends soon afterward, not that you were really paying that much attention. You had talked all through the meal and maybe only sat and watched the last fifteen minutes. But those last fifteen minutes were calm and quiet and saw the two of you happily wrapped up in each other. It’s nice. It’s comforting. And it’s also making your skin tingle any place he touches you.

“Do you– do you want to watch another movie?” Despite having a call time tomorrow, Dieter feels like the two of you have all the time in the world. The way the sexual tension has shifted into something… more has him reluctant to give in to his body’s wants.

“If you want to.” Once upon a time he would have been tearing his shirt off of you at the first possible opportunity, but things aren’t the same as they were – and you have to remember that it isn’t a bad thing or anything to do with attraction. You’re both very obviously still attracted to each other if what happened on set is any indication. This is about being close again, and you reach to grab the remote off the coffee table to pass to him.

“Not really.” He admits with an amused huff at himself. “I kind of want to go to the bedroom.”

"Oh yeah?" The eyebrow you raise at him in sheer amusement comes with a smirk. "You thinkin' about asking me to come with you?"

“Hoping you would.” He chuckles. “It’s either that or I’m gonna need to go jerk off.”

"And that would be a damn shame." Nodding solemnly, you shift out of his lap and stand up before holding out your hand to him. "Come on, Dee. I don't mind leaving a mess for once."

He grins, remembering how you would want to pick up his apartment before going to bed when you were staying practically every night. “Yes ma’am.”

Your clothes from the day are neatly stacked on the dresser across from the bed, and the towel you used hung just as neatly in the bathroom. There's barely any trace of you here at all, but Dieter's marks are everywhere, just as they should be. This is his room and his space, and he's welcomed you into it. In some ways that first night together comes roaring back into your mind - but that night was a lot more about tearing each other's clothes off than this careful tiptoe of a dance you're doing right now.

“You still like the right side of the bed?” He asks, bolting towards the bed to pull the covers back. He wants you, he fucking aches with it, but he also wants to make sure you know that this isn’t just sex. “If you want to stay, that is. I don’t know. You might have a more comfortable bed than mine.” He jokes.

"Dee..." He's nervous, and you sure as fuck are too, but you cross the room to put both of your hands on his shoulders. "I want to stay. And I want you. It's okay. There's no reason to be so nervous." You should probably listen to your own advice. Oh well.

“It’s uh,” he shuffles and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this…sober.” He confesses, looking mildly embarrassed at the way his life had turned out.

"That's okay." Far be it from you to judge him for coping with the stressful way things have gone for him. "It doesn't have to be tonight. And if it is, it doesn't have to be a marathon."

“I want you on top of me.” Dieter groans breathlessly. “I fucking loved when you would grind down on me and fucking let me suck on your tits.”

"So specific." Yet you can't stop yourself from groaning, remembering how enthusiastic and sloppy he would get whenever the opportunity presented itself. "We should get in bed, then."

He bounces into the bed, flopping on it like he is about to start jumping as he pushes his boxers down and kicks them off.

You can’t help it, you smother your face with two hands to keep from becoming a giggling mess and end up barely stifling a snort in the process. “Is that my seat?” You tease, glancing at his half-hard cock when you put one knee on the mattress to climb in with him.

He pouts and wraps his hand around his cock. “It was hard all day.” He huffs at you. “It’s gotta let the blood flow back to my brain sometimes.”

“Only sometimes.” You move closer to him, about to put one leg over his lap when you stop short and groan softly. “I knew I felt something,” you huff indignantly. With one hand, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his length and moan all over again at the way he twitches in your hand. The thing that has your attention, though, is shiny rather than warm. “When did you get your cock pierced?”

Dieter groans and his eyes flutter while he enjoys the curious trace of your fingers over the metal in his cock. “I– oh fuck, about a month after I came to California.” He admits. “Wanted to rebel and what better way than to get my dick pierced?”

“Enhances pleasure, I take it?” He’s squirming under the light attention and you shift to straddle his thighs while you explore.

“Yes.” He pants, cock now fully hard and curled nicely against his belly. “People– uh, seem to like it. And it feels really fucking good when someone plays with it.”

“Really good, huh?” You’re not as innocent as you used to be. Not by a long shot. And your experiences with men have been varied over the years. What you do know for sure, is that your experiences with Dieter were the happiest you’ve ever been. You tighten your hand around him experimentally, remembering how much pressure he used to like, and let yourself lean in easily to press your lips to his.

“Shit.” He hisses, muffled by your kiss and as soon as you lean in, he’s grabbing a handful of the overly large shirt. Bunching it over your breasts and dragging you closer to him while his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth.

None of the old feverish need for each other is missing from this moment, and it’s a perfect kind of ecstasy to realize that aging twelve years – a death sentence in Hollywood – hasn’t affected his attraction to you at all. You open up for him immediately, tongue sliding against his as you push your chest into his hands and start to pump his cock slowly in your hand.

The sounds that he makes breathe straight into you. Given up willingly and he kisses you like it is the last thing he will ever do. No one around this time, Dieter pours all of himself into you, giving into the need that seems to always come back to you.

There is no reason to hold back this time. No one to witness you or to have an opinion on what is happening except for the two of you, and you are the only ones whose opinions count at all. You shift forward, hand still wrapped around him and stroking his cock eagerly but now the heat of your core is hovering barely a hair's breadth away as you swallow every sound he has to offer you.

You still know how to touch him. His hands slide under your shirt, greedy for the skin he had wanted to touch but couldn’t before. Marveling at the way you still fit in his hands perfectly. “Fuck.”

"You let your nipple piercing heal," you pout, turning your head to kiss down the cut line of his jaw.

“Yeah.” He grunts when your teeth scrape against his skin. “Took it out eleven years ago.” He doesn’t tell you that he had almost had the damn thing ripped out by a jealous lover when he had been found in bed with someone else.

"At least you replaced it with something fun." Running your thumb through the dribble of precum at the head of his cock, you pull away from him long enough to suck the digit into your mouth and hum immediately, shutting your eyes for a moment while you enjoy the long-forgotten flavor.

“It’s supposed to feel good for you too.” He adds, like that had been the entire reason that he had gotten his dick pierced.

"I'm sure it will." You hate the way it makes you pause, but you lean in to kiss him softly and take an internal deep breath. "I...I have an IUD and...and I haven't had a partner in a while. Like...my last tests came back clean and I haven't been with anyone since..."

“I– the insurance physical.” Dieter admits breathlessly. “Clean…and I– it’s only…” he huffs at himself. “I haven’t been with anyone since I found out you were in this. And since the physical. I don’t get laid as often as everyone thinks.”

“We can change that.” One raised eyebrow aims itself at him and you can’t help but look amused with your own reaction. “I mean, it wouldn’t be all kinds of crazy orgies or random partners…but a world where Dieter Bravo gets laid every single night? That’s just about having a partner with a high enough sex drive.”

“Have you– since we– since I–” Dieter can barely think with his cock in your hand. He never could, the feeling of your soft skin gripping him so firmly, always making his brain short circuit into something magically blank to everything but the pleasure. “Orgy?” He finally manages, wanting to know if you’ve ever indulged in multiple partners.

“I–um…no.” The image that you built for yourself – the careful walls you constructed around the person you wanted to be seen as – would never have allowed you something so indulgent or hedonistic. Your image is modest and professional. It has been since the day you hit Hollywood. You were a Girl Next Door type in your first television show and your manager wanted you to keep that image. “But if you want—” You stammer, hands stilling as you try to sort out your thoughts. “I don’t want you to feel trapped with me, Dee.”

“No…no.” His frown matches the urgency in his voice. “That’s not– I wouldn’t–” He’s made a lot of mistakes over the past twelve years, but he would never push you. “If you wanted to, that would be one thing. But honestly?” He looks up at you seriously. “I would be jealous of someone else touching you. Like slapping their hands away to do it myself.”

“You always were a little greedy.” There’s nothing but fondness in your voice as you brush a tuft of stray hair from his face and lean in to slant your lips earnestly against his. “Possessive, I guess is more accurate. But…I’m not going to lie.” You flash him a grin. “I always found it kind of hot.”

“I wouldn’t want to share you.” He grins unrepentantly. “Never liked that idea. You were mine.”

You shift a little, cheeks on fire, and swallow a sigh. “Are.”

Quietly absorbing that new information, Dieter nods. “Then we are together.” He decides. “Just us. No licking frosting off someone’s tits or blowing the hot model from the shoot. Just us.”

“I mean…” Not wanting him to feel like he’s giving up his entire lifestyle, you take your hands away and wipe them self consciously in your thighs without even being able to tell if they’re sweaty. You’re just inexplicably nervous. Tonight had gone from sexy to serious very quickly. “If you want to lick frosting off my tits that’s completely cool — and if you’re doing a shoot for something, I will absolutely be blowing the hot model.”

“I just–I meant just us.” Dieter clarifies. “I want it the way it was back in New York. Me and you.”

“As long as that is what you actually want.” He has the biggest, warmest brown eyes and you just melt into him, feeling so freed by this conversation. The cage you’ve had around your heart for so long is finally open again.

“It’s what I want.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I think it’s what I always wanted when I could make my own choices.”

“We keep getting distracted with promises.” It’s endearing, and honestly pretty romantic, that as much as you might want each other, it’s the romance that keeps taking over. You cover his hands with your own and squeeze them gently. “Second chances don’t come around every day. I’m—I’m grateful for this.”

“I’m the one who fucked up.” Dieter admits. “I wrote you a letter, about six years ago. One of those twelve step programs where you write those who you wronged and don’t send them.”

“Did it help?” While you wish he would have disregarded the direction and sent the letter anyway, you know it’s more about admitting wrongs than reaching out. “To write it, I mean?”

“Not really.” He admits with a sheepish smile. “Because I knew that you still thought I hated you at the end of the day. I got baked the next day.”

“Then hopefully things will start to get better now.” It’s all you can really hope for at the end of the day. That things will return to how good they were between you since you know they’ll never be the exact same. Too much has changed, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t ever be that happy again.

“Okay. Now that I’ve brought the mood down, can we fuck?” Dieter whines, his cock twitching against you.

“Telling me you love me is never going to kill the mood,” you promise him, although you do laugh at the exaggerated pout on his face. Taking one of his hands off your hip, you carefully slip two of his fingers into your mouth and relish the way he groans while his eyelids flutter. Directing those same fingers down your body, you press the pads of his fingers to your slick slit and hum at the contact. No longer being shy about asking for what you want has its perks.

“Shit.” Dieter hisses, rocking his hips up so he presses the length of his cock against your cunt while he starts to rub your clit frantically.

If you had been thinking about it, you would have thought through it enough to expect him to go hard and fast getting you ready to take him, but all you had been thinking about was how good it would feel to have him touch you again. So when Dieter immediately starts rubbing your clit like he’s going for a High Speed score, you end up squealing and shaking against him in a fit of surprise. “Oh my—fuck— yes baby—”

There’s a magic to your breathy cry. Making him smirk and rub harder. Wanting to see if you can cum before he ever fucks you. You really had been planning on returning the attention while he fingered you, but the ferocity he goes into it with is enough to have your legs shaking immediately and your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your back arches and your hips start to roll.

Dieter doesn’t stop, not with you bucking and wailing on top of him. He bites his lip and watches as you shake, a sign you are getting close. “Come on Bambi.”

The tension coiling in your core is pulsing as fast as his fingers move, pushing you up toward the crest of your orgasm with force. You're on the edge almost before you can blink and rocketing over the edge with a high wail of his name that is barely muffled by burying your face in his shoulder as your body shakes. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit while you buck and shake through your orgasm. Marveling at how gorgeous you look.

"Fuck." Cutting off your own groan, you dive into kissing him as soon as your body sags, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and pressing him back into the upholstered bedhead with determination.

“Hmmmmm.” He groans and kisses you back just as passionately. Loving how soft you are after cumming.

It only takes small shifts to move forward, knees bracketing his hips and core hovering over his leaking cock as you lose yourself in more kisses. Everything about this is better than you could have imagined and you just want to drown in it.

“Baby…please.” Dieter groans. “You don’t– you don’t have to move, just– just put me inside.”

“If you’re inside me, I’m going to move.” It’s a promise as much as anything else, and you reach between you to stroke his cock a few times before notching the head at your entrance and sinking down on him slowly.

Dieter's mouth drops open and he lets out a low, pained whine. Nearly shuddering at the heat of your cunt wrapping around his cock and gripping him like a vice. Not knowing how it's possible that you feel even tighter now than you did when he took your virginity, his heels dig into the bed in an effort to keep himself still.

"Shit, shit, shiiiiit," your head drops back the further down his shaft you slide, eyes drifting shut in bliss and body shivering with pleasure. When your ass is firmly planted against his thighs you rock forward, gasping at the way his piercing creates an extra layer of sensation deep in your cunt when you move.

"Goddamnit, fuck, shit, motherfucking whore." Dieter hisses, eyes closed so he doesn't blow his load right this second. You are just like a fucking glove around him and he's overwhelmed by how good it feels to have you around him again. It was something he had dreamed of, jerked off thinking about but had never really believed it would ever be afforded to him again.

It's counterintuitive, but you smother a burst of giggles at his tirade of curses and lean forward to kiss him. "You okay, baby?"

"Gimme a minute....." He pants, chest heaving as he tries to think about anything but the wet clutch of your cunt. Your walls contract and he groans, cock twitching deep and he grimaces slightly against your lips. "Trying to– trying to make sure I don't fuckin' embarrass myself." He complains, as if it is all your fault. Which it is, but he's not mad about it. "Too fuckin' tight."

"No more Kegels?" You can't help but tease him, feeling the way your pussy throbs around him. It's brilliant and sinful and makes your mind fog with pleasure.

"Those work?" He pops one eye open to stare at you, trying to gauge if you are serious or not. "No bullshit?"

“You tell me.” Whining a little when he twitches deep inside you again, you flash him a grin. “You’re the one feeling the results right now.”

"Mean." He hisses when you tighten down around him again. "Brat." His nails dig into your flesh but not enough that he would leave more than dull marks on your skin, easily gone later.

“You gonna punish me for it?” It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the two of you ever played with power dynamics in bed, and your lips curl into a grin.

Dieter is a cocky enough man, well aware of his abilities in bed to change things up. Enough of an asshole to flip you over onto your back with a quick tilt of his hips and follow you, staying buried inside your body and snapping his hips forward sharply when he thrusts down. "Yes."

“Fuck!” It happens all at once, as the begging mess of a man flips on a dime to being dominant without warning. The true definition of a switch, all depending on how his mood runs in that moment.

His one chuckle is breathless, but the idea of taking charge helps him keep the bare thread of his control. "Yeah?" He rocks his hips back and decides that another rough thrust is exactly what you need. Wanting you to experience what it is like fucking him with a piercing. "That's what I thought."

It’s probably a very good thing that no one is in the suite next door, otherwise they definitely would have heard you wail at that hard thrust that ran the ends of that bent barbell in his cock all along the walls of your pussy, stimulating places you didn’t even know could have extra stimulation and making you gasp in pleasure. “Fuck that feels amazing.”

“Yeah it does.” He groans in agreement, moving down so he can gather you up in his arms as he starts to normalize his sharp, steady pace. It will kill his back later on, but he needs this.

"Goddamn, Dee–" Each thrust pushes the air out of your lungs and you moan without restraint, wrapping yourself around him just as surely as he wraps up in you. Even a puff of air between you is further apart than you want to be tonight.

Lowering his head to your shoulder, he moans your name quietly. Pressing his lips to your skin and grunting with every thrust as your walls quake around him.

Unlike other encounters - even other encounters with him - this isn't about fancy positions or how well you can bend yourself up to take each thrust as tightly as possible. This isn't about the acrobatics of sex. It's the intimacy. It's the way he fills you to aching with every deep thrust and the way you cling to him like a lifeline even when he pulls away again that leaves you breathless, not just the simple act of sex itself.

“Fuck— fuck baby.” He moans quietly. “God I love you. So much, feels so good.” He can’t stop moving, breathing you in. Touching you like he had wanted to so many times while on that damn set. Now he can and like everything else Dieter is greedy with, he is going to gorge himself.

“I — fuck — I love you so much.” It’s like he’s trying to swallow you whole and you would willingly let him. There’s nothing standing in the way of you positively devouring each other and you just as desperately are trying to burrow under his skin or just welcome him fully into your body every chance you get. Time doesn’t matter right now. He could be between your thighs for five minutes or five days. All that matters is that he is right where he wants to be.

There’s something almost ethereal in the air tonight - or that might just be the way your heart is pounding so wildly that you feel like you’re about to take flight. Every time you rise up to meet him he bears down again and meets you in the middle, creating a symphony of gluttonous, lustful sounds as your bodies move together in that bed and your moans twine together.

“Fuck, fuck Bambi.” He moans quietly. Biting the juncture of your shoulder. “Please cum for me.”

It’s barely a request, more like a prayer as you tumble together toward that brilliant and eruptive end. A drop of sweat from his forehead on your skin seems almost as lecherous as anything else, like the tantalizing cream on top of a favorite dessert. Your back aches again as his hands push under your ass angling your bodies so that you cry out with his next thrust – vision going white as the explosion of orgasm washes over your body.

“Yes,” your real name falls from his lips as a prayer, trying to rock into you through your orgasm. Watching as your entire body thrashes under him.

“Fuuuck, Dee—” The more he works you up, the louder you groan and the faster his name falls from your lips. It almost rolls you over into a second orgasm altogether and all you can do is pray he follows you. The way you soak him has him unraveling, the wet slaps of his hips nearly frantic as he shoves himself deep and cries out in the most soul soothing release he’s probably ever had.

Panting for breath, you wrap both arms tightly around his shoulders and hold Dieter to you like an anchor. “This is…not how I expected today to end,” you whisper quietly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But fuck…I love you so much.”

Swallowing, Dieter tucks his head into the curve of your shoulder and tries to catch his breath. "I love you." He exhales breathlessly. "I've got– twelve years to make up for, so I'm gonna be a little clingy."

You can’t help but laugh at that, breathless and light, and you find his lips to kiss him gently. “That’s just fine with me, baby. I promise.”

Groaning quietly, he starts to roll the two of you onto your sides. He doesn't want to pull out quite yet, but he knows he's a hell of a lot heavier now than he had been twelve years ago. The skinniness of youth has filled into a broader frame.

“Now I know why some people have sex under blankets,” you giggle softly, tucking into his broad frame. “So they can go right to sleep after.”

"You want to stay like this for a while?" He asks, pulling you closer.

“We could lay like this forever.” Would people come looking for you? Sure. But in this moment you could not give a single flying fuck about the rest of the world.

"You might have to pee after ten minutes." Dieter teases, remembering how you used to claim you could sleep right after sex and always had to get up within ten minutes to use his small bathroom.

“Tease me all you want, I’m enjoying the romance of the moment.” You giggle against him and place a kiss over his heart. “I don’t want to go back to reality just yet.”

"I get it." Dieter's eyes are half closed and he strokes your back as he hums. "It's like being on that really good high and not wanting to come down."

“I guess that makes sex my drug of choice.” Or him, maybe — being with Dieter has always felt like a special kind of paradise while it lasts.

“Sex is always a good drug.” He agrees, knowing that tonight isn’t going to be one and done. Not when he’s wanted you all day. It might take awhile to recover, but he wants to make you cum again.

“The best.” Not that you have a lot of experience with others, but that isn’t the point. The point is him and you and getting your together back.

Humming softly, Dieter closes his eyes, the soft edge of a smile on his lips. “If I’m dreaming, I don’t want it to end.”

"I'm not going anywhere, baby." You promise, murmuring quietly in his ear. It's not that you're trying to rub salt in the wound that he was the one who left you back in New York, but the fact is - you probably never would have left him. The way you felt about Dieter while you were apart was a product of hurt, and of betrayal. Not that you didn't love him.

“You were always stronger than me.” He turns and kisses your face blindly. “Always.”

"I don't know about that." After all, he survived treatment from his father that would probably have crushed you if you had it from yours. "But either way? We made it back to each other."

“We did.” He reaches out and caresses your face. “I don’t deserve you. I never did. Just so you know that.”

"You deserve to be happy, Dee. And so do I." One of your hands comes up to cover his and you turn your head slightly to leave a kiss on his palm. "We had that spoiled for us by someone. But this second chance is just for us."

“Just for us.” He nods, opening his eyes to stare at you solemnly. “I love you.”

"I love you, too, Dee." And boy is that going to surprise the shit out of a lot of people.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

My Masterlist!

[cellsshapedlikestars]

what are the easiest stories for you to write? Like bachelor verse/tinder/fake dating vs investigation/mystery/drama fics. I tend towards low stakes slice of life type stories because I don’t have to worry about editing or bloat and it’s very vibe based but then I inevitably hit a slump because I cant really find the motivation when there’s no real exciting moment to get to and it’s all just slow burn.

My romcoms are always "easier" to write. They're lower stakes, the plots aren't as intricate, there isn't as much to keep track of. But easy doesn't always equal fulfilling, and that's why I always have to have a thing. There needs to be some sort of stakes. She needs to win the bachelor, Jon needs to keep his onlyfans a secret, they can't let anyone find out they're fake dating, etc.

The darker stories are the ones I tend to pour more of myself into, and get more satisfaction out of when it turns out exactly how I wanted. They do less well, stats-wise (I know, I know, I shouldn't care, but I can never help comparing my works & their reception to each other), and sometimes that's disheartening, but I keep writing them because I love them and they mean a lot to me. If you asked me for a list of my favorite fics, I feel like most of them would be my darker, more plot heavy ones.

(that doesn't mean I don't love my romcoms. There is a place in my heart for both and both serve different purposes. It's why I tend to start writing one kind while still in the process of writing another)

For you, anon, it seems to me you aren't writing what you want to write? I'm obviously not getting the whole story, but it seems like maybe you find plotting scary or daunting, and so you write something that doesn't require it, only to find yourself bored of your own work. I'm not sure what the solution is, without knowing more, but my advice is to write something with plot! Find the stakes! Find a conflict that interests you and write it! Keep everything moving, let the conflict flow and change if it's needed. I think maybe one of the most important things is to have an end goal. If you know your end, you have something to work towards.

I don't know how else to help, anon, though I wish I did!

[credulouscanidae]

i feel like this year has been a huge bust mentally

i didnt wanna be like this still by christmas, let alone the new year

i dont want it to become march and im still like this, a whole year since moving by then.

but i can feel myself improving, funny enough.

ive spent a lot of this time in despair and grief, and i was giving myself a time limit on those feelings. which made me unable to meet my own expectations, which made me recede and become unable to challenge myself, because i wsa constantly setting myself up for failure to begin with. it feels impossible to do a challenge youre already failing before you begin.

and i have been self aware this whole time too, having that logical part of me talk me through it all. i can look back at myself almost in a third person, as ive always done, and see all the connections as to why im feeling and therefore behaving this way.

so instead of sitting around punishing myself, ive been /trying/ to tell myself theres no time limit on adjustment, and that i am strong enough to pull through. even if i come out of this being disliked. ive put so much energy into being anxious about what people think of me, that ive caused my own cycle of not being able to face it.

i have been acutely aware this whole time that others can only do so much for me, and in the end the only person who can change my situation is me. for me to find that inner strength to do that.

i feel like a lot of the noise has quietened down now. because i had to suddenly grapple with not only accepting my old life was changing, but that i had to suddenly build up a brand new life from scratch with very little support. but the life building in england is finally feeling...like i can do it. things feel less confusing and daunting, the roads feel less scary to navigate, i know where to go for what i need now, and ive been falling into daily routines again. which i didnt have when i first arrived. it's like my roots are finally burying in. and thats making incorporating my aussie roots back into my life feel a bit more doable.

i WANT to have voice chats with friends, or have a casual hello. i dont want to be like this. having a twisted tummy and palpitating heart every time i see a new notification on my phone. i havent even cleared my notif bar on my phone for months, out of fear of seeing a message i havent checked from so long ago. there is so much literal and mental clutter. and i want to be free of all of these notifs and emails etc. its not anyones fault but mine. i WANT to be more engaged, i feel homesick and miss everyone. and i HATE that those feelings dominate my behaviour, and how EASY it is to fall into a self fulfilling prophecy. i hate how it makes me a neglectful friend and family member.

but, with therapy, and settling into my life here. i think i can slowly work my way up to getting over all of this. i really. really. REALLY. fucking want to. i want to draw again, i want to learn how to sculpt, i want to be involved in peoples lives again. because right now, im finding it hard to even humour the idea of making friends here in the uk, because of how guilty that would make me feel, and how not ready i am to make new connections, especially cuz i would rather reinforce connection with existing people in my life.

again. self fulfilling. all that does is make me continue to be lonely.

but as i said, it's slowly getting better. i feel bad about how negative ive been all this time. i just want people to know that, in regards to my relationship, i AM happy. and i know that 10 years from now im going to look back on all of this with evren and go "fuck man that was a lot huh"

you cant hate yourself into loving yourself, and thats something that has kept my spark going, even when it's been one bad thought away from fizzling out.

im trying to be easier on myself. i know that all of this can exist at the same time as me having negative effects on others (which i guess is just an assumption to begin with) and i am not immune to causing that damage. but honestly? right now in this moment, im trying to give myself some compassion and lenience. because ive spent years and years feeling anxious and being hyper vigilant about my behaviour and how i affect others, that i have barely taken the time to consider myself and be healthy and strong in my core self. as they say, assume the best unless told otherwise. thats going to be a goal of mine. i always assume good intentions from people, even to a detriment, so i hope to take that view and shape it into a healthier outlook. maybe not everyone has their best intentions or insight, but i think overall people are just trying. god, in this goddamn fucked up world, all we can do is try.

and thats why i need to be more lenient.

sorry for all the tangents and sloppy execution. im probably in the acceptance stage of grief atm lmao, and im tired of being like this.

[stormwaterwitch]

I dont think i have a future. Seriously. Nor do I think my friends like me much, im too dramatic and loud, too stupid to get things right. I only hurt and confuse people. I need someone.

Hey sugar~

Thanks for reaching out to me ♥

This is just going to be me blathering so take what you want and discard what you don't need/want to do okay?

I remember feeling the exact same way at one point in my life about my old friends group from high school. My best friend and I had a falling out and it turns out none of the people I thought were my friends were my friends and were only friends with me because of her, which really hurt to discover in the back half of my senior year. I had no real group, but I made friends with some of my other classmates and ended up with a few new people who were kind to me. We never ended up becoming super besties like how close the old group and I had been but it was comforting enough to not have to sit through lunch alone that I was content.

I tried being friends with that group again a few years later but I couldn't get how they treated me out of my head and what helped me the most was taking those people out of my life for good. It hurt me to be friends with people who had been so rude and mean to me, even if they 'didn't mean to be'. I'd held on for as long as I had because they had become "familiar" and were "what I knew" and I longed for that same nostalgia. But it never came back and that realization was the hardest part.

If you're close to your friends group maybe you can try bringing up how you're feeling to them and help them be aware that you're in a tender state. Their reactions will tell you all you need to know going forward.

And let's face it: Putting yourself out there to meet new people/make new friends can be scary as fuck. There's the whole re-getting introduced to others, relearning how to not overshare/info dump all at once, as well as building that trust in that friendship. It takes effort. It does. But I know you will find your herd of people who love and enjoy your company for all that you are.

::Content Warning- Suicidal Ideation Mentioned below the cut::

As for no future: I'm going to be completely honest with you: I didn't think I would live past the age of 25. No joke. I had it in my head that I would die at 25, and here I am, six years later at 31 looking back and laughing at the absurdity. Life can be hella daunting, it piles and piles and piles with no end in sight. The constant feeling of drowning among responsibilities for family, life, job, friends: It's a LOT!!!!

If I'd died at 25 I wouldn't have my story that I'm working toward publishing, I wouldn't have gotten married. I wouldn't have my husband or my son.

At 25 I'd had no plans on publishing a book let alone writing it. But I'm still here: and so are you. You're still here. It's okay to not know what you want your future to be like. It's okay to take life one day at a time. Whatever gets you through the day is what gets you through.

Something that I've been doing this last year was a gratitude journal. Just write down one thing every day that you're happy/thankful for. Doesn't have to be anything big, could be that you got to sleep in an extra hour. Just something that at the end of the day you can look back on and say: Yeah, I enjoyed that.

It's hard to see the good through all the bad, so make it a point to look for the good everyday when you can.

If it really feels bad please reach out to your support system and/or consider therapy/journalling to help work through everything.

Some links to help:

I hope this helps.

I'm rooting for you ♥

[changminurheart]

forever isn’t forever. ( kim sunwoo )

forever isn’t supposed to be a diamond ring on your finger, but i guess you just weren’t ready to find out what marriage to sunwoo would’ve been like anyway. warning ; forever does end & angst.

“why?” his own voice is the one breaking this time and you try to swallow the lump in your throat ; its stuck, you’re stuck. the speech from earlier lingers in your head, taunting you as you’re left speechless. he’s facing you now, eyes boring into your own. he’s just as lost as you are, faced with a brick wall to high for him to scale. a brick wall you can’t see past.

“i-” your words die on your tongue, why can’t you speak? his eyes are pleading with your own, prodding your brain, begging for answers.

“why did you say no?” the tears spit from his eyes rapidly and when the silence lingers for longer than it should he removes your hands from him. “i don’t care that you did it in front of my friends and family, i don’t care that i looked like an idiot, i just want to know why?” his heart is still crashing and you don’t blame it. you walked in, made yourself home with love in his veins and then walked out, dirty footprints left at the door ; you walked in and out. but you’re still in his sight.

salt mixes with the metallic taste of blood as your teeth sink in to the red lipstick that already stains your frown. he runs another hand through his har, veins breaking through the surface. he deserves answers, he deserves to know why you’re so fucking afraid but you can’t find the words.

this house no longer feels like a home not with the dagger for stares, the teardrops staining your rug and the heaving chests that are irregular against the ticking of the clock. god, seconds tick away but you’re stuck in an unwanted moment of forever.

“woo,” another tick and tear. “i’m scared,” you cry. and his heart softens for a moment before he presses his watermelon lips together.

“so was i,” his pearly white teeth grinds, jaw clenching sharp enough to cut. “but we could’ve been scared together, together it wouldn’t have even been scary,” his voice raises an octave, straining and struggling. you’re both struggling to make sense of your thoughts.

“two years,” he scoffs in disbelief, “two years i’ve held your hands, your heart and protected it with such care. two years i’ve loved you and let you love me. we’ve been selfless and selfish for each other and never once have i ever thought of walking out that door,” his words poke at your being. through the blurry tears you make out the angry pout lacing his lips, the wrinkles in his forehead creasing with every word. words you’ll hear for the rest of your life.

“sunwoo-” you try to reason but he doesn’t let you. for once, he doesn’t even let you breathe. if he doesn’t say what he feels now he’s afraid it’s going to bruise him forever, purple hues that will never heal.

“no,” he pauses and takes a good look at you, “i thought you were it for me,” he chokes out the past tense and you take the first step towards him, him taking a thousand steps back.

“i loved you too,” you shout against the ticking of time and hammering of hearts. “i love you,” your breaths are shaky, the whole world seems to shake. “we’ve spoken about marriage before but woo,” you heave out that last breath, “i’m not ready,” and the truth slices him open at once, the love for you bleeding from his open bruises that your earlier actions formed. through his loosened tie and unbuttoned suit shirt, you see the rapid rise and fall of his caramel chest. “i’m just not ready,” you repeat, though it’s futile because the damage has already been done.

the silence is daunting, it’s no longer the comfortable one you’d sit and weave your hands through his ebony locks. the same one you’d lie on your sides together, doing nothing but feeling everything. yet now, you’re both revealing everything and feeling everything. his bags that were packed in his closet a month ago ready for your planned honeymoon are the same ones he reaches for in the frenzy of emotions.

his mind had been so stuck on you saying yes that he hadn’t took in consideration a no. you’ve spoken about marriage before, he should’ve noticed your hesitation disguised by laughs and distracting kisses. he should’ve seen the warnings, everytime you’d babysit his nephew and still at the thought of having your own one day.

he could never blame you for being scared but he blames you for not trusting him enough to not be scared. he blames you for breaking his heart, because you’ve crushed it into tiny fragments- made of glass and you let it slip through your fingers. and the ring that was supposed to give you forever at your fingertips lies in his back pocket, mocking you as it faces you from his behind- the image of him leaving for good pains your mind.

the suitcase reaches his hands despite your pleading that stops with his final words to you. words that print in your mind for a lifetime.

“will you ever be?”

minnie’s note ; mainly inspired by my sadness tonight (we just been angrily writing lmao) and this gorgeous ass fic that i love with my whole entire heart and will never be able to form words to explain how amazing it was called ‘champagne problems’ by the talented @nayuyeons literal gold- art , a masterpiece i cried through and will always sob thinking about it. i can’t thank you enough for giving me such an experience reading that masterpiece it lives in my mind rent free.

[kenmei]

-ˏˋ FOREVER N THEN SOME! ˊˎ-

♡ gn!reader x kozume kenma

cw: pinch of angst (to fluff !!!), romance, slice of life, crying, established relationship!au, timeskip!au

synopsis: in which he’s actually more traditional than he leads on

wc: 2000+

notes from mei!

ive had this idea rattling around my skull for the longest time

sixteen and a handshake. a standard, normal handshake, but still awkward.

you remember how his hand perfectly fit with yours—how his palms were searing hot as they met with your much colder ones.

you remember him, as a second-year, as the setter for the team you cheered for from the stands. you remember his flushed cheeks when you kissed him on the cheek for a first time, watching as his brain malfunctioned as the rosy hues on his face spread to his neck and the tips of his ears.

you remember him, as the captain, worn out and exhausted at your doorstep.

you recall how he slumped onto you, making you somewhat drag him to your room. half because he really was that tired, and half for his own amusement.

you know him. you know him a bit too well and it’s both a blessing and curse.

because you wonder if he’s finally grown out of it—of this.

looking at the empty spot beside you, you think that, perhaps, he really has—the signs are staring right at you. lately, you’ve been sleeping in a cold bed, waking up to yet again another empty penthouse as you figure he’s at the office again.

(you hope he’s at the office, at least).

texts replies are always hours apart. it seems like he’s been doubling up on streams. friday’s that have always been reserved for two since forever, have only had one person attending these past few weeks.

this is sad, your chest clenches dejectedly at yet another morning where it’s only you. looking around, a part of you wishes that kenma’s actually here, that any second now, he’s going to emerge from his game room, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he scratches his tummy.

because even if you both don’t talk as much as you used to, it’s enough for you simply when he’s present. it’s enough for you when he mutters a good morning, waddling past you to go make his coffee before sitting on the couch.

it’s enough for you when he’s here.

the absolute bare minimum can make you the happiest, but you wonder if even that is too much.

twenty-four and you’re still overthinking.

“just talk to him!” your friends say, but truly it isn’t that easy. even if you’ve both promised to be better at communicating, something about this whole situation makes communication feel so much more difficult.

“you’ve been together for so long, you both still aren’t married?” if you’re being honest, it does bother you sometimes and you wonder if maybe, you should just get on one knee instead.

but you don’t. you don’t because you and kenma already both live(d) like you’re married. you both still share(d) that dynamic of being a laid-back couple who deals with problems as they come.

you don’t think about marriage with him because it already feels right. you don’t mind not getting married and honestly, you’re pretty sure kenma isn’t that kind of guy.

you’re startled by someone poking the side of your head.

your head turns to see kenma, brows slightly furrowed as he analyzes you.

you shake your head, sitting up straight on the couch. “’what’s u—wait, aren’t you supposed to be streaming right now?”

kenma nods his head, plopping into the spot next to you. “ended early. chat was being rude today.”

your head bobs in understanding as you try to find words to piece together. he must be frustrated, you know a little bit about how difficult it can get as a streamer and you also know him, that if he doesn’t want to be near you or hear you, he simply wouldn’t be.

you smile slightly, “t—”

“why are you so tense?” he questions, leaning back. his eyes study you and you feel like hiding.

“’m not.” you defend, shrinking.

“you are.” he replies, “what’s wrong?”

you hum, grabbing a throw pillow and falling onto your side, opposite from him. “class was hard today. your paparazzi found me at the grocery store—”

“that happened last week.”

you groan, because fuck, you really can’t lie to him. he’s too good at getting you to open up, no matter how hard you resist it.

“it’s stupid.” you pout, covering your face with the pillow, already feeling your wound up emotions spiraling back up to the surface.

kenma’s hand lands on your legs, situating them over his lap. he pats the side your calves, humming. “talk to me.”

“what about you?” genuinely, you feel like right now isn’t the best time to talk about this. “you were just telling me about how your chat was being rude!”

“that can wait.” he replies, patient, like he’s always been. “something’s been bothering you, no?”

yes. you think. but i don’t wanna talk to you about it ‘cuz i’m scared.

“are you tired...” fuck, you think, because once again, he’s getting you to talk. “of—of me?”

he’s always been good at this. somehow always getting you to say whatever’s clogging up your mind. he reads you like an open book and you hate it, because even after all these years, it’s still scary.

it’s daunting, because he knows so much about you. if he wanted to, he could pick you apart all too easily, knowing exactly what buttons to push to make you break and that’s scary. it’s terrifying, even.

you feel his hand, as warm as they’ve always been, slide under the bottom of your loose pajama pants, warming up your ice cold skin.

and the feeling is weird, because you feel like you’re on fire, yet his hand is still so much warmer than you.

it’s comforting. you’ve both always been touch-starved and kenma knows this, he knows this as he traces small shapes on your calves, the hem of your pants riding up a bit.

“why would i be tired of you?” he mumbles, eyes moving to see your face is still very much covered with the pillow.

you shrug, leg twitching under his feathery touch. “you’ve been distant and stuff... i dunno.”

and it feels like he’s back at square one with you. kenma feels like an idiot for not realizing sooner, cursing himself for being so caught up with work (and something else) that he’s been neglecting you.

you’ve always been a bit of a crybaby, only him and your close friends know this.

he notes that you tend to cry even when you both have the smallest fights, and it’s something he’s used to.

so to know that you’re holding everything in, it makes his chest tighten.

“i’m sorry, angel.” he says, quiet. “work’s been busy.”

yes, work is busy. even if he finds it enjoyable, it can get taxing sometimes. but he’s also been looking around for something, something that he needs perfect.

“‘s okay.” you mumble and he knows he’s fucking up even more. “i just miss you.”

he tugs on the bottom of your shirt, “c’mere.”

you shake your head and he ponders on what to do.

because even now, even though you’ve both been together for so long that existing with the other is literally needed, there are times when you both get stuck—where existing together feels more complex than it should ever be.

“please,” he pleads softly, “i miss you.”

and if you’re not gonna come to him, he’ll come to you.

so he leans down, forcing you to hold a bit of his weight as he lays atop you. he pulls the pillow away, wiping the few tears away with his thumb.

he kisses your cheek.

twenty-four, you let yourself cry because you’ve missed him so much. seeing other in the evenings or exchanging a few short words doesn’t do it for you anymore, it never will.

another kiss, but on the other cheek. i’m sorry.

another for your forehead, then one more on your nose. i love you.

your hands cling to him and he smiles, caressing your hair. his head lays in the juncture of your neck, frequently wiping your tears with his thumb.

he makes you sit up, only because he wants to hold you.

with your back to his chest, his warm hand envelopes yours. he doesn’t make you face him, because he knows that wouldn’t make you feel comfortable. 

it’s only when he hears your crying subside, that he holds your chin, making you look him in the eyes.

“are we okay?” he mumbles, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath.

it still gets to you. he still gets to you like you’re both still teenagers; your heart thumps in your ears, body burning because fuck, he’s really close to kissing your lips.

you nod, “’m sorry. didn’t wanna talk to you ‘cuz i was scared.”

his lips slot against yours and it’s gentle, your mind becomes fuzzy with a warmth only kenma can provide you. he chuckles when he pulls away, your lips chasing his.

“don’t worry about that,” he says softly, “i might’ve accidentally made it harder to approach me.”

you shake your head. “thought it was just my overthinking.” you fiddle with your fingers, “i didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”

“next time,” he says, “make a big deal out of it. you gotta talk to me, angel.”

you whine, feeling embarrassed because you’ve gotten this lecture from him so many times.

kenma sighs against your skin, wondering if now is the right time. it feels like a good time, but he doesn’t want to waste a special moment because of a good feeling.

“what’s wrong, ken?” you ask, tilting your head back onto his shoulder.

your eyes are red, you’re still sniffling every now and then.

he smiles, hand travelling to his pocket as he pulls out the ring, holding it in front of you. “this is why i was so busy. t—the box is in my gaming room, though, fuck—”

“is that—”

“w—wanna get married, y/n?” his whole face is red. you giggle at his shaking hand as you hold out your own (shaking) hand.

“yeah. i really wanna.”

and you’re crying again as he slips the ring on your finger. the diamonds sparkles at you and you can’t help but fawn over the ring as you sob.

“crybaby.” he mumbles, kissing your cheek. he nuzzles into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. “i love you.”

and it’s here you realize that kenma is a lot more traditional than you thought. memories flood in of him always getting you to watch the first snow with him through his window, forcing you under the kotatsu with him as he shows you a new game he started playing.

eighteen. for your two year anniversary, he took you to a place with love locks. signing one off with you before throwing the key god knows where. and you remember thinking it’s weird, because the month before that, he was telling you stuff like that is kinda phony. 

nineteen. you recall him grumbling about getting into a yukata for the festival, but grumbling even more when you gave in and said you’d both attend in normal clothing, because he’s already halfway in the yukata, why would he change? (he just wanted to wear one with you).

twenty-two. his persistence to keep you awake to watch the sun rise on new years.

you realize kenma follows traditions more than you do and you chuckle.

giggling, you hold your hand out where the diamonds on your left ring finger shine happily, tilting your head to kiss him yet another time.

“i love you.”

change. you know your daily lives aren’t going to be much different, but you both like how your last name will be the same as his.

twenty-four. he proposes to you so casually that some might find it weird. but you both aren’t ones for big gestures. you know kenma loves you, it’s in the way he moves your hair out of your face as he asks you if he can still make it up to you.

and he knows you love him, when you laugh and tell him he already has—when you intertwine your fingers with his and kiss the top of his hand, kenma knows and you know, too.

forever it is.

[straightouttaneptune]

Luna

Pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader (past), Dad!Harry Potter x daughter!Lily Potter

Warning: This is like... legitimate angst. Honestly, it’s so bittersweet. There’s mentions of blood, but I mean, it is Harry Potter.

Summary: Harry tells a story about a girl, Y/N Y/L/N, his first girlfriend. Ginny’s out for the night, and Harry’s daughter, Lily Potter, is more than excited to hear about her father’s teenage romance.

A/N: This came to me while I was daydreaming during class. Amazing what a weekend of binge rewatching Harry Potter will do to you, lmao. Also, I’m debating on making an alternate ending to you and Harry’s story. Oh! Also it’s super long!!

—————————————————————

“Dad, was mum your first girlfriend?” The 9 year old Lily Potter whispered to her father with a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. 

It was a snowy winter night, the day before her brothers, James and Albus returned from Hogwarts for Christmas break. Her mother, Ginny Potter was out for the night, preparing for the other Weasley-Potter kids’ return. 

“Well, do you promise to keep this a secret between us?” Harry replied enthusiastically, sitting down on Lily’s bed as she sat up with her girlish excitement twinkling in her eyes.

“Definitely. So it wasn’t mum?” She giggled as she got situated to hear this very exclusive bed-time story, her sleepiness cast away, nowhere to be found.

“No, although I love your mum very much. My first girlfriend’s name was Y/N Y/L/N.” He paused for a second, for just speaking your name brought back so many memories that made him almost tear up.

“That’s such a pretty name! Was she in Gryffindor, like you and mum?” Lily reacted, and with that Harry resumed the story.

“Actually, cupcake, she wasn’t. She was in Slytherin.” Harry smiled, watching Lily’s face turn into a look of absolute shock as she gasped.

“A Slytherin? Really? Was she pretty?”  

“The prettiest girl at Hogwarts. You see, in our first year, me, Uncle Ron and Auntie Hermione, we had to face this big, scary troll in the girls bathroom. She saved us, because she knew a lot of charms, even as a first year!”

“So she was smart, too!”

“Yeah. She was brilliant.”

December, 1993 Outside the shrieking shack

“He was their friend!” Harry yelled out angrily, hopelessly, powerlessly. He was so frustrated, so sad, and yet he was so powerless in that situation. He couldn’t possibly go after Sirius Black, he didn’t even know where he was. He couldn’t go back in time to save his parents. He could only feel hatred. Intense hatred.

Just when the dark, black smoke of anger started to crowd his senses, his head snapped upwards, his darkened eyes making contact with your unbelievably bright and gentle ones- as your warm hand enveloped his affectionately. The thick smoke vanished in a second, a wave of tears replacing it. He weakly wraps his hand around yours, feeling the small moon-shaped charm on your bracelet to calm himself.

You held him silently, as Ron and Hermione watched him helplessly weep into your shoulder. 

November, 1994 Outside the champions tent

“Harry, you’re brilliant.” You sighed happily, each breath filled with adrenaline as you went to greet him first thing after his first task in the Triwizard tournament.

“Thanks to you, Y/N. You taught me the accio spell.” Harry chuckled proudly, the golden egg heavy in his arms like a trophy worth billions of galleons. 

You rolled your eyes with a grin, laughing as you shove him into the crowd of Gryffindors waiting for him. “No Harry, you just are brilliant. You were amazing.”

You stand there smiling at him and his friends, one by one telling him how they believed him now, and that he was doing justice for the Gryffindor house. That was all you ever wanted for him- to be happy. 

He glances at you with a hint of guilt, his gaze flickering down to the green emblem on your robes for just a split second. If only you were in Gryffindor. He thought multiple times. Because even though he didn’t care at all, the others did. Teachers did. Fate did. 

But you only smile back at him and raise your brows, as if to say “Go, have fun with your friends.” With the overwhelmingly kind look he couldn’t find even if he searched for it in the eyes of the whole Hufflepuff house. Only in yours.

“Why were you talking to Potter? Come on, then.” Pansy pulls on your robes, pulling you away from the bright, cheery crowd of crimson red and yellow.

December, 1994 Gryffindor common room

“You really should just gather your things and come live with us.” Hermione joked, watching you nibble a candy cane while you faced your potions report in the Gryffindor common room that has now become your second home.

Looking up from the parchment at the three of your favorite Gryffindors sitting on the couches, you nodded in agreement. “Honestly, ‘Mione, I would if I could.” 

Harry and Ron burst out laughing, imaging you packing up and moving into the Gryffindor dorms. “You should!” Harry encouraged.

“And- Y/N, have you decided who you’re going with to the Yule Ball yet?” Hermione asked rather hesitantly, her eyes locked with Harry’s.

But you don’t notice, replying “No, the person I really wanted to go with hasn’t asked me yet.” You mutter bashfully, everyone in the room, except Harry knowing who you meant exactly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll ask you soon. I know you’ve already got plenty of asks, he should hurry.” Hermione sends Harry a death glare, her head cocking towards you, demanding him to ask you right now. Harry blushed intensely, gazing at you pondering whilst your stare bore into your unfinished report.

“That’s cause Y/N’s the pretty Slytherin princess, who wouldn’t ask her?” Ginny interrupted for a brief second, giggling at your reaction to the nickname the students had given you.

“For God’s sake, Harry!” Hermione blurted out, sending Harry into a state of complete panic.

“Okay! I get it! Y/N, willyougototheyuleballwithme?”

“Huh?”

“Hermione, what’s a god?”

“Ronald, this is not the time!”

“Y/N!” Harry yelled, practically everyone in the whole common room listening now. “WILL YOU GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME!” He screamed, your mouth hanging open as you stared at the chosen one in shock.

After a brief second, everyone bursts out laughing, and in the midst of the uncontrollable laughs erupting from your stomach, you wipe a tear away and scream back, “YES!” 

And the cheers go wild.

June 1996 Ministry of Magic

“Harry!” You yelp, dashing towards the limp figure laying in the sand, ignoring every other adult there that tried to stop you.

Harry, trying to fight the daunting whispers of Voldemort, gets a sudden surge of power hearing your voice. He can feel you close by, kneeling down next to him. The warm, strong yet inviting aura of yours makes him feel invincible as he regains control of himself. 

“Harry.” You sigh a breath of relief as he wakes, clutching onto your arm of dear life. He dives into your arms, and you slide your arms under his, head buried in his shoulder. 

His voice is tired and deep, but you still hear it very clearly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

August 1997 The Burrow

“Love, you look... brilliant.” Harry gravitates towards you in the after-ceremony of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He admires your amazingly attractive figure wrapped up in the gold and royal blue dress that reminds him of the night sky. 

“You’re supposed to say that to Fleur, y’know. But... you look good too, darling.” Your shy, yet bright smile ignites an eternal flame in his heart, wondering how he managed to snag such a brilliant human being. 

“Speaking of, have you seen how beautiful the sky was tonight?” Your soft hand takes his and he lets you lead him out of the crowded tent- if he was being honest, he’d let you lead him anywhere.

“Well, you know, they’re alright.” Harry joked, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from you. “One day, do you think we’d marry under the moonlight like tonight’s?” He knew it was forward, but he couldn’t help but to ask. Every day felt more and more rushed, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be alive the next day, the next week, or the next year.

You squeezed his hand gently, meeting his brilliantly emerald eyes as he desperately searched for an answer in your gaze. “We will. I’ll love you forever, Harry.” 

His heart feels like they’re about to burst through his ribcage, as he hastily closes the gap between your lips. Your lips taste like vanilla, and he savors every second, feeling your warmth, your soft skin, until the moment is broken by the chaos inside.

March 1998 Malfoy Manor

“Throw the three into the cellar! I... want to have a chat with this one!” Bellatrix Lestrange stomps over to you, recognizing your face immediately. She ignores Harry’s cries of threats and drinks you in dangerously. You stand tall, with nothing to hide, even though her presence sends chills down your spine.

“So... Y/L/N, that’s your name, isn’t it, girl? Your parents told me ALL about you, Y/N! Associating yourself with blood traitors! Mudbloods! Friends? With Gryffindors? Hufflepuffs!” She circles around you, like she was debating with herself on what she should do with you.

“Your parents... disowned you, I heard! You! Are a traitor to your blood!” With a swift flick of her wand, a deep cut appeared on your right arm. You screamed in pain, trying to supress the want to collapse on the floor.

“To your house!” Her wand swishes through the air, and another long, claw-like cut. This time almost slicing off your left leg. Your throat itches from the force as you let out another heart-wrenching scream, horrified at what she might end up doing to you. 

You didn’t want to die. 

“Y/N!! We have to help her. Please. Open, God-dammit! Bellatrix, she’ll kill her!” Harry yelled, tears splitting from his darkened eyes in the lit cellar, feeling the dark knot form in his stomach, hinting at something horrible that he felt was going to happen. He continuously banged his fist at the metal bars, but everyone knew it wasn’t going to come down.

Ron held Hermione silently as she cried.

“Bella, stop, her father-” Narcissa Malfoy’s fearful shout made Harry drain all colors in his face. 

“Harry, I love you.” You whisper under your breath.

“Avada Kedavra!” 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the remaining prisoners in the cellar found themselves on the beaches of the shell cottage, all confused on what had just happened.

“No... Y/N, she did this.” Hermione gasped, tears blurring her vision as she looked out at the blue sky that seemed like it stretched out for miles.

Harry let out a pained shudder. Without even checking if you were here or not, he could feel that he lost you. That you were gone. From his grasp. You said forever. That you’d marry him under the moonlight. You said, you loved him. He was supposed to defeat Voldemort, and live the normal life you both craved. The realization that he wouldn’t be able to hear your voice, or your laugh, and he wouldn’t be able to feel you against him, your angelic eyes on him, dawned on Harry’s fragile heart. He let out yells of agony, knowing that no matter what he did, nothing would bring you back.

But you said forever.

“Oh, no.” Lily gulped, seeing that just talking about it pained her father, still. “But I don’t understand, what did she do before...” Lily trailed off, curious as to why your death resulted in the rest getting saved.

“It was ancient magic she used. Even Auntie Hermione didn’t know the incantations to it. She’d only read about it years ago. Before Y/N’s death, the charm would grant her to use one last spell without her wand. She used it on the disapparation and apparation for the 6 of us.” Harry looked distantly into the air, his hand reaching for the bracelet on his wrist.

“This was hers, cupcake. Recognize anything?” Harry held out your charmed bracelet in front of Lily, her eyes twinkling as she figured it out instantly. 

“My name?” Harry nodded with a hopeful smile on his face.

“Lily Luna Potter.” 

-

ps. Lily was named after you. You had always worn the moon charmed bracelet, and Luna = Moon. Many people thought it was after Luna Lovegood, but in reality, it was you.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 9)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3827 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​​​​​​​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 8 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The lobby of Stark Industries is bright and almost blinding compared to the dull grey that looms over the city outside. To make matters worse, the sky would darken into a deep black in just a few hours, a depressing casualty of setting the clocks back.

It was mid-November with winter closing in. You bundle up your coat, adjusting your scarf before daring to step outside. You were having a conversation with Steve, or at least you thought you were.

“He’s been like this all day,” Mr. Lee said, laughing as a confused Steve finally picked his head up from his phone.

Steve apologized as his cheeks turned pink, again. He was texting Peggy and he just couldn’t help the way he felt about her. They had gone on a few dates since they met on Halloween weekend and Steve was one-hundred percent smitten.

“Well anyway, I have to head to Metro-Gen now so you boys have a good afternoon,” you said, saluting them before stepping outside.

Your internship was going well. It had only been a few months but you were very comfortable working in this type of environment. You were familiar with the hospital and some of the ER staff other than Sam. You assisted Elena with her cases and tried not to forget everything you’ve ever learned while under pressure. It was scary but exciting and most of all you were happy to provide assistance and care to those that needed it.

When the weekend finally came you were thrilled to finish up your hours at the hospital. You were cold and tired, and really wanted to take off your bra immediately. Wanda was coming over which was rare since she and Sam became official. Any time he had off they tried to spend together and you understood it, especially with the hours required for his job but you really missed her and were happy to finally hang out after so long.

“So you seriously can’t eat this?” you said, taking a hefty dip of guacamole onto your chip.

“Uh yes I can bitch, don’t hog all the guacamole,” Wanda joked, pushing you aside as she grabbed the dish for herself. “I just can’t eat the chips.”

Wanda was always trying new diets, not that she ever needed to be on one. She was doing the Keto diet now and while you applauded her commitment you could never give up carbs like that.

She sat cross legged on your couch, moving her fork around her bowl absentmindedly as she worked up the courage to speak. “So I wanted to ask you something…”

A pang of anxiety hit your stomach as it tends to do whenever someone says those words, but you tried to remain neutral, wondering what Wanda was going to say.

“I know we usually have Thanksgiving together but Sam happened to be off this year and I know it’s really soon but he invited me for dinner at his parents’ house and I haven’t said yes yet because I wanted to speak with you first because I know it’s our tradition to do something together but– ”

“Wanda!” You had to shout her name so she could stop and take a breath. You smiled at her, letting her know you were okay with her having Thanksgiving with Sam. “I’m really happy for you,” you said against her ear as she leaned over to hug you.

That night you thought about Wanda and Steve, how they both got into a relationship on Halloween. Meanwhile, the only thing you got that night was a blister on your heel.

“Hey neighbor.”

Bucky’s voice echoed from down the hall as he stepped out of the elevator, seeing you locking your door, with a laundry bag at your feet.

With everyone’s new relationships and Natasha prepping for a case no one has gone out since Halloween and things definitely felt a little weird.

“Hey,” you replied shakily, offering an awkward smile in return.

The truth was you were still upset with Bucky on Halloween. Well, not just you but the whole group. It had been weighing on you each day that passed without seeing him. The closer Bucky got to you and his door, the more nervous you felt and you really wanted to get this off your chest.

“Bucky… sorry this is out of the blue but…” You chewed on your lip trying to figure out exactly what to say.

His brows knit together. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a tense smile, wishing you hadn’t said anything in the first place, especially with the way concern filled those ocean blue eyes of his.

“Yeah I just…” With another big sigh you pushed the words out. “I thought it was kind of rude for you to ditch everyone on Halloween without saying goodbye. I know we’re not that close and you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation for wanting to leave or whatever but I don’t know, I just… needed to say that.”

Your lips pressed together firmly, feeling your heart pound rapidly against your chest as you waited to face whatever backlash there was after sharing your feelings.

Bucky sighed, letting his shoulders slump down. “I’m sorry Y/N. Honestly, that’s not how I wanted that night to end. But you were talking with that guy so I didn’t want to interrupt anything and everyone else had each other so I thought I’d do my own thing.”

“Guy? What guy?” You wondered out loud. When Bucky described him you realized he was talking about Bruce. “You thought something was going on with me and that guy? No, no. He’s a friend from work, just a friend.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to block… anything… just in case.” Bucky chuckled, flashing his bright teeth as he smiled. “Still that was a dick move of me so I’m sorry.”

You accepted Bucky’s apology, feeling a little better about why he left the way he did. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t have left with that girl anyway, not that you care, because you don’t. Although now that most of your friends were in relationships you were feeling a little envious. It’s not that you didn’t want to date but you were too focused on work and school at the moment.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later,” you said, picking up your laundry bag.

“Wait!”

Throughout your conversation one thing stuck out the most in Bucky’s mind, when you said you weren’t close. He really thought you were and he’s not sure why it affected him so much but he wanted to change that and make it right.

You’ve definitely become a good friend of his even if you hadn’t gotten off on the right foot. And maybe he’s been a little busy lately, he hasn’t kept up on the group chat and didn’t think about how his lack of communication impacted anyone else. You were his friend, and so were Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint and Wanda. He wanted to do better and be there for everyone so he might as well start now.

“If you wouldn’t mind the company I actually need to do my laundry too.”

There wasn’t any hesitation as you nodded back to him, your lips pulling into a smile that grew wider when he returned one of his own. Bucky took a few minutes to gather his laundry and together you walked a few blocks to the laundromat.

It wasn’t too crowded for a Sunday afternoon which was a pleasant surprise so the machines were pretty available. Bucky shared his detergent with you which was kind, saving your quarters from buying the single use packs the shop offered.

You sat beside him on uncomfortable chairs, bouncing your leg to keep warm as you shivered. There was some heat circulating through the room, a muggy wet heat that poured out every time someone opened the machines to check on their still damp clothes. Bucky was a good distraction, keeping you focused on your conversation as you caught up on what’s been going on in your lives.

“Thanksgiving’s going to be a little weird this year with Wanda and Steve doing their own thing but it’s alright.”

Bucky heard the disappointment you tried to hide in your tone but your face didn’t mask the emotions as well. He listened as you explained this was your tradition since you moved to New York. Since you couldn’t afford to fly home for both Thanksgiving and the holidays you had to choose, and so every year you spent the day with friends.

“Why don’t you spend it with me?” he asked, watching as the corner of your mouth slowly began to turn upwards into a smile.

“With you? You don’t go to your parent’s house?”

Bucky’s expression softened, “Normally I do but this year they’re flying out to spend Thanksgiving weekend with Rebecca.”

“Where does she live again?”

“It’s ‘they’ and Arizona.” Bucky rubbed the chill from his arms despite wearing a jacket. “Kinda wish I was there right now,” he chuckled.

The machines shook for their final spin cycle and you and Bucky got up in preparation to grab your clothes.

“You didn’t want to go with them?” you wondered.

“I’ve got a lot to work on plus I’ll see Bex soon, they usually come in for Christmas. So… is that a yes? I know I’m not Wanda or Steve but I’m still your friend.”

Bucky’s expression was hopeful as he awaited your answer. A beaming smile spread across your face as you replied, “Yes. I’d love to have Thanksgiving with you!”

If you looked at Bucky’s browser history over the last few weeks you would find a lot of food related searches: How to cook a turkey, how long to cook a turkey, how to cook a turkey fast, easiest way to cook a turkey, simple Thanksgiving dinner, Thanksgiving for 2, best Thanksgiving sides.

He wanted to make your Thanksgiving special but truthfully Bucky wasn’t the best in the kitchen. He could cook a few things but the idea of making a full Thanksgiving dinner was daunting and he couldn’t exactly ask his mother for help.

Since it was going to be just the two of you he finally found his answer– Thanksgiving dinner on a sheet pan. Bucky wrote out the list of groceries he needed, making sure he had everything needed so he could prepare the dinner.

You were working a full day at the hospital so Bucky had extra time to prepare for your arrival. His clothes were folded neatly, placed in his drawers that could now actually close. He made his bed, well he made sure the pillows were straight and draped his comforter over everything neatly. His instruments were gathered together neatly beside his desk and he made sure his bathroom was clean. Bucky spritzed his cologne in the air for good measure to make sure everything smelled nice.

Once that was done it finally dawned on him that he didn’t have a table. “Good job Barnes,” he scolded himself as he cleared away the last remaining clutter on the trunk that served as his coffee table. It would have to make do.

Bucky opened the package he bought at the store, a harvest themed tablecloth that was entirely too big for the trunk but with a few extra folds he made it look alright. It was an extra touch he hoped you would be happy to see. Checking his phone Bucky began to prepare the food, hoping to time it right for when you were coming by.

“No, no, no,” you cried, passing another bakery that was sold out of pies.

You hadn’t planned this properly. Not one bit. With Bucky preparing dinner you offered to bring the dessert and for some reason you thought making pumpkin pie from scratch would be easy. You were very wrong.

By the time you got home last night you were too exhausted to even look at the recipe. You needed sleep and had no shame in going to bed pretty much right away. The fact that it gets dark before five o’clock definitely helped you justify your early bedtime.

The genius idea you had was to wake up a little early so you could make the pie crust which might have worked out if you hadn’t overslept. Yes, despite the extra sleep you got your body wanted more.

Although you made it to work on time you ruined any shot at trying to snag a pie from any bakery along the way. Now you were headed home, defeated and upset with yourself for ruining Thanksgiving.

You trudged through the hallway, sighing heavily as you stood outside of Bucky’s apartment. Your knuckles rapped against the door, waiting for him to answer. Bucky pulled open the door with a smile that dropped the moment he saw your face.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” His hand came upon your shoulder as he offered comfort.

With another deep sigh you shook your head, “No… well yes.” You reconsidered your words, not wanting to worry him. “I ruined Thanksgiving.”

His mouth opened but Bucky didn’t speak, silently wondering why you think you’ve ruined something that hasn’t happened yet.

“I said I would bring dessert and I wanted to bake but I was too exhausted, so I thought I’d get something from the store but everything was sold out and now I feel like a shitty friend.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way you pouted so seriously over something as insignificant as dessert.

“Hey, c’mere,” he said, opening his arms. You rested your head against Bucky’s chest wrapping your arms around him as he rubbed circles on your back through your jacket. “You didn’t ruin anything, doll, I promise.”

With a few more reassurances from Bucky you pulled away from his embrace, feeling a little better even if part of you was still disappointed. You told him you would be over in a few minutes, desperate to change your clothes.

Bucky’s door was unlocked and you let yourself in, now wearing a loose sweater and black leggings that would allow you to feel comfortable as you stuffed your face, and casual slip-ons your feet thanked you for. Bucky was equally casual, in a dark grey t-shirt and black jeans so you didn’t feel bad for underdressing.

You stepped inside seeing the coffee table set up in a themed tablecloth and a scented pumpkin candle that smelled delicious as it spread throughout the room.

“Dinner should be ready in a minute or so. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as you set your bag down beside the couch.

“Wine, I guess?” You weren’t really picky to be honest, happily taking the glass of Pinot Noir as Bucky poured for you and himself.

Bucky barely had a chance to take a sip before the alarm on his phone was going off, his reminder to take the food out of the oven.

“I hope this is okay,” he said, pulling out the sheet pan of turkey breasts surrounded by stuffing, green beans and sweet potatoes.

Your mouth was watering as you inhaled the enticing aroma. “Mmmm it looks delicious. Do you need any help?”

Bucky shook his head, telling you to relax. It was hard, because even though you were still pretty tired from the day you felt like you should be doing more than sipping wine on his couch. You stared at Bucky as he stood in the kitchen, dividing the food amongst two plates.

The muscles of his back were entrancing to watch as they moved beneath his shirt. Dropping your gaze you couldn’t help but stare at the way his jeans hugged his butt.

“You like what you see?”

Bucky’s voice seemingly came out of nowhere as you hadn’t realized he was looking over his shoulder.

“What? No, I’m… tired and stuck in a comfortable stare,” you laughed quickly, masking the awkwardness of definitely getting caught staring at his ass.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. He placed both dishes down, proud of the work he had done. Pressing his lips together Bucky had hope written across his face as he waited for your reaction.

Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to chew fast enough so you could tell him how delicious it was. A smile stretched across his face, happy that he made you happy, and then Bucky began to dig in.

There wasn’t much to watch after deciding to skip over all the football games and sitcom reruns but choosing from Netflix wasn’t much better. There were a dozen cheesy, romantic Christmas movies but neither of you wanted to watch any of those.

“Oh how about this?” Bucky asked as he flashed by Nailed It! Your eyes lit up with delight as you nodded your head. If there was one show that made you feel better about your baking skills it was watching these hilarious disasters.

Bucky had the cutest laugh. The sound itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but the way that his whole face lit up while he was laughing. The joy reached his eyes first with crinkles pulling at the corners, his nose scrunched up reminding you of a bunny, and that smile… Bucky had one of the nicest smiles you’d ever seen because it had the power to make your own greater just by looking at it.

You were crying with laughter as the contestants revealed their cakes, each one somehow more horrifying than the last. By the third episode you found yourself comfortably resting your head against Bucky. It was nice to have someone to hang out with like this again especially since Steve had rightfully been spending most of his free time with Peggy.

“I hope you don’t get your baking skills from this show. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t make pie,” Bucky teased. Your immediate response was to playfully smack his leg. “Ow I’m kidding!”

“It would have been good, a thousand times better than this,” you gestured towards the screen.

Bucky cocked his head to face you. “So let’s make it now.”

Your head shook rejecting his suggestion. “It takes too long. The dough needs to rest for a while after you mix it and I don’t want to eat pie at two in the morning. Not when I have to get up early again.”

With another day off from Stark Industries you’d be spending a full day at the hospital, trying to chip away at all those hours you needed to do.

“It’s still early, we can make something right? Cookies? Is that the same dough?” Bucky asked, because even though you had to be up early he still wanted to spend time with you and he could also go for dessert.

“It’s not exactly the same but I have all the ingredients. Do you want to make cookies?”

Bucky’s stomach rumbled as if on cue making both of you laugh.

Since it was easier to bake in your apartment you helped Bucky clean up the dishes you made in his, feeling it was rude to leave things a mess. Bucky didn’t want you to clean but you at least insisted on rinsing the plates clean and since you were at the sink anyway you ended up washing most of them.

You didn’t see the way Bucky smiled while watching you. This was probably the only time he’s felt comfortable having a woman linger in his apartment. His flings all begged to draw out their time, promising him pancakes or the best eggs and bacon he’s ever had. As hard as they tried, he shut them all down ushering them out quickly but things with you were different. You were friends and closer than he would ever be to any of the random names in his phone.

In your apartment Bucky helped gather the ingredients needed. Counter space and New York didn’t exactly go together, not in your price range, but together you cleared space on your kitchen table and set everything up there.

Bucky ignored his phone that rang as he cracked eggs into the large bowl you were using to mix everything together in. He picked up the bag of chocolate chips pouring a generous amount in the dough, not that you minded; the more chocolate the better!

Together you scooped up balls of dough onto a baking sheet and placed them in the oven.

“Bucky!” You turned to find him swiping his finger through the bowl of raw dough and eating it.

“What?”

“You can’t eat that you’ll get sick!” you protested, taking the bowl away from him and washing it before he could risk his chance of getting E. coli any further.

He sucked his finger into his mouth, smiling, “No one has ever gotten sick from eating raw cookie dough.” His comment had you look back, blinking in silence. “Okay well I’m sure someone has but it’s never happened to me.”

“I want you to enjoy these cookies Bucky, not vomit all over the place.”

He brought over the rest of the bowls that needed to be washed, this time taking over and returning the favor since you washed his dishes. “You mean you wouldn’t take care of me if I got sick?” He pouted, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

“Not a chance,” you said teasingly, unable to hold back your smile.

Checking your phone you pulled out the cookies just in time for them to be crisp and chewy. After letting them cool you let Bucky take the first bite this time, watching as his eyes rolled back as he let a sinful moan slip.

“So fucking good. You’re amazing.”

This isn’t the first time you’d heard similar praise coming from Bucky, and combined with the orgasmic look on his face it made you turn away with embarrassment, now having a visual of what things might be like at night on the side of the wall. You grabbed a cookie to distract your mind, biting into buttery perfection with a massive amount of chocolate thanks to Bucky’s heavy hand.

“Thanks for a great Thanksgiving Bucky. Tonight was awesome,” you said, kissing him on the cheek before wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re welcome Y/N,” he murmured against you, squeezing back a little tighter, both of you now aware of the friendly kiss you had given him.

Bucky left with a dish containing most of the cookies at your insistence. He couldn’t help but eat a few more when he was back in his apartment. Before getting into bed Bucky listened to the voicemail he received earlier.

“Hi James, it’s Mom. We missed you tonight. I don't know why your deadline was on a holiday but I hope you finished everything. I set aside some leftovers in case you wanted to come over tomorrow. Call me back. I love you.”

PART 10

[spxllcxstxr]

🧝🏻‍♂️ because I know knitting about LOTR and I want to get into it

Okokokokokok. Ok.

So, getting into LOTR is going to feel scary and daunting, but let me tell you, on your first read through, just have fun with it. You don’t need to understand all of Middle Earth’s history or Tolkien’s many self made languages the first time. I would suggest just reading through and enjoying it and then watching the movies (either versions are fine, but you should watch the extended cut at least some point in your life). And then if you’re extremely into like the different races and their history, then completely dig into the series and every hidden meaning and the rest of his books.

I think that’s the power of LOTR and TH and the Silm and all of his other works. You can just read through them like a normal fantasy series and that perfectly fine. If your one takeaway is that Elves are hot and the Hobbits have the right idea when it comes to living life, then that’s amazing. If you want to actually learn Sindarin or any other language to the point you study and write papers on it, then that’s amazing too!

So just read it and have fun. There are people on tumblr that have memorized the history of middle earth, and there are people on tumblr that are just here to post about the ships (we can rant about that too). No matter what you find yourself enjoying, just know that’s it’s all alright.

I’ve found that the LOTR fandom is really welcoming. They don’t mind if you prefer the movies over the books (which is a whole nother rant), or if you tried reading the Silm and fell asleep. Their memes are great and their textposts are insightful.

So yeah, this rant got long. And I hope that you love LOTR! Whenever you start it shshsjsh

Come celebrate 500 followers with me!

[heathersgameoftag]

preview of next fic under the cut

not me forgetting that i put these on my blog now

“I wanted to do a nice happy greeting, but instead I have to warn you that you have a problem up ahead.’

Betty, Martha and JD had all met them by a window that Duke had happily perched herself on. Well, happy was a stretch. Content might be a better word. She hadn’t exactly been joyful at any point throughout the entire morning, it was starting to get excessive, even for her. It made Heather so sure that she was still keeping a lot from her, even though she had confessed she was upset because of her parents, because there had been plenty of times she had been upset with her parents and she had recovered the next day. It was down to the sad fact of ‘growing numb from it’, but still. She wouldn’t even turn away from the scenery outside, though it was grey and dim, to greet any of the newcomers.

Heather followed Betty’s gaze as she nodded up the few steps next to them. She had been speaking to Veronica, but it concerned her too.

“Oooh, look who decided to show her face,” Veronica commented, having also turned to see the figure furiously marching towards them.

“Oh, she looks mad,” JD said, coming to stand next to her. “And she’s looking at you directly. Good look, babe!” He shoved her forward playfully, to which she grunted at him indignantly.

“I love having support from my boyfriend,” she snarked, before turning back to the huffing girl stopping just a few feet away, glowering at her dangerously. Not that it was scary, Courtney wasn’t all that tall.

“What the hell did you do?” she hissed. Heather just smiled innocently at her.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You - or somebody here, knows exactly what I mean.” She shot an accusatory glare to all of them. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. People have been whispering about me all goddamn week, and I want answers.” She reached out and grabbed her collar, sneering, “What did you tell them?”

Heather slapped her hand off in disgust. “You’re delusional,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt for pretty much gaslighting her, but she reminded herself that it was different from when her parents did it to her. Courtney actually deserved it. “I haven’t spread anything about you.”

“It has to be you!” Courtney barked. “I know you’re upset that I insulted your little loser posse.” She eyed Betty, Martha, JD, Veronica and Duke in disdain. “It’s not my fault you let a bunch of nobodies infiltrate your friendship group, I was just pointing out the obvious!”

“Now, if you keep talking like that, maybe I will spread a rumour about you,” Heather said. “How’s, ‘the amount of times I’ve seen Courtney not wash her hands after using the restroom is gag-inducing, to say the least.’”

The group (except Duke) chuckled quietly while Courtney looked disgusted.

“That’s not even true!”

“Doesn’t have to be true. They’ll believe me.” She examined her nails, looking aloof. That only enraged Courtney more.

“You spread something! Tell me what it is, Chandler!” she demanded furiously. “Nobody will tell me. Whatever it is, you’re going to tell me right n-”

“Oh, fuck off, Courtney,” Duke suddenly spoke up, turning her head away from the window at last to shoot her an irritated glare. “Take your damage elsewhere, would you? Literally none of us care about some random preppy bitch scared of what some randos in the school are saying about her. You’ll be forgotten as soon as we all leave for college, hell, you’d be forgotten now if you didn’t constantly whine like a stuck up, spoiled little brat.”

Courtney, as well as everyone else, was understandably taken aback by the sudden outburst. Perhaps it wouldn’t have seemed so harsh, had Duke not looked so disinterested. She didn’t even hold her gaze, she just turned back around and gestured for her to leave with a flick of her wrist. Courtney let out a frustrated grunt, but exited the scene and made sure to glare at Heather snidely on the way out. Once she was out of sight, she laughed out loud.

“Oh, she is mad,” she chortled. “Coming up with a non-existent rumour was perfect, Heather.” She glanced at Duke, hoping to catch her eye to give her some praise, but she didn’t turn around. She gave a shrug, to Heather’s disappointment.

The group frowned at her, and while Mac decided to sit next to her on the window sill, she heard Martha lean to Veronica and whisper,

“Is she okay?”

“Um… she’s…” Veronica stammered, wondering what to say that wouldn’t get his head bitten off by Duke.

“Her parents are… getting on her nerves,” Heather quickly said, saving Veronica the stress. That shouldn’t reveal more than Duke would have liked; everyone gets irritated by their parents.

“That’s one way to put it,” Duke muttered, mostly to herself. Mac scratched the back of her neck nervously.

“So, should we go grab lunch? Since we’re all here,” she asked, looking around the group. The mood lifted and everyone agreed.

“I’ll catch up,” Heather told them. “I just need to get today’s question for lunchtime poll.” She left with them down the hallway, but stopped when they reached a turn.

“I also need the bathroom, so, I’ll catch up too,” JD added, hurrying off ahead of the group. Heather went in the opposite direction, and just before she reached the door to the student room, an arm slammed in front of her. She stepped backwards, immediately growing irritated upon seeing Courtney again. Didn’t she ever quit?

“I know you did something,’ she growled. ‘I’m not giving up until you tell me what.”

“Fuck off and stop bothering me, you goddamn leech.” She pushed her arm aside and tried walking towards the door again, only for her to step in her way.

“And here I thought you were wise in picking friends and enemies, Heather,” she hummed patronisingly. “As of late, it appears that isn’t true.”

“I know what I’m doing, so quit acting like I’m falling from grace or whatever you want to call it. Those people sit at my table because I let them. They’re Veronica’s friends, so I’d rather they not be harassed by bitches like you. And, you know, I’m dating one of them, of course,” she quickly amended. Courtney’s eyes narrowed.

“So you’re picking loserdome over people actually worthy of recognition now?” She not-so-subtly gestured to herself. “You’re a disappointment.”

“If it pisses you off, that’s fine by me.” She went to step around her, but Courtney wasn’t finished.

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play this, then maybe I’ll just find something to spread about you. You know, to make it even.”

Heather laughed out loud at that. “Good luck getting people believing you. Why do you think no one ever bothers us, hm? I make sure they don’t.” She turned to sneer at her. “Spreading lies about me won’t get you anywhere.”

Courtney took a step back, but brushed her threat off. “You’re not exactly as respected as you once were, Heather. Hence my whole warning about the friends you’re picking.” She cocked her head to the side and smirked. “Besides, I wasn’t going to spread a lie. I’m sure behind that perfect little image you’ve made for yourself, there’s something dreadfully embarrassing that you’d hate for anyone to get their claws on.”

Heather did her best to keep her expression from changing.

“Then I wish you luck finding whatever secrets you expect to find somehow. You’ll need it.” She straightened herself up, brushing non-existent dust off of her collar as if the mere presence of Courtney was making her filthy. “Meanwhile, I’ll find a lot of entertainment in your weird obsession with me.”

“It’s not an obsession-”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun stalking me to figure out what’s happening in my personal life!” she sang over her shoulder as she walked away. “Totally not weird of you at all!”

She was soon out of her view, having stepped into the student room to grab her clipboard from Peter. She read over the question several times on her way back to the cafeteria, but it was hard to focus. As amusing as her argument with Courtney had been, the thought of her actually figuring something out did alarm her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. It’s not that she felt insecure about her choice in friends - even times when she thought she regretted expanding her bubble the way she did, she immediately shook the thought away when remembering what had happened last time she had disregarded Veronica’s friends as little more than the scum of the school that she could take advantage of whenever she wanted.

She wasn’t going to go back to that state of mind all because Courtney didn’t approve of her decisions. As daunting as the status quo change had been, she knew it was for the best to rid of that toxic mindset. But since she was making that choice, it seemed now she was an easy target for sabotage. And there was a lot of material one could use, if they found out somehow. Small things, like how her relationship with JD wasn’t real, or that she hasn’t seen a Remington party invite in ages, and didn’t want to see one ever again. Or there were the bigger things, like her actual choice in partners, or her reasonings for being so much more wary at parties. If any of those things got out, she knew it would be the end. Sure, Duke had managed to stay in power, but she wasn’t sure if she could be quite as strong as her if it came out that she was pansexual. Last time people had assumed she was attracted to women, hell had broken loose, and… she never wanted to go through that again.

The exception being her family, of course. That hadn’t bothered her at all. Coming out was little more than a tool to cut them out of her life for good.

She unfortunately found herself wondering if it would be better to separate the lunch tables again; perhaps she’d be safer that way. Not even just her - all four of them would be safe. Then that thought was dismissed upon seeing Veronica so happy to have Betty and Martha with him, laughing as he attempted to toss popcorn into Betty’s mouth from one corner of the table to another. No, she absolutely could not return to the old status quo, even if it benefited her a lot more. She had to stop being so selfish.

Then she found herself wondering, what of her reputation? She wasn’t about to deny that it was definitely crumbling. People still looked up to her, sure, but how long would that last? Would her newfound generosity slowly erode it away until she was just a face in the crowd?

But that thought got chased away while she was travelling around table to table, when she saw JD in the line for lunch, later than the rest of the group due to his trip to the bathroom, probably. A couple of guys were pushing and shoving him, all to cut in front of him in the queue. Well that just wouldn’t do. She marched over and grabbed his arm, pinning all three boys with a piercing glare.

“Is there a problem here?” she spat. Their brave, cocky expressions all collapsed, frightened ones being left behind in their place. They slowly shook their heads, awkwardly and fearfully. One of them stepped backwards in line, as if offering JD his place back, but she just scoffed scornfully and walked forward, until the two of them were right at the front. She felt bad for the girl who was about to grab a tray and walk through to grab her food, but it was worth it to gain the satisfaction of having JD grin at not having to wait in line any longer. When the girl behind them shot them a disgruntled look, she glowered at her threateningly, which got her to lower her head.

“Nice, I love boyfriend privileges,” JD said, grabbing a tray. He stepped aside and gestured to the space next to him. “You coming?”

“I’ll be there in a bit, I still have to bother some people with today’s question.” She stepped away. “See you later.”

So, no, she wasn’t going to change anything about her relationships to get Courtney off her back. If Courtney wanted to try and have her revenge with her, then so be it. If she suffered because of her, then surely, surely it would be worth it.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Five

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 13th, 2000

Remy resisted the urge to bang his head against the desk in boredom. His professor hated him, he knew all of this, and he couldn’t wait to get out of here so he could just chill in his dorm room, or maybe eat. He needed a break.

“Mister Picani?” the professor cut through his thoughts.

“Hm?” Remy asked, looking back to the front.

“Do you have the answer?” the professor asked impatiently.

“Depends on the question,” Remy replied.

The kids laughed, and the professor’s lips thinned into a line. “See me after class,” he said.

Remy sighed as the professor moved on. Bored and now in trouble, too.

Great.

  January 20th, 2004

Remy did his best to give a stern glance to himself in the mirror, but only wound up wincing as he saw what he looked like. He was wearing a nice suit, complete with one of Emile’s non-cartoon-themed ties. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do today, but this look wasn’t cutting it.

“How you doing, Rem?” Emile asked from the edge of the bedroom.

“I feel like a monkey in a suit,” Remy said, gripping the ceramic counter and snarling at his reflection. “I don’t want to go into the school looking like this.”

“You know, you don’t have to impress your old business professor,” Emile pointed out. “Just because he asked you to answer some questions from the up-and-coming business students doesn’t mean that you have to deal with,” Emile gestured vaguely to Remy’s reflection. “This.”

Remy undid the tie and sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But can I really go in there with a blouse and slacks and expect to be taken seriously?”

Emile shrugged. “If you walk in there with confidence, probably,” he said. “Besides, most of the business students already look at you like you’re a celebrity. You’ve got this.”

Remy sighed and nodded, pulling the tie out of his collar. “You know what? You’re right. I’ll save the suits for weddings,” he said decisively. He stripped as he exited the bathroom, and was in nothing but his briefs by the time he went to the closet. He pulled out a pair of slacks that made him feel more cute than sophisticated, and pulled out that wild diagonal light-blue-and-purple blouse with all the ruffles. “Now this... this I can get behind.”

Emile snickered as Remy slid the blouse down his arms. “What?” Remy asked with an embarrassed blush.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Emile rushed to assure. “I just find it funny that your business professor is going to have to walk you into a classroom full of eager students, you dressed up in a blouse and those slacks that make your butt look fabulous, and admit that he failed to teach you and you still became successful.”

Remy absorbed that information, before offering Emile a shy grin. “Okay, you’re right, that’s kinda funny,” he admitted.

Emile grinned. “See? You’re gonna kill it, Rem. I know you, and I know enough about that class from you ranting to me about it when we were freshmen.”

“If you say so...” Remy said with a little shrug. “I don’t know about killing it, but I’m definitely going to make that professor red in the face, and that makes it all worth it.”

Emile kissed Remy’s cheek and helped him with the last button on the blouse, before leaving Remy to pull up the slacks. “Ready for breakfast?” he asked.

Remy nodded, and the two of them went downstairs, Emile cooking up the eggs while Remy made the toast, because Remy didn’t want to get any grease splatter on his nice blouse. They ate in the kitchen standing up, just like old times in their apartment, and Remy hummed. “You’re getting better at eggs, Emile, I gotta admit,” he said with a little grin.

“Thank you, I do try,” he said. “It’s not fair to make you make all the meals we have, after all, not with your job.”

Remy shrugged. “I don’t mind most days, but I see your point,” he allowed.

They went to the car and Remy fidgeted only a little. He was admittedly, worried. He was an out and proud gay man at the shop, but now? He wasn’t going to the shop, he was going to a college classroom full of freshmen, who weren’t as open and exposed to things like the LGBT community if they didn’t go looking for that. And it was a little scary, thinking that today, he was gonna have to show to these freshmen what gay and successful looked like. Whether he wanted to be or not, he was going to be making an impression on these kids.

“Hey, you’re gonna do great, Rem,” Emile reassured.

“I know,” Remy groaned. “It just...it sucks that I have to make an impression on these kids, while barely being more than a kid myself.”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed. “I think if this becomes a regular thing, you’ll cringe at your first presentation eventually, but you’d get it done. You’re freaking amazing, Remy. I have no doubt that you’ll make a good impression. And if you have to make an impression, I’d prefer a good one to a bad one.”

Remy nodded, swallowing. They went to the college campus, and Remy’s ears were roaring as his heart pounded. It looked the same as ever, but it felt different to Remy, returning as not a student, not a ride, not a boyfriend, but a guest lecturer. “Oh, God,” he breathed.

Emile smiled, walking with him to the business building. “I’ve gotta get to my classes, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” Emile promised. “I love you.”

“Love you,” Remy said, getting a quick kiss from Emile before walking inside the business building.

He felt somewhat self conscious, dressed the way he was, but he walked down the hall until he saw his old professor, shaking his hand. “Good to see you again, Professor Fleming.”

“You too, Remy,” his old professor said. “You were one of my worst students, but also one of my favorites. I knew you could do something like this if only you applied yourself.”

“I guess you were right,” Remy said with a long-suffering sigh.

“What was that? Didn’t quite hear you,” Professor Fleming said with a smug grin.

“You heard me,” Remy grumbled.

“Nice to hear it, too,” he said. “Shall we go in? This will be all my business class students who are taking one hundred one level. I made sure you wouldn’t have to do this more than once over the course of the week.”

That made the whole prospect slightly more terrifying, but Remy nevertheless nodded. “Sure. May as well give it a shot.”

Professor Fleming walked in, and Remy followed behind him. The whole class quieted when they saw Remy, slouching against the professor’s desk in a bright blouse and dress pants. Remy could feel a slight heat building up in his ears. “Class, this is Remy Picani, the local store owner of Sleep Easy. Behave yourselves when you ask questions,” the professor said, giving the class a stern glance, before moving to sit in a seat in the front row of the classroom.

“Okay...right,” Remy said. “You all by now know my name, and most of you will probably forget it over the duration of the lecture. That’s okay, so long as you remember that I make a mean cuppa joe.” Ripples of laughter went through the class. Remy smiled, relaxing into a more natural pose. “Now, I want to make one thing abundantly clear: I am the exception, not the rule, okay? College isn’t for everyone, and that’s fine. But if you think you can drop out of college, start out on your own from nothing and become a successful business owner? Think again. I only got the property I did through my fiancé’s trust fund. And I only knew what I did about business because I read through all the books that were on the recommended reading list before I even went to college. So don’t look at me, go, ‘If he can do it, why can’t I?’ and try to follow in my footsteps. Not least because of the fact that I value my position as the only small business café on Main Street.” More laughter. “But go on, fire away some questions. I don’t have a structure for these sorts of things, this is actually my first lecture. We’ll go about this process together.”

A hand went up and Remy pointed to the girl. “Exactly how much math goes into running a business?” she asked.

“More than I’d like,” Remy said, laughing. “No, but. In all seriousness, it’s a lot of math. Not only to keep track of sales versus costs, but also number of people each day, reviews, and cash flow. There’s... so much math. It’s exciting, in a daunting kind of way. Like, I had the sort of mind that could have been an accountant. I would have been bored to tears, but I could do those sorts of equations. And make no mistake: you have to be good with those sorts of things in order to get through the other side of business that no one talks about.”

Another hand, and Remy pointed at the guy. “What inspired you to start the business?”

“A string of bad luck and upper management not taking me seriously as potentially becoming one of them,” Remy replied. “They didn’t want me running a shop, even though I knew everything that went into it. So I made my own.”

Another. “Why are you wearing a blouse?”

Remy turned red as murmurs went through the classroom. The professor coughed. “Let’s stick to the business side of things, please,” he said.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll answer,” he said. “I feel more comfortable and confident in this blouse than I do wearing suits. And since I’m my own boss, I can do that sort of thing.”

The questions he answered were mostly business focused, but there was the occasional jab at his dress or his sexuality. It was no secret that he and Emile had their kiss published in the paper.

One hand went up, and Remy inwardly cringed, as he could see the silver cross dangling from her neck. “Yes?” he asked her.

“Is there anyone you don’t allow in your shop?” she asked.

Remy relaxed a little. “Sure. People who are mean to the staff don’t exactly get welcomed in my shop. And then there are the loiterers, who I have to shoo off from time to time. And of course, there’s the homophobes...”

“You don’t allow people who disagree with being gay in your store?” she asked. “Isn’t that bad for business?”

“It’s a college town, I manage,” Remy said with a weak smile.

“But you’re shutting them out for their religious beliefs,” the girl protested. “That’s discrimination.”

“Actually, it’s not. Because you can choose to be accepting of gay people. You can’t choose being gay. There’s a difference,” Remy pointed out. “So I don’t let homophobes who are blatantly homophobic in my shop. Of course, hanging up queer art around the place from local artists probably doesn’t endear my shop to them any.”

“But—”

“Kid, what’s your name?” Remy interrupted.

“Shirley. And I’m not a kid,” she huffed.

Remy shrugged. “Your mental development is years of difference from mine, so to me, you’re a kid. Look. You’re in college now. You’ll find that a lot of people around you will do things you don’t agree with. A lot of people will be things you were taught were bad. And they’re not. You don’t have to join in, you don’t have to be that if you don’t want to be. But your personal opinions shouldn’t dictate anybody else’s experience. I don’t allow homophobes in my shop because I’m gay. I don’t feel safe around them, and like I said, it’s a college town. I manage. But I really don’t want you walking away from this thinking you should discard everything I say because I’m a ‘sinner.’ I may be gay, but I’m also a business man. And those two may have overlap in some places, but by and large they don’t. So don’t dismiss me right off the bat. Sound good?”

The girl sank in her seat and shrugged. “Shirley, see me after the class, all right?” Professor Fleming said. “Thank you for being understanding, Remy, I’m sorry about that.”

“Hey, I’m always trying to educate when I get the chance,” Remy joked.

The rest of the lecture went off without a hitch, and when Emile came over to drop Remy off the keys to the car, Remy felt bold enough to kiss Emile’s cheek. Professor Fleming smiled. “Would you be willing to do this again next semester?” he asked.

“Absolutely!” Remy agreed.

[killian-whump]

Hi! First of all I want to say I love your blog. Your gifs are great and your explanations about whump are very insightful. Your posts are the first I've seen which talk about whump and sexuality. There’s a lot I can relate to. I liked whump as long as I can remember and I just thought maybe I'm a sadist xD Then I learned about whump and that fits really well. So I don’t really know anymore? Actually I’m questioning my whole sexuality atm. (1/)

Hiiiiiiiiiii Nonny! Well, I wanna say that I love YOU, Nonny, because you have really good taste in blogs apparently, and you're also a whumper and I love whumpers with all my heart 💗

Honestly, I'm still confused about my own sexuality. I mean, I identify as Asexual for the most part, but man do I like whump... and whumped men... and kinky stuff. But sex itself is just boring to me and I honestly don't see why other people enjoy it at all. It just seems messy and awkward and totally unnecessary. Sure, orgasms are great, but that's why God gave us all hands and put the good spots right within reach of them, AMIRIGHT?! Given the choice of jilling off for five minutes or spending a night letting some dude fumble around my girly bits in the hopes of maybe accomplishing something worthwhile and waggling his weird-looking boy parts in my face and ramming them in random holes... I mean, the choice is obvious to me which is the superior way to achieve an orgasm or twelve.

I have a lot of super important thoughts about men and sex and penises, but they seem to only be important to me, so...

ANYWAY! There's more to your Ask!

"I’ve never had a relationship (at over 25) and I always thought sex would be like learning to drive. Daunting at first, but enjoyable when you get the hang of it. I get aroused by fanfics, but just the ones were the women are the tops (I’m female). It’s a shame these are so hard to find. Why seem so many women to be attracted to submitting to a guy? Really can’t relate. But I have a hard time imagining anyone would willingly be a sub in real life anyway. (2/)"

I'm on the fence on the whole "doing it in real life" thing when it comes to subs. I've never subbed in real life, and I honestly don't know if I will/would ever have the balls to do it, either. I mean, it requires so much bravery and trust in your partner... I'm not really good at either of those things. But I have MASSIVE respect for anyone who's brave enough to do it. I mean, good for them. Seriously. Especially male subs, since they gotta buck that whole "men can't be weak" stereotype in order to do it.

Topping isn't scary at all to me, but I gotta be honest... I kinda feel the same way about it these days as I do about sex in general - it's a hell of a lot of trouble for nowhere near enough payoff. I love seeing men beaten, wounded, vulnerable, in pain, etc... but it's such a pain making them that way. Can't I just watch someone else do it for me? Maybe just phone a 1-800 number and get a wounded whumpee dropped on my doorstep?

I dunno. I'm just really lazy, Nonny. Anyway... more of your Ask!

"Not that I would mind meeting someone like that. Well, I guess I stick to whumpy gifs and the odd fanfic for the moment. Sorry for this messy ask. I just had to tell my thoughts to someone. I hope you don’t mind.On another note: Have you ever watched something with a non-whumper and they go: They’re so mean to each other. And you have to keep yourself from saying: Yes, that’s why I’m watching this.? (3/)"

Never apologize for messy Asks to me, Nonny. I don't mind them at all :) I like hearing my Nonny friends' thoughts 💗

And yes! I watch things with a non-whumper all the time, actually... haha. I live with my parents, and we watch a lot of TV and films together. My mom knows about my love of whump - but she's definitely one of those "UGH, why does there have to be a torture scene in everything these days?" viewers. She hates that stuff. And meanwhile I'm like

It's kinda awkward at times, I guess, but I'm used to it... and she's really good about letting me know when she watches something or sees a promo for something that she thinks I'll like. And vice versa, since she's not into that kind of stuff, I'll tell her when there's stuff in something that she might not like.

Okay! Gonna answer the last part of your ask separately, so I can fangirl and flail about it like the nutter I am 😀

[madvljacob]

Sexuality - discovering who you really are can be a bit scary, trust me, I know

Whew where do I even begin on this topic?

I begin with stating that I’ve never liked labels, I have never wanted to categorise myself and put myself into any kind of box - for I am fundamentally a free human bopping about on this wonderful earth, searching for sunshine happiness

You’re probably reading this, knowing that I find both men and women sexually attractive and so what can she really write that will help me? Either you feel so lost or so hidden it won’t relate? Well trust me, I was there once. For a very long time (I’ll come back to this later as I’m still a little lost/hidden)

My journey so far

I spent 18 or so years of my life in the heterosexual box - I had momentary steps out of the box before 18, however up until that point I was a firmly self labelled heterosexual

As I started discovering more of this universe, I started to discover more of myself (for i am the universe, the universe is i)

Feelings towards women started out as superficial and unattainable - fancying celebrities (namely cara delevingne and Megan Fox whew u still sexy boo’s) - and this was fine - for everyone looked at women with admiration and so I felt ‘normal’

But there comes a moment in your life (and if you’re lucky enough, you get this multiple times throughout your life) where you meet someone, and you can’t help but feel like you’re exploding inside, real life fireworks, and you don’t have even a second to think about the gender of the person - this is the push I needed to pull myself out of the box I had put myself in

Now, I am a woman who loves who they love, a pure sunshine soul, falling in lust/love with other sunshine souls

God it can be so daunting to flow with that initial push, but trust me, it is liberating. It is freeing. It is everything you imagine it to be: exciting, scary, unknown, alien, the list goes on

My view on life is that it is too bloody short to limit ourselves, in any capacity. And so to let yourself feel fireworks is just what this is all about. I’m not here to be a bystander of this world, I’m here to appreciate and experience every single little thing

There will be times you feel like you are SO lost, not ‘normal’, and completely consumed by the social constructs of this world but you really do just have to say fuck it. Fuck it and be exactly who you ARE to just be so infinitely happy. If being ‘normal’ is suppressing who I am, I don’t want it

Navigating relationships that are different to you can be bloody hard. The unknown. The power dynamic. The sex. The talking. The whole damn game.

And you see me, being exactly who I am, being happy - but remember it was a bloody long journey to get here (one I am still walking). The way I see it is, there is no final destination to your sexuality, it’s a long ole journey. Sometimes we walk, sometimes we stand, sometimes we run - it is an infinite continuum.

Something that recently came to my attention to help people who may be going through a sexuality crisis was a TV series, the Bold Type (namely the character Kat Edison). This series helped to show a humans’ journey for a moment within their fictional life - but bloody hell did it feel like I needed this 10 years ago. Kat embodies everything I wish I could’ve when I was younger - she loves who she loves - she finds love, she finds herself, she falls, it all is there. And this was the first time I felt really truly seen. Rather than seen as a ‘phase’. It made me feel less alone in this world - knowing someone, if even fiction, had gone through the same experience as to what I once did

My advice?

Run, run into the direction your heart is calling you along your journey. For we all trip up sometimes but bloody hell even that can be beautiful when you’re running towards who you really are

Not everyone will agree with your life choices, but that’s okay, not everyone likes Brooklyn 99 - but it’s still a bloody good TV show?? You know?

The moment you start living for your own truth, your own heart, your own soul, everything works out. It just does. I can’t explain it. The universe looks after you a lot more than you think, trust it.

And so, be vulnerable, be fluid, be free, be happy, be you

I know it can be hard to fight with your own brain, but give up. Give up fighting against your brain and completely immerse yourself with the flow of life.

Lost/hidden truth

I say I find men and women sexually attractive, but the real truth is, women spark the fireworks in me that I can’t explain, men simply do not have the same affect on me. I can’t explain why really (you’re probably reading this like, yeah because you’re a lesbian??? - well no, to close myself off to different genders would be premature) - this also applies to all other genders of course.

I am free, I am running towards who I am, stumbling sometimes, but smiling. I am insanely happy with the human I am. I love myself. Truly. Every single part.

I hope you learn to love every part of your being too, for it is the most beautiful thing. We only get one chance at this kids. Be true to yourself. Be vulnerable. Be you. Be happy. Be free.

Peace n love,

Mads xxx