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forthelostones · 7 months

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humans can lick too ─── ⋆ (kinktober)

☄. *. ⋆ fem!reader x dom!abby x perv!ellie ☄. *. ⋆

synopsis: halloween night just turned into another day for you, until you're visited by two desperate ladies.

warnings. 18+ (mdni); threesome, perv!ellie, dom!abby, fingering, nipple play (all receiving), and strap penetration & sucking (r!rec), jealousy, breaking & entering. pet names: baby & dove.

an: this will be my last (purely) smutty post for a while, i want to focus on a different style these next couple of days! this isnt my best & its a bit silly i think but i love this urban legend and i saw someone KB list this as an option. also thanks for 200 follows, much love. (i am taking any requests!)

wc: 2.5k

most halloweens you spend it doing a bar crawl or sitting on your porch, wine in hand, passing out treats. this night was different, you weren’t going out or even entertaining the idea of halloween - it became a normal day to you. earlier this afternoon you took your pup on a walk around the neighborhood and waved to your neighbors who were setting up for tonight.

“well, city hall sent out an email saying it was imperative that we stay vigilant tonight, y’know.” your across the street neighbor mentioned.

“that’s every year isn’t it? i thought it was typically some teens who come and ruin the fun for all the little ones.”

“i don’t know, tonight feels different, i'm turning in before 9 tonight just in case. especially with those incidents that happened last month.”

you took what they said with a grain of salt. you were the youngest among your neighbors and they were always shaken up by the smallest occurrences. but tonight it felt like they may have been right, you couldn’t help but feel a dark cloud follow you on your walk. almost as if someone was watching you. every crunch on the ground your body stiffened, what if something bad is supposed to happen tonight? you and pup rush home in a paranoid frenzy, triple-checking if the front door is locked.

as soon as you unleash your baby and remove your muddy shoes, you notice how warm the house has become. you checked the thermostat and it wasn’t set, but you still couldn’t ignore the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. you walk over to the window above the kitchen sink and make a mental note that you should close it before sunset.

after lounging lazily on the couch you hear the beginnings of laughter and soft screaming in the street for the holiday. you decided you’d do the bowl method tonight and place a note on the front porch, take candy, please! you scroll on your phone waiting for your dinner to heat up and you receive a phone call from your on-and-off against fling, abby. you guys have a strictly fuck only relationship — she comes and bends you over, then leave. this didn’t bother you, for the most part.

"you coming out tonight?" she questions.

"nope, staying in."

your ears perk up at how quiet she’s speaking, but you didn’t care, you liked hearing her voice ring so sweet in your ears.

"i would love to see you tonight, baby.”

you hear the shuffling of what your paranoid brain assumes to be footsteps coming from your bedroom. you walk towards the steps leading upstairs and get hit with the dial tone.

“abs? hello?”

you grip your fingers to form a fist, attempting not to breathe too loudly. just when your foot reaches the first step, the timer on your phone blares, startling you into a silly laugh. you can't believe how spooked you felt.

hey, what happened, why’d you hang up?

sorry, idk bad service, sorry.

can i see you tonight?

you just throw your phone on the counter as you finish your food and wash your dishes out before going to bed. you reach down to pet your sleepy pup who is also ready for bed. you both travel to your bedroom, belly full and eyes heavy, ready for your head to hit the pillow. you strip off your clothes, throwing them on the floor, not even bothering to throw your laundry in the hamper. you look at abby’s message, wondering if you should reply or not, but you just let your mind drift off.

in the middle of the night, your neighborhood stood silently as you tussled in bed, wrapping your legs in the sheets. you reach over the edge of your bed to feel your pup. their tongue tickles your fingertips and you smile into your pillow. your heart beats violently when you realize you didn’t close the window downstairs. in a blur you run down and close it, you peer out the window to see the leaves running away in the wind, it brings you some relief.

you flop back in your bed and stroke your pup again to help you drift away. you feel their tongue caress your palm as you try and regulate your anxious mind. but then they didn’t stop and you became worried, you lean over the edge of your mattress, heart in your belly, and you see a woman in all black. she was lying under your bed, eyes closed, tongue wrapping around your fingertips. she had today's panties laced in between fingers pressed against her nose.

you tremble as you pull your hand away slowly and her eyes shoot open, her arms wrapped in a dark hoodie come from under the frame and she pulls herself up. you blink twice in attempts to see if this was one of those dreams when you’d open your mouth to scream and it was silent.

“happy halloween,” she mutters from her mask and from initial examination, she didn’t have any weapons.

she brings her hand to the underside of the mask and removes it completely. the familiar face stunned you as you recognized it was your next-door neighbor, ellie. she came from the nicest house on the block, freshly repaved driveway and new cars adorning it, you couldn’t think of a reason why she would want to rob you. in this moment the memories of her flash before you as you two stand toe to toe. you had visited her house a few times for dinner with joel, who had introduced you to everyone in the neighborhood. but she would sit quietly and oftentimes just stare intensely at your face.

“ellie, dont be rude.” joel would spit, and she would scurry off to her room.

“ellie? what’s going on?”

“i watch you sometimes, dove. i knew you would be spending this wonderful day alone. i thought i should come and treat you.”

“treat me how?” you feel a curiousness glaze over your anxious body.

“i see her every time,” she begins to pace. “she comes over here, fucking you in my face.”

“what?”

your mind went blurry.

“the blonde one.”

“abby?”

she says walking towards you slowly. “do you remember that one time we almost fucked?”

her hands come around your waist. “i do, ellie, i don't understand—”

“but then you said it would be weird because we live so close and if it ever went south…”

her lips were close to your ear, you could hear her tongue snap against her teeth, and feel the heat brush gently against your cheek. her fingertips were playing a tracing game against your lower back. you recall the passionate kiss you both shared at the local bar, her desperate longing to just touch you in a tipsy frenzy.

“i know, el.”

the florescent haze of headlights pulls into your driveway and interrupts the scene, blasting the sounds of call me little sunshine by ghost— it was abby. ellie’s face scrunched up as the familiar red pick-up shut cut off quickly.

“what the fuck!” she groaned.

“ellie, it’s okay, i can talk to her.”

angrily, ellie snatched your wrist up in her hand and dragged you to the first floor. she shoved you towards the door where abby’s fist was pounding the glass.

“get rid of her.”

upon opening the door you see abby scouring the leftover candy in the bowl. she smiles with a faded look behind her eyes. “hi, baby.”

you pretend to be normal, throw in a yawn, rub your eyes and she comes to pull you into her. her hands come around your ass as she’s one foot in the door already. her lips come to your neck, another leg in the door, and you shove her slyly.

“what you don’t want to see me or something.”

“abigail,” you say sternly. “not tonight.”

she scuffs, “you didn’t get my text did you?”

“i’ve been sleeping so no i didn’t get it.”

“well i said, don’t reply if you want me to come see you.” she giggles.

you grip her toned arms as she walks you backward into the corridor. ellie slams the door behind you both, which causes abby to step in front of you.

“who is this?” she asks.

you put your hand on her chest, “this is ellie, my neighbor, we were just about to—“

“what?” abby mutters, she gets so defensive that she doesn’t realize she how hard she forced you away.

“wouldn't you like to know?” ellie smirks.

in one swift motion, abby is gripping ellie by her hoodie and nearly lifting her off the ground. that’s when you step in between the both of them and make abby release her.

“you can both have me, how about that?”

𓆩⟡𓆪

all three of you sat on the edge of your bed. ellie’s hand slithered up towards your swollen cunt, while abby took your other leg and spread you open. ellie was more focused on getting as close to you as possible, desperate. she brought her lips to your cheek and gently pressed it against your feverish skin. she brings her red, bursting lips to yours and crashes into you. it was better than last time like she had been practicing. abby watched her, seeing where she could fit in, and began sucking on your neck. both your hands fall on their thighs, caressing them.

“so how you wanna do this baby?” abby asks in a whisper.

“ellie told me she’s been waiting for this. she watches us.”

ellie looks slightly embarrassed at the fact, but abby smiles mischievously.

“so you know how good she fucks me?” abby says.

ellie nods silently, which leads you to then kiss her softly, bringing your tongue past her teeth into her mouth. she moaned obnoxiously at the taste of you. you bring your hands to her shoulders and lay her on her back while abby starts undressing herself. ellie watches you under the bright moon remove her black jeans to expose her nude, lace panties. she cups your face as you see how wet she had gotten throughout the night.

you bring your hand up her drenched pussy and she trembles, swimming in her hoodie. “you look so cute.”

she smiles nervously as you pull away her panties to view her swollen clit. abby sits at the head of the bed, completely undressed, skin tickled by the cool air, fingers brushing gently against her nipples, watching you both intently. you look up to her as you begin to bite ellie’s hot thighs.

“come on, don't tease. fuck her.” abby spat.

with no hesitation, you indulge in ellie’s sweet slick. she hoists herself up on her elbows to watch you suck on her clit. you knew she had been turned on all night so no foreplay was needed. abby had worked herself up by now rubbing her clit slowly, keeping her unwavering eye contact. ellie swallowed all her moans and flexed her belly at the pleasure your tongue was bringing her.

she brought her hand up to your head and fucked your face, sloshing all her juices on the tip of your nose and chin. abby gets up and comes around your backside. she slaps your ass, which makes you choke a little. she spreads her lips and comes to the curvature of your ass and starts rubbing her clit against you. being used by the both of them at the same time made your pussy throb.

“fuck, im so close dove.” ellie moans.

abby plants another smack on your ass, even harder this time. you give ellie two fingers, which instantly causes her to cum in your mouth, she pushed her cunt in your mouth so hard that when she removed it, you were breathless.

“come here.” she says, dragging you over her body to kiss her.

she drags her tongue all around your face, tasting herself. abby is now hovering over you both, not knowing if she should be angry or turned on. you crawl over to her and she takes a firm grasp of your neck and leans down to kiss you. she bites your bottom lip which makes you wince and you feel the weight of the bed shift under you as ellie brings her mouth to your ass.

abby then stuffs your face into her core, lifting up one leg onto the bed so you can slip your tongue inside of her.

“yes baby.” she melted. you liked when she got like that, submissive.

“open up for me abs.” you muttered, which was a command you said to her often. while she pulled back her clit hood, ellie brought her mouth to your pussy, which made you moan into abby’s. ellie brought two fingers to your wet hole and started pounding you so hard your ass moved in waves.

you remove your mouth away from abby’s body and start moaning ellie’s name while looking upwards to abby. she bit her lip out of anger and walked over to your closet to get your strap. she brought your lips up to the toy and commanded you to suck. you knew she hated hearing another woman’s name come from your lips. tears bulb in your eyes from feeling the length fill your mouth.

once she pulls away, strings of spit coax your chin and abby shoves you on your back. ellie’s fingers popped out of you just when you were so close. abby teases your pussy with her tip and brings her hand to your throat. ellie’s eyebrows knit together, jealous at abby’s dominance. she slips her hand to your clit as abby enters you.

“say it.” abby said.

“ellie,” you mewl, leaning over to bring her lips to yours.

that’s when abby grunts as she presses down on you, making your pussy swallow every inch.

“spit in my mouth ellie, let me taste you.”

ellie doesn’t hesitate to perch her lips and allow her spit to spread over your tongue, the sight alone makes abby pound harder. she brings her hand to your cheeks and makes you watch her, pulling you away from ellie. you can’t help but pull her in deeper as she slaps into your bruised cunt. ellie wraps her lips sloppily around your nipple and bites it without any warning. you yelp at the mixture of pain both women are putting you in, but it feels so good. your pussy is aching to cum as abby purposely bruises your cervix. abby wraps your legs around her waist and lays her full body weight on top of you, her hips cracking against your thighs.

“abby! please.” you yell.

“that’s right scream for me, c’mon.” she says in your ear, sweat dripping onto your neck.

you twitch under the presser and come so hard that your eyes roll in the back of your head. abby and ellie don’t stop until your legs shake and you try and find the power to push them both away. you twitch at feeling the strap exit your abused hole, feeling gapped, as ellie leaned in to plant a final kiss on your lips. abby exhales and lays beside you and you turn to kiss her too, in disbelief that you’re fucked out of your mind.

↓ if you don't know this urban legend here's the original! ↓

tw: mentions of pet death, blood, breaking, and entering, & l*nching.

Once there was a nice old lady who had a lovely little dog. One day, the old lady heard on the radio that a crazy murderer had escaped from jail and that she should lock all her doors and windows. So she locked every door and window in the house except one tiny one to let some air in. No murderer would ever get in through there! So that night she went to bed as usual. She knew everything was okay because when she put down her hand the dog licked it. But later in the night, she heard a drip, drip, drip. She put her hand down and the dog licked it. She felt that everything was okay but the dripping was annoying her, so she went downstairs to check on the tap. But the tap wasn’t dripping. So she went to bed again. She woke up again later in the night and thought the dripping sound was coming from the shower. She went into the bathroom, and there was her dog, dead, hanging in the shower, and dripping blood. Written on the mirror in blood was: ‘Humans can lick too!

#ellie williams smut #lesbian #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams fanfic #abby anderson x you #ellie williams #ellabs #ellie smut #abby smut #abby tlou #abby the last of us #ellabs tlou

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writingquestionsanswered · 5 days

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Hi, do you have any advice for indecisive writers? <3 Anything in general would help, I'd love something specifically for autistic people (whose brains shut down the "decising-making centre") too if possible <3

Tips for Indecisive Writers

My number one tip for indecisive writers is to not be afraid to go "old school" and literally pick something out of a hat or roll some dice. For example, if you're deciding between three different plot ideas, you can write each one on a few folded up pieces of paper, throw them all into a bowl, mix it up, and whatever you draw is the one you go with. Or, you could say 1 and 2 are idea #1, 3 and 4 are idea #2, and 5 and six are idea #3, then roll dice. And, actually, if you type "roll dice" into Google, you can roll digital dice and you can choose up to 20-sided dice or customize your own number of sides. This is particularly helpful if you have a list of items, such as several names you're trying to decide between.

If you Google "online decision maker" you come up with a bunch of different online tools. Easy Decision Maker lets you type in a question... for example, "What should I name my character?" Then you can enter up to 26 options. When you click the "answer" button, it chooses one for you. Picker Wheel lets you put in the various options, then spin a wheel to decide.

The trouble I tend to have is sticking with whatever "fate" decides at that point, but one thing I've learned is that sometimes when my brain plays that game... where I roll a 4 meaning I go with plot idea #2, and then I'm disappointed, I know that is because some part of me knows I want to do either idea #1 or idea #3. So, even though it isn't working exactly as planned, I've still accomplished something... I've eliminated a choice. Now I can roll again, with 1 -3 being idea #1 and 4 - 6 being idea #2, and I know if I'm disappointed again with whatever I get, then the remaining choice is the one I wanted all along. For whatever reason, though, my brain can't just make that decision. It needed to go through that process to get there, and that's okay!

Now, as helpful as decision making tools can be, they're not always helpful in the moment, when you're writing and you're not really stuck between particular choices, but rather you're facing an empty void and aren't sure where to take the story next. For me, this is where pre-writing comes in really handy. I always go into a story with a beginning to end summary at the very least so I know where things are going. There's still often some decision making to be done, but I find it easier to do before I write rather than during.

When it comes to finding things to even decide between... like when you're planning your story and you come up empty on something, I find inspiration sources to be extremely helpful. For example, let's say I want to write a romantasy, and I have no idea what I want the setting to be like. That's the worst kind of indecision, because it's not like I can just type four or five locations into a decision maker and let it pick for me. I don't have a list to even pick from. So, looking at inspiration sources helps. Maybe I saw a travel show about Bavaria which really intrigued me... that could be a great inspiration location for my setting. Or, let's say I'm not sure what I want my character to look like. I might scroll through a list of up and coming actors, through the cast of a random TV show or movie, or think about actors in TV shows or movies I've recently seen. As I scan past thumbnails of head shots, when I see someone who looks like my character, I can stop and note down the name or save the photo. And with any inspiration source, if I find myself unable to decide between multiple inspiration sources... it's back to the ol' decision maker!

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

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bwct · 1 month

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methods/techniques i use

reminder that using methods and techniques is just a way to remind yourself that you already have your desires. i also use methods to make manifesting more fun for myself and helps to make me “live in the end”.

rampage

-now this one i saw from rita kaminski's yt channel and i loved the sound of it. she said to do it for a few sounds but you can do it for as long as you like. you can go and talk about how your life is so prefect and that you have all your desires. just say it out, all your desires and literally naturally you will feel excited about it. since feeling it is what can help with living in the end.

i have this to! method

-this is basically when your on pinterest or insta and your just scrolling and basically relating it. if i see something i desire, i think that i also have it to. its helpful when you have a “dream life” board on pinterest that you can use to scroll through and just relate it back to yourself.

youtuber / interview / podcast

-this is sort of similar to the rampage one where you pretend your talking to your fans or to a camera about your desires. think of it as a video titled “how i manifested my dream life” or “this is my success story of manifesting my dream life”. i feel like in this way it really helps me to live in the end because im talking about how i manifested my desires instantly.

scripting

-i actually wrote down a dream life script recently using a post from @dreamlifebunny, it really helped to do a brain dump and organise it knowing that i can add more if i want to. i also made some umbrella affirmations to go along with it like “i already have all my desires on my list”.

subliminals

-im not sure if this is really a method but i love to listen to them! i actually listen to them while im studying and it just helps to remind me that i already have everything.

end note: I didn't really include to much details but if you do have questions dont be afraid to ask! a reminder from me that manifesting is so so simple and you already have all that you want.

xoxo bwct

#loa #manifesting #manifesation #affirmations #law of assumption #self concept #neville goddard #affs #methods #loassumption #dream life #scripting #manifest #master manifestor #dream girl #that girl #script #bwct

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austonwithan-o · 1 year

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“Don’t look, it’s not worth it.”

Literally obsessed with this man so I had to write something… I’ll make a master list eventually

!!!No warnings really just kissing

(Not edited… I’ll edit later)

“Baby I’m gonna take a shower, care to join me?” Auston asked with a slightly playful tone at the end. He got up and stretched emphasizing the veins on his tatted arm. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I just showered and plus we both know if I get in the shower with you it’s gonna be hours before we get out.” You said curling under the warm comforter. He gave your butt a light smack, “I’ll be fast.” He said grabbing a fresh towel you just folded at the edge of the bed. You shut your eyes for a few minutes, replaying the conversation you had with Steph at brunch that morning.

“Y/n it’s not even worth it! Auston doesn’t look at his DMs and he doesn’t even care what those girls say!” The blonde said, sipping her margarita, “please it’s not worth reading what they say. It’ll just make you miserable, I’ve been through it, most of the WAGs have been through it and it’s my job to keep you, my bestest friend, away from potential heartbreak.” Tossing her words around in your head and decided she was ultimately right, you backed off for a bit. You knew Auston wasn’t seeing anyone else behind closed doors but the question of what those girls in his DMs were saying to him was burning your brain and you needed answers!

Auston took long showers so you knew you still had a bit of time before he got out. Crawling across the big bed, you unplugged his phone from the charger and clicked it on reluctantly tapped the instagram app. Nothing looked odd, just a few hundred new instagram followers, comments and likes. He had a few DMs but you knew it was him and Mitch’s meme war goin on. His DM requests were filled and you felt your stomach drop a bit. Hesitantly you open them and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat. His inbox was littered with fans genuinely saying nice things but most of them were girls gawking at him. You scrolled for what seemed like hours reading things like, “you could do so much better Auston” “I’m always down for a fuck if you’re in Phoenix” “I can’t believe your still with that puck bunny skank” That’s the one that really got you. “Why is he with me?” You thought, tears welling up in your eyes. You kept scrolling reading more and more you didn’t hear the water turn off. Minutes later Austin stepped out with a towel dangerously low on his waist but you were too caught up reading to notice.

Your eyes were glued to his phone still in shock at all the mindless hate you were getting. “Y/n what are you lookin at?” His face looked slightly confused. He soon saw the red in your eyes and the sniffles coming from your nose. He quickly threw on his boxers. “Whoa whoa baby what’s wrong?” He asked scooting over to you, effortlessly scooping you into his lap pulling the covers over the both of you. He grabbed his phone and saw the DM of the girl asking him for a quick fuck. His expression shifted into worry, “Y/n you know I’d never cheat on you right baby? I never read these.” Your head hung low and you could feel the tears welling up into your eyes trying your hardest not to let them spill. You didn’t know if you should feel worse for looking through his phone or the comments you just read. You felt yourself slipping deeper into his embrace, his scent overtaking your senses, his freshly showered hair dripping beads of water onto your face and shoulders, calming you down. The tears started streaming and your breathing got shaky. “Auston why are you with me?” He grabbed your chin lightly turning your face to meet his eyes. “Y/n why are you asking me that? You’re the reason I get up every morning, you’re the reason I thank God everyday for a new day, baby I can’t imagine a life without you. I love you with my whole being y/n and you need to understand that.” The tears kept pouring out of your eyes like a fountain making him hold you closer. You tried looking away but his grip on your chin wouldn’t let you. His lips connected to yours making you melt into his touch. You shifted your body, swinging your legs over his sides, straddling him, arms lazily around his neck. His arms wrapped around around your waist pulling you even closer into the kiss his mustache tickling you making you smile into it. “I love you y/n. I hope you know that.” This man was whipped on you and you knew it and he knew it too.

PLEASE REQUEST THINGS I NEED MORE IDEAS TO WRITE!!!

#auston matthews #nhl players #nhl fanfiction #auston matthews x reader #toronto #toronto maple leafs #hockey #hockey players #mitch marner #nhl eastern conference #nhl playoffs #maple leafs #nhl fic #nhl #nhl hockey

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spicyclover · 9 months

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Delilah | part three

Summary: “Hey there, Delilah I know times are gettin' hard But just believe me, girl Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar We'll have it good We'll have the life we knew we would My word is good. “

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section!

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

“Delilah, come on. Let’s go. We’re done shopping for today.” She turns to you, and the stranger raises his head. Your heart misses a beat. It’s not possible. What’s he doing there. The eyes of the unknown also open.

The world stops. Your breathing stops. You never thought for a second that this day would come so fast. You are stunned, frozen on the spot. You look at this man who was once a close acquaintance. You do not know what to say, and neither is he. His brain integrates information.

For a moment, when he saw this little girl at the corner of a booth, he thought he saw his son's face. It was only the blink of an eye for a moment, but she had this expression and figures so similar that it troubled him. Trouble because he knows very well that his son has no children. He needs to see her closely. He watched her from a distance for a few minutes before daring to approach her. And then their eyes met. The same as his son. It was almost a return in time. For a second, his five-year-old son was in front of him.

Delilah watched the man with big eyes before she started talking to him happily. She smiled with all her teeth when he showed interest in her finds in her pink basket. She made him a complete inventory of its contents before smiling again at the elderly man. Then your voice resounded, and the moment passed. Carlos Sainz Sr’s eyes rose towards your figure, and the surprise is read on his face. Never in his life has he thought of seeing you again. You exchange no words. The discomfort and uneasiness is heavy and pressing. You only want to escape as quickly as possible on the first train. You take your daughter’s little hand and move away from the square.

"¿Cómo te llamas, pequeña?" Ask Carlos Sainz Sr, pushing his voice through the crowd. What’s your name, little one?

"Delilah. Delilah Y/L/N." She answers proudly before turning to her mother.

You met your parents in the car. You want to run away. Far away. Isolated. He knows. That’s for sure. He’ll tell him. It will ruin everything you’ve built. You close the door violently, and your father starts without asking anything. You can feel their worried looks on you. Delilah, in her car seat, looks joyfully at the landscape. You are lost in your thoughts. Why haven’t you been more careful? You’ve managed to keep it a secret all this time. Questions scroll through your head like a groceries list. You feel your phone vibrating, and your heart misses a beat. You remain forbidden for a moment before taking the object and opening it. It’s a message from Paola; Cato chewed your shoelaces. A sigh of relief escapes your mouth, and you answer vaguely that it is nothing.

The rest of the day is quiet. You help in the gardens while Delilah plays in the small pools that your parents bought. You watch her from the corner of your eye. Her little polka-dot red swimsuit brings out her caramel complexion and dark eyes. She’s swimming, monopolizing your father’s concentration, trying to get the garden hose to work.

“¡Papi! Mírame a mí,” She screams, her head popping out of the water. “¡Papi!” Papi! Look at me!

“Sí, sí, es genial Delilah.” Your father responds vaguely by grumbling after the tip. “¡Esto es una mierda!” Yea, yea, it’s excellent, Delilah. It's crap.”

“¡Papi!”

You wipe the earth with your hands and go back to the front of the house to get a bag of potting soil. You’re focused and don’t notice the two people outside the portal waiting. You only raise your head as you hear the sound of a voice that is familiar to you. Your eyes cross their eyes. Carlos Sr and Reyes stand, a bottle of red wine and a basket in hand. You sigh and slowly approach.

"What are you doing here?" You ask.

"We want to talk to you, Hermosa." Answer Reyes nicely.

Reyes has always been there for you. She has always considered you her daughter. After all, you have spent many summers in their company.

"I have nothing to tell you."

"I think you do."

"It’s none of your business." You say turn heels.

"She looks like him like two drops of water. You’re not going to make me think she’s not his." Carlos says, pointing away in the backward where they could hear your daughter laughing.

"No, you’re right. I have nothing to make you believe. He’s not the father. Leave before I call the police."

You grab one of the bags of soil and head back to the back of the house.

"Y/n!" Call Carlos Sr. "He’s not perfect, but he has a right to know. Why you hid her from him?" The drop gets the vase full, and you flip, an angry expression on your face.

"Because you think he doesn’t know?" You exclaim. "You think I didn’t spend months trying to reach him. That I did not come crying in tears at his door, begging him to open it to me in the pouring rain. That the only thing he had to tell me was that he didn’t want it and that I had to get rid of it because I was not and would never be good enough for him. If that’s what you believe, you’re wrong. Now get out of here and don’t come back." You say, the tears running down your cheeks. Reyes' eyes fill with tears, and Carlos Sr can’t believe what you say. How can he? His son is perfect...

You turn around for good and return to the back of the house. Your mother notices your puffy, reddened eyes with tears but makes no comment. She knows you don’t want to talk about it. You go back to tapping the earth to flip it. The shovel blows into the ground slowly, calming you down and lowering your pressure. No one suspects they came to see you. The rest of the afternoon and evening is spent in a peaceful atmosphere. You can even forget about them when you bathe Delilah. She always makes you laugh with the foam on her head. That’s when you’re glad she’s in your life, despite everything that’s happened. You are grateful that she is there daily and that you share your life with her. Seeing her grow up hurts you but, at the same time, fills you with joy.

Delilah is sleeping peacefully beside you. You’ve been watching the ceiling for three hours now, unable to sleep. You sigh one more time before you give up and get up. You go up to the window and sit there. The night is clear. You can see some stars. Somethings, back in Fuengirola, you got up to the roof and lay under the stars. You often did this during the summers when Delilah was much younger. Hearing the city and the agitation of the night always helps her calm down from her disturbed dreams. You sometimes think; it makes her feel less alone. Delilah dreams. You hear her whisper incomprehensible phrases in her sleep. She whispers your name. She has always had a troubled sleep. She talks like he does it too.

It was a cool autumn night, and you were all in a cottage by a lake. Your two families are gone for the week, and you share your bed with Blanca and Ana. You’re lying next to her in the queen bed while Carlos sleeps on an air mattress on the floor. You can’t sleep. You argued before you left with your boyfriend then, and you replay the scene in your head. He is angry because you refuse to have advanced relations with him. You’re only sixteen, after all. You don’t feel ready, but you can’t help to feel pressured by him. It makes you angry and a feeling you can't quite describe yet. You turn your head and look at Carlos. He sleeps peacefully next to you. His mouth is ajar. Her lips are so soft. You often imagine how they would feel on yours. Your body turns, and you watch her sleep. You hear him whispering in his sleep, little words or little sentences. You are not sure. You come closer to try to understand, but it’s just gibberish.

Your hand comes out of the warm duvet, and you stroke the outline of his nose with your fingertips. He shudders, but he doesn’t wake up. Your finger continues its journey and arrives at the corner of his lips. You hesitate momentarily before passing your hand on it when you feel Carlos move. His body jiggles, and his head comes to find your finger. You find yourself in the middle of his lips, and unconsciously, he gently kisses your index. You blush strongly, and you withdraw your hand quickly. You are warm, and this heat spreads throughout your body. You feel your crotch become sweaty and turn to the other side. Ashamed of what just happened without his knowledge. You close your eyes, and you only see his lips kissing your finger. You spend the rest of the night awake with that strange heat between your legs.

The following day, when the sun is high, you sleep deeply. The others have already left the room for a long time. The shutters are pulled. A slight breeze cools the room. In your sleep, you are out of the duvet and intertwined in it. Your shorts are raised at the corner of your buttocks, and your t-shirt covers very little skin. You are sure your stomach and your head are facing the window. You are deeply asleep, and you do not hear the agitation downstairs.

"Carlos, ve a por Y/n para almorzar. Sé que estamos de vacaciones, pero no estamos aquí solo para dormir.” Says Reyes, pointing the stairs at his son. "Carlos, go get Y/n for lunch. I know we’re on vacation, but we’re not here to just sleep."

He gets up from the couch, and heads against the heart goes the room. He always thought of you as his sister, but recently, he has emotions that he does not understand when he sees you. His heart capsizes, and every time you laugh, his body warms up with a strange warmth. When you gave him your ocean eyes. He has never experienced this with anyone. He enters the room and sees you. Lying down. In this innocent position. His body reacts, and his cheeks warm up. Your breathing is slow. You are asleep. He sees through the sheets and your t-shirt the tip of your breast. "She is beautiful." He thinks while trying to drive away these impure thoughts towards you. He approaches you. He can’t help but run his fingers over the bare skin of your legs. "So soft, so warm." It gradually rises, tracing the contour of your body. It is warm and feels the thrill you run under its hand. He smiles before continuing his way. He touches the outline of your buttocks before drawing that of your spine. He looks at your face, and his eyes stop on your lips. He wants to kiss you. He wants to capture them from his own. To hear you say his name. He leans over to you, letting his instincts speak.

Suddenly, steps resound from the staircase, and he abruptly departs. By the way, he accidentally hangs a strand of your hair and pulls it out of your bed, falling down the bed. You scream in pain as you open your eyes frantically. You look around, and Carlos' two sisters enter the room while Carlos struggles to get up, tangling in the duvet.

At this memory, a blank smile appears on your face. You raise your head and see the cute face of your daughter, who struggles to open her eyes.

"Mama," she whispers, still asleep.

"Go back to sleep, baby. It’s not morning yet," you get up from your seat and return to bed. She hugs you and places her head on your chest. Her thumb in her mouth and her cuddly toy in the other. She falls back to your side. Your eyelids are heavy, and you drift towards the arms of Morpheus in your turn. Maybe you can consider seeing them. They probably love to meet Delilah. She would like them too. In those thoughts, you really drift away.

______________________________________________________________________

Let me know if you are still interested in this story :) I have a few interesting ideas.

TAG LIST (All Stories) : darkmalice00 karmabyfernando

TAG LIST (This story): karmabyfernando omgsuperstarg soosheee mypage-myfandoms trouble-sistar aileeincomplexity sweetwerewolfqueen darkmalice00 gaslysainz kimikimki fandomsfeminismandme aundercover dreams-with-thoughts lazypinkpig oscarpastryyyyy darkomiomi avengersheart styles-sunflower formula1mount

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fluff #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff

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midwestmade29 · 5 months

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Rectify ❤️‍🔥

My story came to life from the “one prompt a day” post from @urfriendlywriter you’ll find here 🙂 this one was called “touch starved.” I’m excited to see what ones are next! Also, you'll find 2-3 other prompts from @loveisanimaginarydagger3000's list in my story too! You can find the prompts here

( Side note: this was my take on someone being “touch starved.” I’m sure it means different things to different people, this was just what I gravitated towards.)

Word count: 1,839 Divider by: @saradika-graphics

If you are not 18+ years old, please KEEP SCROLLING. Minors do not interact.

Due to the explicit nature, this story is NSFW or minors.

Dominant male, unprotected sex. Read at your own discretion.

Matt was on my mind a lot today and I saw the writing prompts and my brain ran with it 😏

Matt Jackson rectifies your “situation” in the sexiest of ways…

Matt sat on the other side of the table with his mouth agape as he stared at you. He was stunned by your answer to the question he had just asked you, which made you squirm in your seat at the sudden silence that surrounded your table. His reaction to you telling him that you hadn’t been touched or kissed by a man in almost a year made you regret even saying anything. Crawling into a dark hole or flying away sounded good right about now! You cleared your throat in hopes that would snap Matt out of the stupor he was in, but he barely even blinked. “Matt, say something…” You quietly begged. “Do you want me to leave? I can have the waitress separate our checks…” Matt immediately grabbed your hand as you stood up from the table, finally showing some sign of life. “No, please sit. I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that!” he blurted out. “You can’t believe what? you asked sheepishly. Matt could tell that his choice of words didn’t come across like he meant them to when he saw you sink down in your chair a little. “Look at you, Y/N. You’re stunning. Any guy that doesn’t realize that needs to get their eyes checked! If you were mine, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” His last words caused your cheeks to flush and your core to do a flip flop at the thought of Matt all over you.

“I mean there have been offers, but none I’ve wanted. They weren’t the person I wanted to be intimate with…” you hinted while never breaking eye contact. “I see. And who exactly did you want to be intimate with?” he purred, already knowing the answer. When you didn’t respond right away, Matt prompted you to explain. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging! Say it Y/N.” You bit your bottom lip timidly, causing Matt’s eyes to darken as he noticed the little indents your teeth left. He was the one squirming now! “You know who I’m talking about…” “Yes, I do but I need to hear you say it baby.” The grit in his low voice was incredibly sexy and it was making your arousal grow just from the sound of it. “You. I wanted you, Matt.” He smirked after his name fell from your lips, asking you an additional question that made you swallow hard. “And is that something you still want? To be intimate with me?” “It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, kissed properly, completely ravaged. But, when I’m alone at night in my bed, you’re who I think about while I touch myself. I imagine your hands roaming freely on my body, your lips leaving goosebumps wherever they touch…” You were cut off by the waitress when they came to the table to ask if they could get either of you anything. Matt quickly handed the waitress his credit card without even asking for the bill, clearly unconcerned with how much dinner was. Once the bill was officially paid for, Matt held your hand as he briskly walked towards the exit and into an Uber. “What are we doing?” you asked puzzled. “We are going to rectify your situation. We’re going back to my hotel room.”

Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach as Matt walked around you slowly, eyeing you hungrily while planning his course of action. There was a crackle in the air from the sexual tension that continued to build, the heat between your legs ever growing. You jumped slightly when Matt pressed his body into your back but reveled in the feeling of him being so close. He wrapped one arm around your abdomen pulling you even closer, while his free hand brushed your hair away from your ear and neck. Your breathing became shallow and breathy when Matt whispered in your ear, “Are you sure you want this, Y/N? You really want to do this and give yourself to me?” Your clit was throbbing for this man, your muscles tense with want. There was no doubt in your mind, body, and soul that you wanted Matt to have his way with you. You turned to face him, giving him your final answer. “Yes, I’m sure I want this. I want whatever you have in store Matt. Don’t hold back, don’t hesitate. Fuck me so good that I’ll still feel the effects from it in the morning.” A groan escaped from deep inside of him when he picked you up and carried you over to the bed and laying you down on the mattress. He kissed you fiercely, his lips soft and warm against yours. Matt only broke contact momentarily as he pulled your shirt over your head, and skillfully unclasping your bra next and tossing it to the floor. “Mmm, so beautiful baby.” He praised as he took each of your breasts in his hands, massaging them before leaning down and kissing each pink circle. Your nipples started to pucker the more his tongue flicked all around them, and you couldn’t help but to gasp when he sucked hard and released them from his mouth immediately afterwards. He lowered his head down to kiss you again, ghosting his lips against yours before pulling back again with a smug smirk, making you chase him in desperation. Matt was very much in control of the situation, taking the lead like he did with mostly everything else. He stood up, leaving your body longing for more.

You watched every move he made as he pulled his shirt over his head before undoing his belt buckle and letting his pants slide down to the floor. His hard length was straining against his boxer briefs, longing to be set free from all restrictions. Matt didn’t remove his underwear just yet, instead he made quick work of taking your pants and panties off simultaneously leaving you completely naked and exposed on the bed. Your body responded to his touch as his hands slid up your body, setting it ablaze every inch they covered. Matt watched how your body reacted to the slightest touches and he studied your facial cues making sure what he was doing felt good to you. He finally kissed you and you grabbed ahold of his hair to keep him in place so he couldn’t break away this time. Holy shit was he a good kisser! Your tongues danced together as your hands desperately grasped at one another, gasping into each other’s mouths like you couldn’t get enough. When you came up for air, Matt’s hand started trailing down your body. His fingertips lightly creating a path in between your breasts, down to your stomach and stopping at your pelvis. “I want to touch you, baby. Feel your wetness on my fingers. Is that okay?” he asked breathlessly. “Yes…” was the only response your brain could offer since it was in overdrive. You lower half bucked off the bed when he began making circles with his finger on your clit. You whimpered at his touch when he inserted two fingers inside of you. “Shit, you’re so tight baby. So wet and warm.” He murmured next to your ear.

“Please Matt! I need you. Fuck me now, I want to feel all of you!” you begged. After he removed his boxer briefs, he positioned himself in between your legs, aligning his length up with your entrance. The anticipation was killing you and your nerves rose to the surface again. You knew you wanted this and that you asked for all of it. You were more concerned with being good enough for Matt and making him feel good too. He took notice of the worried look on your face and asked tenderly, “What’s wrong baby? Are you okay? Do you want to stop?” “I-I just want you to feel good. I want it to be good for you…” you said, almost inaudible. “You are pure perfection Y/N. I’m so turned on by you that I almost exploded just looking at you earlier! Don’t think baby, just feel.” His words gave you the comfort and confidence you needed to proceed, and he kissed you passionately before pushing himself inside of you. At first it was a little uncomfortable since it had been so long since you’ve been intimate with someone, but Matt was sweet and took it slow, allowing you to adjust to his thickness. Your walls squeezed and pulled him, making him shiver at the sensation. Matt’s long dark hair tickled your face as it fell around you, his scent filling your nose and the look of lust in his eyes sending you into overdrive. Matt made each slow and deep thrust count, hitting all the right spots every single time! Even though his intentions were to fuck you like you asked him to, and his original plan was to rectify you of being touch starved, his passion and vulnerability still shined through. Matt interlocked his fingers with yours and brought your hands above your head, beads of sweat falling on your cheek as he lowered his body, making sure it was flush against yours.

His body blanketed over you, and his weight pinned you against the mattress. You couldn’t get enough of him and being this close almost felt like it wasn’t close enough. “Matt!” you cried out into the air. “I’m almost there…don’t stop!” He sighed against your lips as the pleasure was overtaking him too. The headboard was knocking against the wall with each deep thrust, the sound of your bodies connecting echoing through the room. Matt released your hands, and they instantly made their way onto his back, nails scraping and digging into his skin there. His arms were on each side of your head as he leaned against them for support, never losing his rhythm as he got better situated. Your orgasm tore through your body, the intensity of it almost taking your breath away! You cried out Matt’s name as the waves of your release crashed over you. “You’re so sexy baby…” Matt cooed against your cheek. While your walls pulsated against his length, Matt found his release too. You could feel every drop fill you as he pumped himself in and out a few more times as he rode out his release. You were both breathless and sweaty, and completely satisfied. Matt kissed you before removing himself from you, causing both of you to groan from the loss of contact. He laid down next to you, trying to steady his breathing as he opened his arms to you, encouraging you to scoot closer and cuddle with him. Your head rested on his chest, and he pulled the covers over you both so neither of you would get chilled.

Before the two of you drifted off to sleep, you spoke softly as you nuzzled closer to Matt. “I think you created a monster.” “Why do you say that?” he asked half asleep. “I’m already wondering when we can do that again…”

That GIF though…🥵

#matt Jackson #matt jackson smut #matt jackson x y/n #matt jackson fanfiction #smut #aew fanfiction #fanfiction #young bucks #the young bucks #the elite #aew #all elite wrestling #fanfic #matt jackson x reader

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dontlookheswatching · 2 months

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I wanna randomly ramble about my main au regarding ships real quick.

TRIGGER WARNING, PLEASE NOTE THAT I MENTION THINGS LIKE ABUSE, RAPE, ALCOHOL AND DRUG ABUSE!! Please don't read if these things upset you! I want everyone to be safe, so if any of this is triggering, this is to tell you to scroll by!

I'm a multishipper, I've stated this on my blog before, I ship practically everything if I see it a certain way. But lore wise when it comes to my blog, relationships are specific. I might post a relationship chart one day, but basically, I have main ships, and then I have like a billion little side ships I enjoy but they wont make a big appearance on this blog unless they're random doodles unrelated to the lore, or part of a ramble or reblog. Im gonna list examples of each so people know what to expect in future posts where some of these ships are featured. If you want to unfollow me for some of these, I'm not stopping you, I'd highly encourage doing so if any of these ships make you uncomfortable, because I don't want anyone to stay on my blog if it brings discomfort.

Several main ships I have that'll be featured perhaps the most are ones like Jeff x Ben, which if not already obvious is the main relationship that'll be focused on. Another is Tim x Toby, they're both adults in my au, I do not support pedophilia whatsoever and if need be I have aged up characters to avoid this. Lastly, I have Liu x Eyeless Jack. I honestly dont know why I started shipping it but its really cute to me and it stuck and they're very dear to me. These three are perhaps the ships that'll be featured the most, but I'm having a brain fart like always and I'm already forgetting my own ships-😭

These are ships that'll be in the blog as well but they aren't as big and focused on. A example to start off with is Jane x Clockwork. I know, canonly, Jane is married to Mary, and I love that, but this is my own personal au so things are different, although in my heart Jane and Mary are definitely on top, and I might do doodles of them from time to time. Another example is Nina x everyone. No, not literally. She just has crushes that come and go ALL the time, and she flirts with everyone, so often to where no one questions it anymore. She had a Jeff arc and got over him and now she's living her life how SHE wants to. A few more include Nurse Ann x Judge Angels, Hobo Heart x Cody/X-Virus, Lost Silver x Glitchy Red, Jason the Toymaker x The Puppeteer, and Kate x Rogue. I have many more, but for now, I'm gonna explain the ones already listed since a few might seem really random. For Angels and Ann, Im just gonna admit, I'm a sucker for enemies to lovers or people who act like they hate each other but they secretly love each other deep down. For Hobo and Cody, in my au, they're both huge loners, and we're paired in a mission once. It was very awkward but the more they talked the more they realized they had a lot in common. I love them. Theres more lore to the reason I've paired Silver and Red together, but to sum it up, Silver had a massive crush on Ben, but Ben has his eyes set on Jeff and didn't return the feelings, and I didn't want Silver to be sad and alone his whole life, plus, they're dynamic is adorable. Sad pessimistic person x person who has seen whats under the sadness and admires them anyways. For Jason and Puppeteer, i saw a cosplay with them on tiktok and I couldn't help myself, I caved immediately. And lastly for Kate and Rogue I realized their characters have several things in common and I realized they'd probably get along pretty well.

Now, for side ships, I won't give an explanation, this ramble is already longer than planned. Im just gonna throw them out there with no context. EJ x Ben, Ben x Lost Silver, Nina x Kate, Tim x Brian, Tim x Jay, Jay x Alex(Yes some other marble hornet characters may be featured in the blog or in doodles), Jessica x Amy, Toby x EJ, Liu x Ben, and many MANY more, too many to state here.

Now that its out there, I wanna real quick talk about something I've reblogged a few days ago. Just because they're bad people who have done bad things, it doesn't mean they dont deserve love or happiness. Plus, the majority of these creeps were people who were wronged time and time again until they were pushed over the edge, it probably definitely wasn't something they had planned out since they were like 3. Now, despite this, some of them definitely aren't the best lovers to have, like Jeff, because again, these are murders and deranged killers. This is a super dark confession but theres A LOT of lore between Ben and Jeff in my au where things were AWFUL for them because Jeff couldn't get a grip on himself for the longest time. He's not like that anymore, and things are MUCH better for the both of them, but they definitely had an era in their relationship where things were beyond toxic. Beyond toxic as in Jeff was incredibly abusive, physically and mentally, and had a MAJOR alcohol addiction, and even proceeded to get Ben addicted to drugs at some point, sometimes going as far as raping him when he did not give consent. I won't give away too many details, but I will say, again, this is in the past and they've both healed over their traumas and managed to get through it together, and are in a much better state(A lot of breaking up and getting back together happened throughout this 'toxic era' though, and even after healing, theres still minor problems that I will not elaborate, they will be found out throughout the blog and maybe hints in some doodles.) But this is a good example of what a realistic relationship in this fandom with Jeff might look like. But just because people are deranged and definitely not mentally stable, it doesn't mean they can't try to change, and it definitely doesn't mean they dont deserve love unless they're as bad as Jeff was but with no intentions to change.

Im always happy to further explain any of this, but I will not tolerate harassment for the things I like. But anyways yeah thats my whole thing on ships im gonna go cry over my broken apple pencil now

-Max❤

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s0lam33y · 9 months

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into you repost!

You stare back at the paper in front of you, suppressing a gulp when you look at the equations.You watch Riri scribble at the speed of light, somehow making it to the end of the paper before everyone else does. As she always does, She gets out of her seat and hands the paper over to your shocked professor. She’s smart as shit and everyone knows it, guys talk shit because she’s so humble about it, girls talk shit because they’re jealous. But you’ve always wondered how in the ever-living fuck, she always turns shit in so fast. She doesn’t show up to class everyday and somehow is the first to turn her shit in.

Lately, you’ve had so much difficulty focusing on class, so much so that you don’t even know what fucking unit this is.

You rest your head in your palm as Riri sits back next to you, she says nothing as always. She’s always scowling at someone or silently glaring. You’ve never heard her speak a word, ever. You never see her at parties or community events. She doesn’t have a group that she hangs out with and if she does, you’ve never seen em.

You look at the jumble of words in front of you, racking your brain and praying that an answer comes up in your head. You feel something graze your thigh and you slowly look down to see a dimmed phone screen with a list of the answers to this exam. You look at Riri just to see her totally unfazed, leaned back and her eyes low so she doesn’t create any suspicion. She momentarily looks at you and then back at the phone.

When you got your grade back, you saw a 100. The first 100 of the semester.

…

Riri’s last time seeing you was in class 2 days ago, she hasn’t been coming to class since. You expected it but it still sucks. The two of you never speak at all but you’ve been meaning to thank her for her help. Your grade boosted up from a C minus to a C. It isn’t much but now you don’t need to be worried about failing.

You flip on your stomach in your dorm room, having been here for hours. It’s a weekend and you have no classes so you’ve spent the entire morning, cleaning up and chilling. Your roommate is on her side of the room, laying beneath the covers and scrolling through her phone.

“Yo, Kiyah,” You mutter, receiving only part of her attention as she continues to scroll on her phone.

“Mhm?”

“You know Riri Williams?” You question as she turns her phone off and fluffs up her pillow.

“Nah,” She replies while laying comfortably, her eyes on you as she expects some sort of drama or entertainment.

“Short, straightbacks, wears sweats most of the time, track team, she don’t be here often,” You describe and her eyes light up.

“Yeah, yeah, She seems like a real bitch but she’s fine as hell, why? You got a lil crush on her or sum?”

You roll your eyes at her antics. There’s no way you have a crush on someone you just met.

“Nah, Kiyah, She in my class, I was just wondering who she is, that’s all,” You say.

“She’s real smart, I heard she the top student in here, I ain’t neva talked to her,”

Of course, she’s the top student. The information is vague, not enough for you.

“You know where her dorm is?”

You get no answer and you realize that Kiyah’s fallen asleep. Looks like you’ll have to do some work and try to find her yourself.

…

You walk into your differential equations class just to find the person you were looking for. She’s leaned back in her seat, dressed in black nike tech from head to toe. Her hair isn’t in her signature straight backs, instead a slicked back bun to showcase her pretty face.

You take your seat next to her, offering a small smile.

“Thanks for the other day,” You thank her. Her face doesn’t budge all she does is nod it off. Your curiosity is going to kill you. Before you can ask your question, a student above the both of you speaks.

“Riri, Think you could do my next assignment for me?” The student says, grinning as he does. She ignores him, acting like he’s not there but damn, he’s persistent.

“I mean, You could definitely tutor me, My grade is-”

“Ion give a fuck ‘bout your grade, a’ight? Study your shit,” She snaps, her voice low so she doesn’t bring attention but it’s enough for him to shut up and lean back in your seat. It takes you by surprise, she was so willing to help you but he just got an earful. It’s the first time you hear Riri Williams speak and for now it’s the last time once your professor begins to lecture.

…

Students pour from every which way from class and into the hallway. You wait for Riri by the door and once she walks out, you call her name.

“Riri,” You say, gauging her reaction as she turns around. She still got that stone face.

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out, There’s a football game soon, It’s jersey night, theme,” You trail. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweats.

“Sure,” Is all she says. You want to ask her for details, will she meet you there? Did she want to maybe hang out before? How will she find you in the crowd. But you don’t want to push your luck so you take her answer and leave.

…

Everyone’s voices overlap in the crowd as MIT scores once again. Kiyah was next to you seconds ago but you’ve lost her. You can see the game well as you’re close to the front. Your legs are sore from standing up for so long, it’s all hot and muggy. Your laid edges are long gone. The game started 10 minutes ago and still no Riri. You look to the side in search of your purse only to see Riri next to you.

She’s only in a Chicago Bulls Jersey and loose fitting jeans.

“Hey,” You greet her, noticing the two cups in her hand. Her eyes glide over our outfit which is just a white tee and some shorts.

“How you gon’ invite me to a jerseys themed game and not wear a jersey?” She asks and for the first time you see a small smirk on her face. She slides you the drink, it’s just water and you appreciate it because of the heat.

“I didn’t have shit in my wardrobe!” You laugh while she stares ahead to watch the game. Her glossed lips stain the plastic cup and the words out of her glossed lips make your mind go blank.

“Coulda borrowed one of mine.”

#black panther #riri williams #riri x reader #dominique thorne #Riri williams x reader #ironheart x reader #ironheart

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nerinefy · 2 years

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. . . HOW WOULD YOU DEFINE YOUR IDEAL GUY? ; FT. THE OLDER BROS.

- FIC INTRO - PART I [YOU'RE HERE] - PART II

— summary: with MC's noticeable influence on RAD's student body, the newspaper club had to get a scoop on what the infamous human had to say about a few things, although one question definitely caught them off guard. let's just say a lot of hidden feelings were revealed afterwards!

— details: pronouns: you/yours | headcanon | crack + fluff | obey me! swd

— tagged list: @my-perfect-machine , @aijlin , & @pleasureoftheclouds

— author's note: guess who got a deadly fever the other day and can't move even a muscle? but seriously i'm very sorry for the late update :') i didn't expect it either.

LUCIFER !

He was in his office working on a few tasks Diavolo had given him that day when he suddenly heard a low buzz from his phone. Not caring much about it, he continued his work, that is when notifications kept popping that it became too much of a distraction. Reaching out to grab the phone, deciding to keep it on silent, he then saw what the fuss was all about.

- Asmodeus: "Hey guys, I think you really need to see this"! (insert pic.)

- Leviathan: "Huh? Oh, they interviewed (Y/N)? What about it?"

- Satan: "It seems that there's one interesting question to be seen below."

"How would you define your ideal guy?"

- "Well, it's hard to make words for it but to keep it simple, he's hardworking and caring. Quite stoic at first but he's a soft and sweet person."

Out of all the things he could see that day, not saying he's complaining, quite the opposite actually. For a while, he thought he might be assuming things too hard. It's all too hard for the old man, why can't you just say it in person, not that he needed any clarifications of course! (No, he does need clarifications, please give this lad answers.)

Bonus! Might invite you for dinner (or to his room lol) that evening— expectedly the only way he can think of to get things straight with you.

MAMMON !

He had just finished a modeling shift and was scrolling through Devilgram when he saw the post. Reading through it, there's one question that certainly caught his eye.

"How would you define your ideal guy?"

- "As weird as this may sound, he's somewhat of a slow person, yet in a fun and chaotic way, it's his charm. He's a kind and sensitive man and is always willing to sacrifice for the sake of others."

It takes him a very long while to process it so it's likely that he'll suddenly squeal like a high school girl while he's in bed (Surprisingly that's how my brain works too.)

Will reread that specific text over and over again, and will automatically assume— not saying that he's wrong.

You should just expect a giddy Mammon to meet you just right after you open your bedroom door the next morning. You can see with just the first glance that this man barely got any sleep, but who cares, he's only happy to know that that's how you see him.

LEVIATHAN !

Just to let you know, even if he sees it, he will never have in mind that you're talking about him— even in any universe out there I assure you. He sees himself in not the best light, so it takes more than that for him to get the message.

Will most likely see it on Devilgram too, as he only scrolls there to see if there are any updates about the new game he's been playing, and he so happens to stumble upon the post.

"How would you define your ideal guy?"

- "Well he's generally shy and a bit out there at the same time, but I love his passion for the things he enjoys and find it quite cute too."

The only question is, when does it click on him? Well, let's just say it's not only him who saw the post and he was definitely getting teased for it that night.

- Belphegor: "It's all to obvious, I can't believe you didn't notice."

- Asmodeus: "Oh (Y/N), I never knew you were that bold to say that, how very passionate of you!"

Cue two goofballs who are too much of a shy blushing mess to even say something. He's not that stupid to not get that. I'm sorry, but he's for sure going to hide from you for a bit after this, there's just too much to take in!

[♡︎] — WILL BE SPLIT INTO THREE PARTS BECAUSE I'M LAZY <3

©nerinefy don't plagiarize, repost, or translate. | reblogs are appreciated!

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beefromanoff · 6 months

Text

Project Mockingbird Ch. 7

summary: Charlotte gets her "made up name", the Avengers have a competition, things are tense with one James Buchanan Barnes...

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: a long chapter to make up for the wait! I hope you like! PS, I hope you guys know and appreciate how hard I scour Pinterest for the perfect visuals for every chapter LMAO

tag list: @bangtanxberm (let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_______________________________________

The hum of machinery filled the lab as Tony tinkered with a piece of new tech, his attention absorbed in the intricate details. Dr. Banner, occupied at another workstation, eyed the data scrolling on a hologram in front of him.

"Tony, come here for a sec," Bruce called, gesturing him over.

Tony strolled over, moderately annoyed at his focus being broken. "What's the scoop, Doc?"

Bruce pointed at the hologram displaying Charlotte's brain scan. "Take a look at this. It's Charlotte's brain activity."

"Yeah, and?"

Bruce traced a specific section. "See this? It's her neural regulation. Or the lack thereof."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Most people have a sort of built-in governor in their brains. It regulates physical functions, prevents overexertion, and keeps everything in check. But Charlotte…it's like she's missing that feature. Or…it was removed. Her brain doesn't have a 'stop' function."

"Wait, are you saying she can push herself to the point of exhaustion without feeling it?" His eyes narrowed.

Bruce nodded. "Or worse. To the point of exhaustion, then way past it. To the point of injury, or even…” He trailed off. “It's not that she's just enhanced physically; she was altered mentally beyond just the brainwashing. We didn’t see this with Bucky. It’s like they removed the part of her brain that’s supposed to limit her, keep her from hurting herself."

Tony whistled. "That's both incredible for their time and, I don't know, fucking terrifying. Do we want to speculate on motive?”

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean…you could argue that they wanted a more efficient weapon. If they had issues with…prior experiments hitting their limits and stopping." He winced at his own words. “They removed any chance of her stopping before the job was done. Even if she tore herself apart in the process.”

A moment of silence passed through the lab as his words hung in the air.

Tony pondered, tapping his fingers on the lab table. "So, do we tell her? She's been through a lot already. I don’t wanna freak the kid out."

"That's what I'm wrestling with. On one hand, it's her body, and she deserves to know. On the other, we risk opening old wounds. She's been through enough experiments, and without doing more, we don’t have any answers for her anyways."

Tony's gaze flickered to the screen. "You think you’d want to know?"

Bruce sighed. "Hard to say. I mean, I’ve been through some shit, but not like her…it could just get in her head. Hell, she might already know. We saw her records, she’d been hospitalized a dozen times for injuries consistent with not knowing when to quit."

Tony leaned against a nearby table. "Alright, Doc, so what's the plan? Do we keep this to ourselves, or do we ask her if she wants more testing?"

Bruce looked conflicted. "Let's give her the choice. I'll talk to her, explain what we found, and see how she wants to proceed. It's her body, her call."

Tony nodded. "Agreed. Just…let’s make sure we’re sure. Review her file, see if there’s anything we missed. Let’s at least give her everything we got when we hit her with this."

As Tony turned to head back to his workstation, the weight of the decision lingered in the air. The delicate balance between shielding Charlotte from more trauma and offering her autonomy over her own discovery rested in Bruce's hands. The uncertainty of the situation hovered over him, a reminder that even for the most brilliant minds, some answers brought more questions than solutions.

“FRIDAY,” He called. “Give me everything we’ve got on Charlotte Rossi.”

_________________________________

“How about CopyCat?”

“It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you to have gotten your ass kicked by someone named CopyCat.”

Peter flushed, laughing despite the teasing. Charlotte nudged him with her foot on the couch, making sure he knew she was kidding…kind of.

The team was sprawled across the living room, lazily passing the evening after a long week of training. Peter, Charlotte, Wanda, and Nat lounged on the oversized sectional, limbs a tangled mess. All of the girls were comforted by physical touch, none of them wanting to outwardly address it, they had an unspoken habit of gathering together on the couch. Peter somehow always ended up in the middle, looking slightly uncomfortable but terrified of moving. Sam sat on the floor, back leaned up against the couch. Steve and Bucky sat on the hearth to the massive fireplace, tonight being one of the first nights chilly enough to warrant it.

“Mimic?” Sam tossed out.

All three women groaned in response.

“Okay, okay,” Steve held his hands up. “Hear me out. How about Mockingbird?” The room went silent at the mention of her HYDRA project name. When no one spoke, he continued. “I’m just saying…it’s a part of your history. We can’t change that. Why not reclaim it?”

Charlotte shifted her position on the couch to sit up straighter, considering.

“Just…take it back. You aren’t HYDRA’s Project Mockingbird anymore…you’re Mockingbird. The survivor. Maybe one day, the Avenger. If you want.”

“I got my name from the Red Room, a cold war initiative to train female assassins.” Natasha’s voice was soft. “They called us Widows. I just choose not to think of it as a shackle from them. I remember all the women I was honored to know through that program, the ones who survived and went on to live the lives they deserved. Being Black Widow…I think it allows me to move on. Remember that my past is dark, and complicated, and yet…it got me here. So I can’t hate it as much as I want to.”

Natasha met Charlotte’s gaze, her eyes sympathetic. She was strong, relentless, powerful, deadly…but she loved this team, her family with everything in her. No one had to wonder if she’d endure it all again to end up with this team, on this couch. She’d allowed, invited Charlotte into their lives. She hoped one day she would love the team, love this life as much as Natasha did. She longed to have something that made her life feel like it wasn’t a string of disastrous circumstances, like it was all for something. All the suffering, the fear, the loss. All the lonely nights. All the nightmares. Like it was leading her to something, someone. Charlotte looked around the room at the earnest faces watching her, helping her reshape her identity.

“Mockingbird it is.”

_________________________________

The Avengers Compound buzzed with activity as the team prepared for their annual benchmark testing. The expansive training grounds echoed with laughter and camaraderie, a stark contrast to the intensity of their missions. Off-duty SHIELD agents gathered around the designated testing area, eager for a glimpse of the Avengers’ in action. One would think working at the compound alongside them would take some of the novelty away, but it was rare for any of the team to even get close to using their full abilities. Which made benchmark testing everyone’s favorite day.

The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the compound. The Avengers, clad in their training gear, assembled near a row of obstacles and equipment at the front of the crowd. It had become an annual tradition over the past four years, every year garnering more attention from the spectating agents. What had originally been a way for the team to find their limits in a safe, controlled environment had become, as most things did, a competition. After several close calls with complete exhaustion, injury, or the rare case of a “web-block” - this was determined to be a necessary trial. Even Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had a limit.

The setup had been arranged in what was ordinarily a shooting range, a wide open field behind the main building. The largest open space on the grounds was now occupied by things Charlotte didn’t fully comprehend the use for. A car, parked in the middle of the field? She figured someone would explain soon enough so she kept her questions to herself.

The challenges were broken down into categories, testing each person on their specialty or enhancement. The two Super Soldiers would compete in a more physical manner, with an endurance run, strength competition, and then hand to hand combat. Clint would face a series of archery-related challenges, with targets that ranged from fifty feet to 500 yards away, some that moved, and some with obstacles (SHIELD agents as “hostages”) in the way. Peter and Wanda both faced similar strength related competitions, seeing how much weight their respective powers could hold. Everything from an iron bench to the cab of a semi-truck to a Quinjet was lined up for them to lift. Natasha, of course, would have yet another trial all of her own. An obstacle course of sorts, beginning with hacking her way into the small arena. Tony saw it as his personal challenge to make it increasingly more difficult every year, competing against himself as he was also the one to design each tool on her combat belt. Once she was in the arena, she’d face two waves of a dozen agents, using her training pistol to take them out and make it to the other side. Once she crossed the arena, there would be an additional challenge. In years’ past, it had been unscrambling an encrypted message, de-escalating a hostage situation (usually the same volunteer as Clint’s), or hotwiring various armored vehicles.

Charlotte rolled her shoulders, jogging in place to loosen up. Since no one really knew what her abilities were, they’d agreed to let her participate in whichever tasks she chose. Everyone had been more than encouraging, some even making friendly wagers with her to see who would win what. The only two who seemed less than thrilled about it were Tony and Bruce, who’d exchanged a concerned glance when she announced she’d do it.

Now, she stood in the bullpen alongside Natasha and Clint for the first event of the day. Their suits were similar, all black neoprene with some high-tech enhancement to make the surface nearly bulletproof. Apparently there had been an earlier prototype that was completely bulletproof, but Natasha claimed it was far too stiff for her to do what she needed to do. So they settled for nearly.

“You ready for this?” Nat nudged her gently, tightening her wrist braces.

“I don’t think I’m ever really ready for the shit I get myself into,” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I just do it.”

“Fair enough.” She winked. “See you on the other side.”

The three participants were escorted to the starting line, each of them having their own separate course to run, all parallel to one another. Charlotte stepped into the box, high plexiglass walls separating them from each other. She felt a little like a rat in a maze. Thanks to their vantage point on the hill, the agents had a view right down into the action. There were screens projecting the parts of the course impossible to see, but nothing compared to the real thing. Taking one last deep breath, Charlotte stole a glance through the clear barrier to Natasha on her right. A reassuring nod from her friend and she was bracing herself for action.

“On your marks,” Maria Hill’s voice sounded through a megaphone. “Get set…GO!”

The starting pistol shot into the air and the gate in front of Charlotte dropped. She took off running blindly down a hallway, sprinting towards the door in front of her. It was a completely smooth surface aside from a small computer panel on the front. Heavily encrypted, probably behind several different layers of protection. Her stomach twisted. Hacking was never her strong suit. She slid her fingers all around the edges of the door, feeling for a groove or weak spot. Nothing. Heart beginning to race, Charlotte looked over to check the status of the others. To the far right, Clint had shot an arrow with some kind of live electric current directly into the panel, rendering it useless. He was now muscling it open, his face straining. Natasha, directly next to her, was punching away on the keypad.

Immediately, Charlotte snapped into action. She dropped to her knees, assuming the same crouched stance as Natasha. Feeling the gears whir in her mind, she tracked each rapid movement of Nat’s fingers and replicated them. A half second behind, Charlotte’s eyes were locked on every movement she made. A muffled beep then click sounded from the other side of the glass as Nat cracked the code. She gripped the round handle and threw her weight into it, opening the iron door. Sure enough, the same beep and click sounded clearly in front of Charlotte as she punched in the last number she’d seen. Not wanting to waste a moment, she turned the handle and yanked the door open.

This one led into a dark room, covered from above. Pausing, Charlotte listened to her surroundings. Rather than the patter of Natasha’s light footsteps, she heard an irregular beat of feet on the ground. It sounded like…she was tiptoeing around something. Reaching back, Charlotte ran her hands across the ground, gathering a small pile of loose dirt. With a deep breath, she blew it out of her palms into the air in front of her. Red beams illuminated the room in front of her, criss-crossing across her path. Piece of cake.

After a split second committing the web of lasers to memory, she sprung into action. Leap, tuck, roll. Belly-crawl. Stand slowly. Don’t breathe. Back handspring, back handspring, drop and roll. Her movements were instinctive, her body completely taking over. A fact she was thankful for considering her momentum was too strong to slow down or think about what she was doing.

Pulling herself to her feet, she reached the end of the hallway to a door that was, thankfully, not encrypted. She tugged it open only to hear a bullet whiz past her left ear. As she ducked, Charlotte heard a distant gasp from the spectators. She rolled to the left, gunfire peppering the wall only seconds behind where she was. An old filing cabinet stood two feet from her, one quick leap landed her behind it. Think. She closed her eyes and recalled the image of the room from the split second she saw it before the fire had opened. It was a mock office building, looking like a shootout had already occurred. Charlotte wondered if it was modeled after a real scenario they’d been in. She scanned the image in her mind as bullets peppered the back of the filing cabinet. Surely they aren’t real bullets…right? She didn’t give herself enough time to worry about it. Her assessment showed a dozen gunmen stalking around the room, guarding the door. Slowly, Charlotte turned, unlatching the bottom drawer of the cabinet and tugging it free of it’s hinges. When the integrity of the cabinet was just about to give in, she moved. Swinging the metal drawer directly at the head of the nearest gunman, it collided with the side of his face. When his neck snapped to the right, she kicked the opposite direction and knocked the assault rifle from his hands. Sliding after it, she ducked behind an old desk just as the others opened fire on her. One of her arms hadn’t quite made it behind the desk, being struck with a bullet. Hissing, Charlotte cradled her arm, checking for damage. It stung, but there was no more than a raw welt in its place. Rubber bullets.

Steeling herself, she stood and aimed. Three shots each, one to each kneecap and one to the exposed hand on the trigger. As always, her aim was flawless. They dropped instantly. She debated dropping the gun and running, but realized she didn’t know what the next room would hold, so she maintained her grip and sprinted ahead.

When she pulled the door open, her arm was yanked backwards by some invisible force, not allowing the guns through. Charlotte turned her head to investigate, brows furrowed, one foot already in the next room. What the - WHAM!

A fist collided with her newly healed nose, sending blood spilling into her mouth. Slowly, she turned to look at the agent, fists still raised. The bloodlust and anger in Charlotte’s eyes made the poor guy wish he hadn’t volunteered for this. Without looking back, she let go of the gun, letting it clatter to the floor in the previous room. In one smooth movement, Charlotte’s fist curled and swung straight from the doorway to the agent’s jaw. A gruesome crunch would have made her nauseous if she weren’t already so pissed.

The agent dropped to the floor with a thud, giving Charlotte a split second to reset her nose as the rest of the mock assailants advanced on her. She cracked her neck to one side and then the other, finally feeling warmed up. This time, it was another dozen agents. No one seemed to have weapons, but judging by their stature, these were the best hand to hand fighters on the force.

Unfortunately for them, they couldn’t change their mannerisms. One agent, standing near the front of the pack and advancing quickly, held his head at an odd tilt to the right side. A flash of an old training session tore through Charlotte’s mind. Agent Ellis, he can’t go left. She scanned the group, eyes raking over each agent in milliseconds. Agent Kolstad, always opens with a right hook. Agent Armstrong, hits hard but can’t dodge worth shit. One by one she recognized their tells, identified them, and recalled their weaknesses.

She cleared the room in a new course record.

Unbeknownst to Charlotte, she had a 30 second lead on Clint and was neck and neck with Natasha. The watching agents gaped as she ran to the next room, finding herself faced with a single female, standing in the doorway, not appearing to be armed. The woman spoke instantly, not moving.

“One, seven, three, three, nine, twelve, eighteen, two, six, seventeen, twenty-one, nine, six, fourteen, sixty-three.”

Cocking her head to the side, Charlotte opened her mouth to ask what the hell she meant with this string of numbers. Before the words fully formed on her lips, a sack was tugged down over her head and cinched at the neck. Panic threatened to take over and her heart raced.

Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. Panic gets you killed.

Chest heaving but breaths coming slower and slower, Charlotte stood in a defensive posture, unable to see or smell anything about the room. Feeling the cloth around her neck, she felt the familiar metal band of a nanotech lock, complete with fingerprint pad on the side. Something told her it wouldn’t be her thumbprint programmed in. Squeezing her eyes tight within the darkness of the hood, she willed herself to focus. The woman had stood right in the doorway, obstructing almost all of her view of the rest of the room. Conjuring the image of the woman up, Charlotte examined all the details she missed the first time. Instead of the agent’s severe slicked back bun, she looked behind her to a grid on the floor. A series of thin planks covered the floor in erratic patterns, ironically about the width of a balance beam. The floor everywhere else…was missing entirely. She’d have to cross the floor by memory, only she never actually got a chance to look at the floor.

She took a steadying breath and ran through the maze on the floor one more time mentally, finding a route in the grid she’d seen over the agent’s right shoulder. Crouching, Charlotte, gingerly felt the floor to reconcile the first stretch of plank with the image she had in her head. Once she was certain it was the same one, she stood and began to cross the room. Instantly, instinctively, her mind calculated distances and adjusted her leaps accordingly. Her feet were featherlight, almost silent, as she danced across the room. Her eyes stayed shut beneath the hood, clinging to the memorized image.

When she’d successfully crossed to the doorway on the other side of the room, nearly fifty yards across, she paused. Her body remained crouched in a defensive posture, ready for the next unseen obstacle. Sensing someone in her presence, Charlotte raised her fists.

“Friendly.” A familiar voice called - the woman from the other side of the room. Charlotte didn’t lower her fists, but didn’t fight the woman’s hand from approaching her. She felt delicate pressure on her neck, then a click as the lock around her neck opened. The woman was quick but gentle as she removed the hood, her face stoic but eyes slightly warmer than the beginning of the task.

“Recite the number.”

Charlotte blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness.

“The number from the beginning. Recite it.”

Sighing, Charlotte rubbed the throbbing spot on her arm from where the bullet had streaked across her flesh. “One, seven, three, three, nine, twelve, eighteen, two, six, seventeen, twenty-one, nine, six, fourteen, sixty-three.”

The woman smiled, stepping aside as the final door slid open. Thunderous applause spilled in as Charlotte stepped out of the soundproofed room and back into the open air. Natasha’s beaming face was waiting for her, Clint not far behind. His ragged breath told Charlotte he had just completed his run, while Nat seemed to have been done for a while.

“That’s my girl!” Natasha ran over and gripped her shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “You did amazing. Kicked major ass.” Turning to the crowd, she grabbed Charlotte’s hand and raised it, the cheers only intensifying.

Her breathing slowing down, Charlotte scanned the crowd, recognizing a few agents she knew from training. Her gaze dropped to the bullpen area in front of the stands, floor level with them. All her friends - the rest of the team - stood and clapped for her. Steve’s eyes were crinkled with an almost father-like pride. Peter and Sam were the most hyped she’d ever seen them. Off to the side, clapping slowly, stood Bucky. A lopsided grin on his face. Charlotte ignored the blush she felt on her cheeks, ignored the face that his admiration meant more than anyone else’s. She held his gaze, shrugging. He did the same, still clapping for her.

It was only when Tony walked up and clapped a hand on her back that she tore her eyes away. “Well, kiddo, that course is the result of our ten best defensive tactical strategists and four best engineers, so needless to say - someone’s getting fired. Good job.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte grinned. “Although the bullets could have been softer.”

“Just don’t get hit next time.” Nat winked.

After the hours spun past, the sun was beginning to decline in the sky. The day had brought so much excitement that Charlotte’s cheeks hurt from smiling and her voice was beginning to get hoarse from cheering. After the chaos from their trials had subsided, the others took their turn. Peter, Wanda, and Sam all had their own versions of airborne obstacle courses. They went separately, each getting the whole sky as their arena. Charlotte caught herself clapping, jaw agape, more than once while she watched. She knew she herself was enhanced, but seeing the pure power emanating from Wanda’s fingertips, seeing Peter swing through the air like it was what he was born to do…it left her awestruck.

Following the airborne spectacle, Steve, Bucky, Clint, Nat and Charlotte had entered a wide sparring ring. Each of them competing to be the last one standing. With a little shit-talking, Natasha claimed Clint as her first partner, promptly landing him on his back. Simultaneously, Steve and Bucky fell into a mesmerizing hand-to-hand battle, the force of their blows thundering through the crowd. Clint had gracefully accepted defeat, grumbling about being too old as he rolled through the sides of the ring. Slinking around the pair of Super Soldiers battling in the middle, Charlotte eyed Natasha. They circled, prowling for a few seconds, before Black Widow had struck. She used Steve’s shoulder as a base to leap over both men and flip towards her opponent.

As always, Charlotte’s brain snapped into overdrive, cataloging each move, each tell from Natasha. The information filed into her brain next to every other miniscule observation she’d made from the second they met.

Rolling out of the way, Charlotte heard Nat’s soft landing on the ground, exactly where she’d been seconds before. They fought the same way, not just because Charlotte was adapting her fighting style as it unfolded. Both build for stealth over power, both not especially big or strong, but both of them knowing how to leverage their weaknesses into strengths. Where the Super Soldiers fought with pure strength and power, the women danced around, trying to catch the other one off guard, land a destabilizing blow when it was least expected.

Most of Charlotte’s fights went the same way: she played defense for the first half, observing, defending, tracking, learning. As soon as she felt like she’d gathered enough information, whether it took her mere seconds or whole minutes, she would flip the script. Usually, the change from her defensive tactics to her more predatory fighting style would catch her opponent off guard enough to earn her the high ground. Then, her actual fighting would seal the deal. As was the case with Natasha. Their dance around the duo in the middle went on, and then Charlotte saw her moment. Bucky had used the momentum from Steve recoiling back to avoid a vibranium fist to the face, sweeping his legs out from under him and letting him thud to the mat. The noise and force of Cap hitting the mat caused Natasha to hesitate, ever so slightly, so briefly. She had been up on one foot, about to roundhouse kick, when the movement of the mat shook her balance. The tiniest hop to regain her footing, but it was her downfall. Charlotte shifted, in that moment, from defense to attack mode. She caught Nat’s foot and twisted, throwing her body into the movement the same way she’d seen her opponent do dozens of times. Nat caught herself as she was thrown to the floor, rolling away from Charlotte. Unfortunately for her, she’d let Charlotte watch one too many sparring matches, because she anticipated that too. From the leg twist, she’d immediately sprung into a back handspring, feet landing on the ground mere inches from Nat’s wrists. All it took was Charlotte to drop to her knees, pinning Nat’s arms down with her shins. A buzzer sounded from outside the ring, signaling Natasha’s end in the round.

Charlotte heard her grumble, “Wonder where you learned that,” as she helped the redhead to her feet.

Bucky.

The only other one left standing. He stood, arms lazily raised in a defensive posture, watching her. Charlotte cracked her neck, striding up to him.

“You know, I really thought the next time you choked me would be in a different setting.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Those games might make Steve blush, but they won’t work on me.”

“We’ll see.” Charlotte cartwheeled toward him, hooking her legs on his shoulders and bringing him down. He knew it was coming and rolled into it, trying to land on top as they tumbled across the mat.

Their fight was by far the most intriguing of the day, every agent and Avenger in the stands locked on their every move. Their fight was somehow playful and lethal all at once. Their skills were even more perfectly matched than the two Super Soldiers or the two trained assassins had been. Even Steve’s brows knit together as he realized Bucky wasn’t pulling his punches. Knuckle prints littered the mat from where his left hand had narrowly missed Charlotte.

After nearly ten minutes of combat, it looked like Bucky had her beat. He had a fistful of Charlotte’s hair, holding her in front of him while she thrashed. Both of her wrists were gripped tightly in metal fingers, rendering her somewhat immobile. All he had to do was drop her to the ground and pin her and he’d win. Charlotte paused, momentarily relaxing her body. Her features melted from fierce determination to watery shame. She spoke softly as she looked him dead in the eyes.

“I guess they were right. I am a failed experiment after all.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open.

The second the pressure on her wrist slackened ever so slightly, Charlotte moved. Her brow furrowed, face twisted with focus. Her right shin pressed against Bucky’s chest, throwing her weight into him as her left foot planted behind his, sending him tumbling down. The thud of his back on the mat was the only sound in the air. Charlotte crouched atop his body, knees on his chest. Bucky stared up at her, eyes a swirling mix of pity, confusion, and frustration. Through her panting breaths, Charlotte grinned.

“See? Games work on you too. You’re just more of a bleeding heart than a horndog.” She climbed off and held a hand out to him, which he ignored.

“Cheater.”

“Brute.”

Their exchange was almost drowned out by the cheering of the crowd, going absolutely berzerk. It turned out that the agents were a lot more fond of Charlotte when she wasn’t competing against them. There was a lot less shame in losing to someone who’d also beat the Winter Soldier -- twice.

Once they’d been cleaned up, various scrapes and bruises tended to, they all settled in to watch the Hulk in his strength competition. He lifted every object laid out for him, ranging from a Ford Explorer to an old model Quinjet. None of them seemed to cause him any strain at all. There was a little unexpected excitement as he threw the vehicle across the lake, sending Peter and Wanda soaring to retrieve it and safely deposit it back on the ground.

Now, finally, the last challenge of the day awaited them. The endurance run. Charlotte stood between the two Super Solders, rolling her shoulders. Steve stretched, Bucky simply stood there, stealing agitated looks at Charlotte out the corner of his eye.

“Don’t you need to warm up or something?” She raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Okay…noted. Sore loser.”

Bucky scowled but didn’t respond to her. They were interrupted from further bickering by Agent Hill calling out a countdown. They were to run 25k (15.5 miles) through a trail in the woods - for time. The average time for agents to run it in was 2 hours and 15 or so minutes. Steve’s personal best? 53 minutes. Today he was trying to break 50. Bucky was always hot on his heels, though he had to labor a little more to accommodate for the weight of his left arm. Again, no one knew which events to put Charlotte in as no one knew the full extent of her abilities. She’d insisted on trying the run as well. She knew her endurance was above average, knew she could channel just about anyone just by watching them. Truth be told, she too was curious about how far her abilities stretched.

Again, Bruce and Tony had been the only two who balked at her taking on a third event of the day. She’d brushed them off, stating that the first two challenges barely made her break a sweat. Though the bruise forming on her face from the first challenge said otherwise, they’d reluctantly agreed. What no one heard was their quiet agreement to monitor her extra closely and call the task off at any sign of her in trouble.

The first few miles had been easy. Charlotte fell into step with the other two, staying within striking distance but letting them set the pace. Their strides were longer, but she focused on their exact path through the forest, each leap they took over errant roots, every perfectly placed step. She let them carve the route for her. Halfway through the race, sweat was dripping down her neck into the collar of her combat suit. She didn’t dare look away from their feet as the trio ran, but she assumed they were feeling the fatigue too. Super Soldier serum had made them enhanced, not invincible. They still got winded, still wore out. Just a lot slower than Charlotte, and a lot slower than the average person. Blood pounded in her ears as she copied Steve’s leap over a fallen tree. To her surprise, her knees buckled ever so slightly when she landed, causing her to stumble and lose ground. Bucky stole a glance over his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Charlotte breathed out, still reeling. Her body almost never surprised her. Well, with the exception of trying to kill the man in front of her at first sight.

They tore through the woods, the confusion of her misstep pushing Charlotte even harder to regain ground and catch back up. She felt Bucky’s eyes on her as she ran harder, ignoring a look that she couldn’t tell was concern or irritation.

“Charlotte,” He hissed, grabbing her arm and skidding to a stop.

“What?!” Charlotte’s voice was incredulous, chest heaving. “Let go!”

“Your nose is bleeding.” Bucky grit his teeth. “I think you should stop.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes. “If you’re afraid of getting beat twice, just say so.” Smirking through the blood running down her face, Charlotte took off running after Steve.

Bucky scowled, following her into the woods.

They were closing in on mile thirteen, on pace for Steve’s goal. Long strides caught Bucky up with Steve and Charlotte no problem. His focus, however, was no longer on the race. He let familiarity with the trails guide him, keeping half his attention on the woman running beside him. Blood had soaked the collar of her suit, the dark fabric gleaming with sweat and crimson. Her face showed only the barest traces of strain as she pushed on.

He heard his heartbeat, sounding like it was going double time. Wait, that’s two heartbeats…

Bucky focused his sharp hearing, trying to separate the sounds. He heard his heartbeat, quicker than usual, but within a safe range. Then he heard the other, Charlotte…Her heart was racing, dangerously high. It sounded like it was going to beat out of her chest.

“Charlotte,” He spoke tightly. “You need to stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

She threw a tense look his way, but didn’t waste her breath on a jab. Something is wrong.

Steve grew further and further down the path from them as Charlotte began to fade, literally. Her steps slowed, knees became wobbly. Her skin had dulled, looking pale and almost gray. Her eyes met his between a few hazy blinks and he saw a flash of something like fear in them. Stopping on a dime, Bucky was by her side in two strides. Charlotte’s eyes rolled back in her head and she began to crumple.

______________________________

The crowd roared as Steve crossed the finish line, right as the clock showed 48:52. A five minute record. He was breathing heavily, but not like someone who’d just ran a half marathon in less than an hour should be. He nodded thanks and high fived a few teammates before his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where’s Buck? Charlotte?” He looked to Nat. “They weren’t that far behind me. They should have crossed by now.”

She frowned, turning to Tony and Bruce, both equally pale. “FRIDAY, send drones through the path. I want visual on the trail, final two miles.” Two drones whipped past their heads, soaring down the path Steve had just exited. The formerly elated crowd had died down, picking up on the concern.

Tony was intently scanning the screen in front of him when Bruce gripped his forearm, guilt all over his expression. “Tony.”

They looked up to see Bucky Barnes carrying Charlotte’s limp body out of the woods.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x oc #winter soldier #sebastian stan #winter soldier fluff #winter solider x reader

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banzaitaka · 2 years

Note

Hola prince Rukia, think of yourself first! It's possible to have the brothers Saiki and Aren with a self-deprecating O/N male (''man, do you love me? I'm trash????''), every time when told that he is handsome, he grimaces. What will they do?

----

O o f

Been there, are there

As I was typing the last section of this request, I got a YTTD request and I'm literally so happy

Saiki K Masterlist

I hope this is what you wanted & you enjoy reading!

X male! reader

Headcanon+Scenario: Aren Kuboyasu, Kusuke Saiki, Kusuo Saiki with a s/o who is self deprivating

Aren does not understand why (Y/N) would talk about himself like that, not in the slightest

And he has no idea how to deal with it either, so he just repeats his comment in a louder and harsher way -If he scares (Y/N) accidentaly, he'd panic, apologizing for his tone and repeating it again, softer

But aggressive love-talk, as I like to call it, is a standard thing when it comes to beeing his lover -He keeps slipping up in his old way of talking when he's excited or serious about something that involves you. And that includes him being loud and using certain terms that would be censored on the internet

"Why are you staring at me?", (Y/N) asked, catching Aren red handed. "Huh-?", Aren snapped back into reality, he got lost in thought as he admired his boyfriend's side profile for maybe the 6th time that day. He just couldn't help it.

The (Y/HC)-haired looked at Aren, expecting an answer to his question, as the other just stared back with wide eyes and a blush adoring his cheeks. "Ehehehe...", Aren chuckled as he rubbed his head sheepishly, looking to the side, "Well..."

(Y/N) rose a brow, "Well what?", he kinda felt nervous from this situation, not so positive thoughts already flooting his mind. Even though they did not match the purple-haired's embarrassed face at all.

"You're so...handsome...I- I couldn't help it.", Aren finally confessed, "Kinda got lost there, ehehe.", he bashfully smiled, looking back at his boyfriend. His smile quickly left his face though, as he saw the skeptical look on the other's face. The grimace made Aren's heart stop for a second.

"Hmmm, meh.", the teen averted his attention back to his phone as he scrolled through cursed Tumblr posts.

Aren frowned, "You're handsome!", his sudden outburst made (Y/N) flinch, turning his head to look at the purple-haired once again, "Huh?" Aren grabbed one of the other male's hands, looking him in the eyes with a serious expression, "You are handsome."

(Y/N) could feel Aren's hands starting to sweat, indicating that he was nervous. He was certain the former delinquent was not the type to lie about things like that just to make him feel better, no matter how much he cannot believe his words to be true.

"You're handsom-" "Yeah, yeah, I heard you-" "You're really really handsome!"

Kusuke comes prepared -This man has a whole powerpoint presentation, listing every thing about (Y/N) and why those things make him not only the most good looking, but also the best boyfriend to him

He goes over it like it's a school project he was eager to present the class -He really is eager to go over it, no matter how many times -He also updates it whenever there is something new to add

Kusuke doesn't show it, unless he feels really really soft, but it hurts him whenever his boyfriend talks himself down -It hurts both his heart and his brain -Heart because he loves him and just wants him to be comfident about himself -Brain because the mere fact (Y/N) doesn't think of himself as a king is just too inlogical for his brain to comprehend

Tapping his eraser on the table in frustration, (Y/N) tried to make sense of all the numbers and letters on the sheet infront of him. Even with Kusuke sitting beside him to help, he just couldn't get it in his head. And exams were in a few days! How was he supposed to pass?

"Your frustrated thinking face is cute.", the blonde stated matter of factly out of nowhere, a dreamy smile on his face as he took in the sight a little longer, "I should add it to the other things I love about you."

(Y/N) stared at him with a frown, "I'm sorry what? You have peculiar taste.", he looked back at his sheet, "Besides, how are you still even sane when your boyfriend his too stupid to solve a single one of these problems?"

"Even if your IQ level was way under average, that wouldn't cease my adoration for you. If anything, it would give me more reason to spend time with you.", Kusuke said, almost Prince Charming like. He gave his statement even more of a romantic vibe by giving his boyfriend a kiss on his cheek.

(Y/N) grimaced, not at the kiss, but at the other's words. He just couldn't believe it.

Kusuke's smile never left his face, actually widening when the two of them locked eyes again, "I know that expression." (Y/N) sighed, "Well, I can't help it."

The blonde jumped to his feet and clapped his hands twice. The lights dimmed and a projector started booting up, revealing a title screen that said "Reasons why (Y/N) (Y/LN) is perfection! Presented by Kusuke Saiki". This all took the (Y/HC)-haired off guard which is why he couldn't muster up a single word.

"Now then,", Kusuke began with an innocent looking smile,"I shall now present to you "Reasons why (Y/N) (Y/LN) is perfection!"!"

Kusuo can't relate, though he understands why his boyfriend has certain doubts and a negative perspective on himself -Not because he agrees, cause he definitely doesn't, but instead because he knows the world is filled with darkness and horrible people

That being said, he is another one who does not know how to comfort someone or how to make someone realize how much they're actually worth -The best he can do is reassure (Y/N) of his feelings for him, no matter how embarressing it might get for himself

His mind reading ability comes in very handy in this, since it makes it easier for him to determine how to approach a situation without making anything worse

(Y/N) stared at himself in the mirror, a frown planted on his facial features. Hairbrush in hand, he desperately tried to make his hair look good, at least acceptional. But minute after minute passed by without the male having a single positive thought about it.

Frustration was building up inside of him which led to more negative thoughts, by now, directed towards his face as well, slowly capturing his whole body. Everything he was insecure about.

Kusuo was quickly fed up with hearing all of that from his boyfriend, so he walked towards the open bathroom door and peaked his head inside, "Do you want me to help?", he offered after a few seconds of contemplating.

The (Y/EC)-eyed sighed, "Not even you can fix what is my face. Actually, my entire being." He turned around to look at the pink-haired, waving around with the hand he held the hairbrush in, "How could you even love garbage like me?"

Face indifferent, Kusuo looked at his boyfriend, //This again...I can't stand it when he says stuff like this.//, he watched (Y/N) turn around again with a sigh, waiting, //Come on, (Y/N)...Give me a hint. How can I make you feel better right now?//

//Please just hug me...Gah that's so selfish of me to even think that.//

There it was. A rather clear hint this time which Kusuo was really grateful for.

Reluctantly, since he himself was not used to physical affection, Kusuo walked up behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arm around his waist. Silent. Just standing there. All he could do is what (Y/N) wished for to comfort him. Until he figured out how to do it without depending on his powers at least.

#saiki k #saiki k x reader #saiki k x male reader #kusuo saiki #kusuo saiki x reader #kusuo saiki x male reader #kusuke saiki #kusuke saiki x reader #kusuke saiki x male reader #aren kuboyasu #aren kuboyasu x reader #aren kuboyasu x male reader #x reader #x male reader

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letstalkwhump · 1 year

Text

Let's Talk Whump No.5

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! ! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host.

Today I’m talking whump with the wonderful @painsandconfusion!

So good to have you here today, @painsandconfusion! Tell us a fun fact about yourself!

I'm a lawyer but don't seem like a lawyer at all - everyon'es always confused when I say so. I'm a fan of jumping between fluffy pink dresses, standard hipster vibes, emo styles, and who knows what else. It's different every day. I just like variety!

What does whump mean to you?

Oh dear, tricky to answer...

Whump is when a character is at their highest stress point (or...at least higher than average). I suffer from severe and vivid nightmares, but I found out that when I write whump, I can process my fears and anxieties through those characters and their experiences. I can only go about two weeks without writing before the nightmares start again. It's kinda amazing to see just how effective and healthy it is for me. I live vicariously through my whumpees for a moment, and they help my brain keep its shit together. Then I get to meet all these lovely people online and it just makes my heart so happy!

Wow, that’s really great to hear! Whump can be really cathartic at times. How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I think this is a standard story, but I discovered the hero x villain community first, and it wasn't /quite/ my cup of tea, but it was close. After I saw a few people reblogging things with #whump, I checked it out.

I have a vivid memory of skipping class for the first time in my life, just sitting in my apartment, all but crying as I scrolled through everything. I was so relieved to find that I wasn't alone. I spent so much of my life hating myself and hating whumperflies and hating that I was drawn to violence and not understanding why. After I found this community I felt so much more at home.

I made a blog and started reblogging.

Then of course, I relapsed into hating myself and deleted it.

Then I made another. Started posting gifs I made from my favorite whumpy movies.

The kink community kinda took it over - which is fine and lovely and I'm happy to share content, but....they were the only ones who saw my blog. So everything I made was taken in a way I didn't mean and I felt very isolated and unheard.

So I deleted it again.

A couple years ago, I tried again. I started just reblogging, then I impulsively added to a prompt list in one of my reblogs and people really liked it? So I made more. And more and more and more- eventually I started posting scenes, and I've been having a lovely time here ever since!

Do you think your view on whump has changed since you joined? Are there tropes you now love/hate that you didn't at first?

Absolutely. Like. Wow so much. I used to dislike pain a lot and only enjoy the fear leading up to it. While I still prefer the suspense, nothing really squicks me out anymore. I used to hate pet whump but now I'm a fan.

I have started making whump art as of late, which has been a fun new adventure! I picked it up almost solely because there's so many fantastic writers in this community who deserve some good fanart. I'm having fun working through a list of my favorite creators!

Tell us about your favourite whump trope!

Dear goodness, do I love a chin tilt.

No no...hmmm.....I get to run wild with this question and there's nothing you can do to stop me! Muahhahahhaaaaaaaa~

Okay so. Picture this.

Whumpee stumbling slowly backward, breath catching in their throat and burning at their lungs. Their feet drag against the ground as they stare up at Whumper, eyes shaking and sparkling with tears that cling to their lashes, refusing to fall. Not /quite/ yet.

Whumper strokes a knuckle down their cheek, drawing a twitch - not quite a flinch, no no, Whumpee wouldn't dare to pull away. Whumper's hand flips softly as it reaches their jaw, pressing to their throat instead.

Whumpee finally lets a sound pass their lips, a soft whimper as their back hits the wall. The momentum topples the wetness from their lashes, and Whumper's eyes roam down to follow them as they soak hot into the fabric of Whumpee's shirt.

Whumper's hand turns up just /once/ more, curling a finger under Whumpee's chin to tip their head up, drawing hiding eyes back into place.

Then they say something whumpy, I guess - you get the picture.

LOVE that shit.

Intimate whumpers? Slow pacing? Vivid sensation? Yes!

Absolutely loving the detail in that! It’s all about the sensations! And speaking of favourites, do you want to share a piece you've written?

Hard Question!

First one that comes to mind is The Party. It's one of my favorites because my hands were shaking so hard while writing it. It was a great way to kick off that event (@thewhumperssoiree) which I'm inadvertently yet shamelessly plugging by answering with that piece I guess! It's very very fun, I loved what that piece created. Everyone who wrote for it did such a great job! (Event is still open, I don’t know why I'm talking about it in past tense)

Do you have a standard writing style/routine or does it vary?

I absolutely change up my paragraph style depending on the intensity of the scene or the place in the scene. I'm a big fan of elaborating and writing moment to moment so the oc's sensations and emotions bleed into the reader. I don't write much on visuals at all - almost entirely on sensation, which I think works well in this medium.

When I'm writing, I kinda forget everything else exists, so I don't have food or drink or if I do, it's neglected. If anyone tries to talk to me, tough luck to them, I'm in the Write Zone and I cannot hear them!

I write solely when inspiration strikes which.......is a lot!

Is there a noticeable difference in how easily you write things? Do the words always flow or do you have to beat them out sometimes?

There's characters who don't get in my head nearly as easily, and ones that are effortless. Getting fucking Alec in my head? Impossible. He's a bitch, then does bitch things once there. Ethan? Dream. Miracle boy. So easy to write that emo little shit. For clarification, the seven chapters of Alec's series vs the thirty of Ethan's. Alec is a bitch. End of story.

But, I also do much better describing little moments rather than full scenes. I'm good at scenes, but it takes so many spoons. Hence why I have three hundred or so random drabble posts or lists, but only like fifty total from my series. It just takes more effort to have to think about plot and pacing and all that good stuff.

Fun? Yes.

But hard.

Is there anything you're working on at the moment? Finalising the final chapter of your series? Starting a new au? Trying a different style of writing/pov? Revisiting fanfiction? Maybe you've really gotten into poetry....

Oh dear goodness, I'm working on everything all at once and I need to stop!

I also need to roleplay less and write more for you lovelies! I’m so sorry I’m just really distractible…

Give us some writing advice. Bless us with your wisdom!

I have posts for this but:

1. Keep your descriptions to the textured senses. Less visuals, more sensation. Caretaker has brown hair? So what? Tell me about how Caretaker's hair curled at the ends, just barely tickling at the corner of their eyes until they flicked it away with a twitchy shake of the head.

2. Personify the shit out of your nouns. Whumpee bled? No. The blood soaked through Whumpee's shirt. Make it an external factor that's affecting them. Much more engaging.

3. Pacing. Whumpee got dragged into the car, then into a house and chained in the basement? That's not one scene, that's at least three. OR. It's a two sentence summary that Whumpee is musing about while already in the basement.

4. Speaking of, don't start with the boring, just get right into the action. You can weave the 'how we got here' bits in after a few sentences, but get your reader hooked right away. Don't start with "Whumpee got out of bed, glancing at their blaring alarm". Try instead "Their hands were shaking so hard they had to try three times to dial the number, fingers as clumsy as they were that morning, trying to slap their alarm off through the fog of blissful sleep." Or just don't mention it at all! Skip to the good stuff!

Lastly, let’s hype up some of your favourite blogs! Any friends, writers or just really cool people you want to shout out?

@whumblr was like my idol before I started! It's so cool just casually knowing her now? Still not over that, to be honest.

I always tag her but @distinctlywhumpthingmpthing is so good? Seriously, you want to see some god-tier writing, go over there. (minors read tws well please, its not all for you.)

@brutal-nemesisemesis is always a delight. Castys gives me life.

And of course, I'm gonna give a shoutout to @wormwritinging, my beloved. We met here and as much as I adore this community, they're hands down the best part of it.

Anything you'd like to add?

I can't think of anything but thank you for doing this. This blog is so cool!

It’s been a honor to have you here, @painsandconfusion!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

#whump community #whump interviews #lets talk whump

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write-and-buried · 2 years

Text

Celestial Navigation

Part 6 - Waning Gibbous

Summary; Whatever happened to that guy anyway?

Warnings; jesus christ listing them makes me want to hide my face under pillows. Oral sex (m!receiving), excessive rimming, cum play, dirty talk, very messy sex, cum eating, spitting, and some discussions of toxic workplaces

A/N; This got filthy... fast. Huge thanks to @astroboots @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet and @jazzelsaur for encouraging every single whore thot I've ever had

Series Masterlist \\ Main Masterlist

[prev] - [next]

Whatever Happened to Derek Brown?

You couldn’t go to the movies without seeing his face. From the round cheeks and eyes filled with wonder as a child discovering life on other planets from his backyard telescope to the chiselled jaw and sharp cheekbones as a peasant teen in the period drama that won him an Oscar at only 14, Derek Brown was a staple of early nineties cinema.

A clean-cut heart throb, the duelling box office titans of Eric Webster and Derek Brown plastered the walls of teenage girls (and boys) across the nation.

But while you only have to scroll through Twitter to catch a glimpse of Webster’s latest escapades (yacht orgy, need we elaborate?) Brown has been absent from public life for almost two decades. Emancipated at sixteen, running wild through Hollywood throughout his late teens, he suddenly vanished after the death of his parents. What was assumed to be a brief period of quiet mourning has since turned into a mysterious disappearance, fuelled further by Eric’s locked lips on the subject.

“I wish him happiness, wherever he is” the only official statement he’s ever given, referring all other questions about him to his publicist, who parrots the same line.

His sizeable talent notwithstanding, Derek’s disappearance has sparked numerous conspiracy theories about the cocky young stars whereabouts. Every few years an unconfirmed sighting emerges along with a new theory, a monastery in Brazil, a surf instructor in Australia, an extra in the background of Marvel’s latest release. The lack of tax returns, public filings or holdings make most believe he has left the United States and lives a quiet life of anonymity out of the public eye.

With the twenty-year anniversary of ‘Rebel of Owls’ on the horizon, his last, and most famous film, many fans have wondered…

Whatever Happened to Derek Brown?

Buzzfeed News.

“Here it is” Dieter grunts, the sound of falling debris as he pulls a box from the back of his closet. Shining in the lamplight, the statue doesn’t look real. He tosses it on the couch next to you as your eyes scan the slideshow. You barely recognise him, your brain only tickling familiarity as the quintessentially 90s photos scroll across your vision.

Red carpets, cigarettes tucked behind his ear, set photos with the young face of Eric Webster, one of the most famous celebrities in the world, their arms linked around the others neck, brotherly love in all its glory.

ACADEMY AWARD

DEREK BROWN

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

‘FOUNDERS AND PEASANTS’

“I never saw it” you say, running your thumb across the grooves in the metal.

“Don’t bother. It’s not very good” Derek replies, sparking a joint held between his lips. The flame illuminates his face, and you see the ghost of the boy on the screen.

“I had to wear these stupid lifts in my shoes. I hadn’t had a growth spurt yet, and my voice cracked all over the acceptance speech. Hackman should have won it, for Unforgiven, but I guess the voters thought I was a cute kid with a good story, and that’s what they vote for anyway”

He flops down on the couch next to you, peering at your phone screen to see Eric Webster and him, linked together in the past.

“I met Eric a few years before that. We both auditioned for Judgement Day, but obviously didn’t get it. Became friends and stayed that way. Roared through Hollywood like a couple of young-dumb-full of cum idiots and caused havoc for our agents.”

“That’s why everyone recognised you at the party” Your voice is quiet, the realisations coming to you in waves as he blows smoke rings to the ceiling.

“It happens. But I do have one of those faces, and nobody thinks they’re gonna meet a child actor one day”

“It’s been a secret? This whole time?”

“No… not really” he says carefully. “I don’t hide it. I never legally changed my name, so my accountant knows. My old agent knows, Owen and Molly know. Eric, obviously, he knows too. He visits at Christmas once every few years”

“But I didn’t know” your voice cracks for the first time.

“Hey, no, hey hey” grabs your cheeks, your phone falling into your lap, the screen illuminated as he scrambles toward you.

“How did I break my nose?” he asks, swiping tears from your cheeks as he tilts your face upward.

“You got punched in the face in a bar fight you thought you could win”

“What’s my favourite movie snack”

“Kit Kats”

“What’s my favourite medium?”

“Charcoal… or acrylic depending on the canvas” you’re sobbing now, reaching to touch his wrist as he looks at your face.

“Why do I paint so many stars?”

“You think stories are told there”

“Including ours” he says, brushing a kiss across your mouth. “I didn’t tell you, because that isn’t important to me. That’s a life I left behind, I shed my name and everything about it. It wasn’t me Lou. It was something I did, not who I am, remember?”

You take a deep breath, forcing the tears back as you circle your fingers to feel his pulse.

“Why did Eric call?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours as you stroke his skin.

“He calls whenever he gets a weird question. They ask about me whenever an anniversary is coming up, or when nostalgia is going to help them get more clicks on an article. Usually its just the vague, where is he, stuff that he never answers. But they asked him, through his publicist if he spends a lot of time in New York, and where his favourite coffee shop is. He thinks they might know I own this place. He wanted to warn me.”

“And what happens if they find you?”

“Mayhem, I would guess. If I could do it over, I wouldn’t have vanished, just publicly stepped away. Let it fade in people’s memories and have an ending to the story. That’s what they’re looking for, a satisfying conclusion to the Derek Brown ‘mystery’” he scoffs.

“They’ll come here”

“At least, trying to get a photo. They’ll want interviews and canned sound bites and all that fake bullshit. When they don’t get it, they’ll start digging. Derek Brown might not exist anymore, but Dieter Bravo has been thrown around enough that they’ll get some good stories out of it”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I always do” he grins, “whatever I want”

The scent distracts you, an acrid burning as your eyes flick to the threadbare rug under his coffee table, currently smouldering from a half smoked joint. He follows your gaze and smothers it with a military green croc. When he turns back to you he shrugs, an apology on his face.

You reach out, hooking your pinkie with his own.

It takes four days. A weekend of waiting in an anxious puddle, two days of staring at your spreadsheets with Twitter open on your phone, refreshing the top trending stories and TMZ between each click of the mouse. There aren’t enough interns left for you to fade into the background. Your co-workers ask you repeatedly if you’re okay. Your boss makes you take a COVID test in the bathroom, when it comes back negative, she rolls her eyes and tells you to get back to work.

The first photo of him is grainy. Tousled hair and mismatched socks, sweats rolled over one knee. It’s outside the café, leaning against the brick with sunglasses hooked into his threadbare shirt. You sleep in that shirt sometimes.

It takes an hour for the internet to catch fire. More recent photos appear, Molly and Owen in the background as blurry ghosts as his form is shown painting the walls of the café, or as a hunched figure carrying a mustard yellow armchair down a busy street.

The stories come that evening. People that have slept with him, done drugs with him, snorted lines off his body or had him snort lines of theirs. A woman who shared tabs of molly with crushing kisses in the middle of a silent rave. None of the stories surprise you, he’s told you most of them. They’re good experiences, memories he laughs at, turned suddenly sinister.

His first naked photo hits the internet less than 24 hours later. He’s sprawled on his round bed, cock laying thick and imposing on his thigh as he grins into the camera, offering a cup of unknown liquor to the taker. More follow. They begin to form a narrative, one of a life of pleasure and excess, of unconcerned privilege and recklessness.

Your co-workers begin to whisper that afternoon. You had always assumed watercooler gossip was a trope, overused and never actually happening, until you caught your name in a hushed tone as you walked back to your desk with your fifth, shitty, coffee. There are glances, out of the corner of their eyes you can feel them, pinpricks all over your skin that make you feel itchy, under hot lamps.

You ignore a colleague when he calls your name at 5pm, packing your journal into your handbag you spill into the anonymity of the street. You keep your eyes glued to your phone as you walk, the first of many think pieces about Dieter beginning to appear on TMZ and Buzzfeed, asking what happened to give him such a fall from grace.

You’ve seen the photos from the café, texted by Molly in a moment of peace, full to the brim with fans holding DVDs of his movies, paparazzi with jiggling knees and separate flashes, people taking photos of the paintings on the walls. You haven’t heard from Dieter since it broke, your phone silent except for the reminders for meetings, deadlines, notifications that you once lived by now causing you to grit your teeth as you felt a flush of disappointment.

Your apartment is quiet. The dead plant in the corner seems to mock you as you microwave a poor imitation of macaroni and cheese, your shoes kicked haphazardly across the rug. The sunset is beautiful across the windows outside your apartment, streaking purples and oranges that remind you of his paintings.

Everything feels uncertain. You hover over his contact in your phone as you settle on your couch, too rigid to truly be comfortable, but a stylistic choice in the space. Your phone screen goes dark, giving you a glimpse of your pinched face, the teeth burrowed into your bottom lip. You grab your laptop instead, dragging it and a blanket over your knees as you scroll through the list of classic movies Dieter has mentioned in passing, organised into a spreadsheet.

Selecting one at random, you feel a tug of loneliness at his absence, the stream of consciousness commentary that’s always accompanied these black and white pieces of history.

The colours aren’t mixing right. The contrast not dark enough to make the light glow, dimming the image on the canvas in front of him. He can taste the splinters of his paintbrush as he stares at the unsatisfactory image, the purples in the palette on his arm seeming suddenly wrong. The sunset had looked so beautiful tonight, reflecting off the shining concrete buildings as he sat on the overgrown balcony, listening to the cacophony of the street.

Usually, it was anonymous, the noise below. Horns and screaming and laughter and crying, floating up to him like a symphony he could view from afar, enjoy while staring at the blankness of the universe and wondering how it all came to matter so much it hurts.

But today, his name is the primary noise. Owen and Molly had told him to stay upstairs, as if he had any intention of going down, of allowing them to split him open and feast on the aged flesh. Find a story that only mattered because of a life he willingly gave up.

He wanted to create. It burned like a dying sun inside him for as long as he could remember. Everything itched and scorched until he had a pencil in his hand or a play to perform. Drama club, into auditions, acting into stardom. It was a round peg in an oval hole… right enough to think it worked.

Worked for his parents, anyhow. Supportive but distant, they enjoyed the high society of their sudden famous surname. Never pushing him, never encouraging him, they just were. He can hardly remember their faces now, the scent of his mother’s perfume sometimes caught and followed on the summer air.

Eric had always understood. Standing in line in the same auditions, the blonde hair in perfect spikes, his eyes somehow smouldering at the tender age of fifteen. They ran along parallel lines, his parents shaving down his edges until he was round enough to slide right through the hole. They would sneak off the back lot at Warner Brothers and smoke clove cigarettes, drink whiskey until they were sick and shaking, a makeup artist with glassy eyes giving them eyedrops, breath mints.

Nobody cared, until they did. Until the photos hit the papers, glossy and high def, Dieter on a bar top at eighteen, loops of women’s lingerie collected around his wrist. Eric sucking tequila out of a Victoria’s Secret models bellybutton. Fame and excess rolled together until they were packaged together, saran wrapped for consumption.

They never showed up drunk or high to interviews, they toed the line of playful bad boy together, always yanking the other back by the collar until it stopped being enough. If he dug deep enough, he’d know why he stopped when they died, taken within months of each other, cancer and a stroke. He’d proved enough, they loved him enough, and they were there. Until they weren’t.

He read some of the coverage about his parents’ deaths. The family photo’s he doesn’t remember posing for in contrast to the questions about his morality. Everyone expected him to go off the rails, to join the elusive 27 club and sell pictures of his coked-up face. Everyone would have been sad, and moved on.

Instead, he picked up a paint brush, and bought a cheap canvas at an art supply store. He sat in the back of a rented limousine and ruined the seats with shitty acrylics and painted what the world looked like behind tinted glass. When he left Hollywood, he never had the urge to look back.

He saw this place on the 8th of August. The flat brick exterior with no windows, an old oak door with rusted hinges, tucked between new developments like the least appealing fruit at Whole Foods. It was owned by an estate, nobody wanting it and nobody offering enough to take it off their hands. A grimy shop with a small apartment overhead, the balcony overrun with weeds. His skin had hummed when he touched the brickwork, a promise zapping through his skin.

He didn’t know what it was until you had walked through the door.

Dieter wasn’t expecting you to call. He knows the story has broken, can only imagine what is being thrown around about him on the internet, the conclusions people are jumping to as they dig up more, and more again. He stayed upstairs for most of it, hearing Owens voice boom out against the brickwork, insisting that he wasn’t here, that they didn’t know where he was and wouldn’t say even if they did. He snuck a muffin up an hour later.

He could imagine you now, sitting in your apartment, an empty microwave meal next to you on the couch. Maybe you were watching a movie, you might have been consuming every new article about him – continuing on the trend of the day he assumed. He wondered what you were watching, if his not-so-subtle steering towards Bette Davis had taken root yet, or if you had chosen something mindless, something you’d seen a thousand times and could recite from memory, its words etched on your brain, a script nobody asked you to memorise.

The stories about his family start the next day. Innocuous enough, his parents, his upbringing. They have him in their teeth, it seems, unwilling to let go as his silence begins to annoy. Undeterred by the swirling uncertainty they speculate wildly. His relationship with his parents picked to shreds, interviews and DVD extras dragged forth from memory and replayed on loops. TikTok analysis of his body language, a livestream of someone getting coffee from the shop, the line now snaking down the street.

Owen and Molly are next. A photo of Molly flipping off the paparazzi sparks a new wave of speculating about his chosen family. You giggle when you see she makes it her Instagram profile picture. They find Owen’s friend in L.A – the one who works in porn. Not as an actor, but a makeup artist, and that’s enough for the morality police to come down even harder on Dieter.

They’re ripping him limb from limb, an evisceration in 180 characters, each pillar of his personality smashed to dust with memes and jokes and vicious hatred. Eric cops some of the blowback as well, refusing to distance himself from his friend. There’s a clip of him, drunk at a party, shouting support for his former partner in crime, daring anyone to question him. In a room full of glitzy yes men, nobody does.

It tickles beneath your skin. That everyone cares so much about him while knowing very little. None of the articles mention his paintings. None of them talk about his apparent connection to the human spirit, his obsession with the stars and their stories, classic Hollywood. He could recite the general principles of the Hays code from memory, and he liked to explain all the ways you’d broken them while he licked cum from between your thighs.

He talked until you fell asleep every night, a soothing rumble of a story you’d have never known otherwise. It’s the same feeling from the party, a thousand years and barely a fortnight ago, where they fell in love with an image, only this time it’s the reverse. You haven’t watched his movies, no morbid curiosity to see the cheekbones that could cut glass. It was something he did, not who he was, and it became clearer with every tweet that it wasn’t who you know.

It settles like a dull ache, a burning chasm of loneliness that drags you from your desk at 5pm that day, again. Committing cardinal sin as you close your laptop and leave, not looking over your shoulder for what you once considered vital additional responsibilities. You’re wearing heels today, and the bones of your feet hurt when you reach the building.

There’s still a crowd outside, despite the door being closed. People are taking pictures against the brickwork, jostling for the best light, the capture of the frayed cardboard closed sign that greets them. A few men in jeans with expensive cameras mill off to the side, glancing upwards to the light just visible through his heavy curtains.

You don’t think before you hit his contact. If you strain over the noise, you can hear the foghorn alarm, his ringtone before he picks up.

“I’m outside”

It’s pandemonium when the door opens. Flashes blind you as you feel fingers lace into your own, tugging you inside the door before shutting it with a slam. It barely dims the noise. The bell falls from overhead, cracking into three pieces on the ground as you feel his arms wrap around you, the tension draining from your body for the first time in days as he squeezes your waist, pressing his face into your neck.

“Missed you” is all he says before dragging you upstairs.

He’s covered in paint. Muddy browns cover his hands, sticking through his hair and smeared on his cheek. The canvas in the corner is dripping, long sludgy trails of paint on the floor. You can see the stubs of three joints in it, his palette peeling from the weight of it.

“Couldn’t get it right” he shrugs, following your eyeline to the ruined canvas. “It will happen when it’s supposed to”

His thumb brushes your cheek as you take him in fully. His hair is unruly, his eyes creased deeper than you’ve seen them, his clothing creased and stained. You can smell paint thinner, weed and Makers Mark on him, and you wonder if he’s showered since the story broke.

“Want to take a shower?” you ask, feeling his fingers round brush against your skin

“Together?” he asks, a grin that makes your chest crack breaking his face.

“Wash the paint off first, then we can talk” you reply, the laugh he lets out a shaft of sunlight through your skin. He nods, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before turning towards the bathroom.

You know where his things are. You know where yours fit in this space, where you leave your bag, kick off your shoes, shed the corporate layers. You know which drawer to dig through for his softest shirts and you pick one that smells just like him to slip on. Your clothes tangle with his in a laundry basket. You know there’s a pile that has clean ones somewhere. You grab fruit from his fridge, a punnet of blueberries and misshapen plums, setting them on the edge of the coffee table as you hear him through the wall, humming under the spray of the shower.

You pick a movie, something in the endless queue and wait, checking your phone and not worrying about its dying battery. You respond to Molly’s questions about her aid relief form, you double tap Owen’s picture on Instagram, the caption something witty about being famous and wanting his dick sucked. You check your email. The sharp one from your boss demanding a meeting in the morning barely makes a dent as you toss the device on the table, stretching your limbs back into the deep couch, waiting for him to emerge.

He brings a cloud of steam with him. His hair damp and curling around his neck, a towel slung low on his hips as he continues humming to himself. His rings catch the light, throwing silver across the walls like stars as he comes to you, seemingly distracted, to grab your wrist and pull you to your feet.

“You forgot this” he says, bringing his mouth to yours.

You’d always broken this into body parts. Lips touched lips, hands clasped hands, the rhythmic sectional breakdown of affection, neatly categorised and labelled as one progressed to another, switched their categories to explore further.

Kissing Dieter is a full body experience, you’ve since learned. From lazy and slow and sleep heavy, to frantic and primal, he kisses you with his whole body. His hands roam your back, tangle in your hair, grab your ass and squeeze your flesh. He mumbles into your mouth, feeding you words like candy as he hovers indecisively between your neck and earlobe, fluttering between the two to scrape his teeth and make your knees tremble.

The towel loosens under the growing erection beneath it as he walks you backwards to the bed. His hands slide under your shirt, tracing over the lines left by your bra as his mouth travels down your throat. He’s consuming, the familiar feeling of being completely overwhelmed by him settling like a weighted blanket on your soul as the damp towel falls free, his encouraging hands pulling his shirt from your body.

“Really fuckin’ missed you” he moans, his mouth travelling across your chest as he backs you right against the rounded edge of his mattress, the sheets and blankets tangled in the middle.

You need more. The days without him have rubbed you raw, left you feeling adrift and furious on his behalf, and feeling his skin on yours, so warm and soothing sparks something deep inside your gut you’re unwilling to name.

“Can I taste you?” you ask, the question feeling ridiculous on your tongue. His hands dig into your skin, you hear his sharp inhale around your chest as his beard scrapes the sensitive flesh.

“As if I’m ever going to say no to that” he says, grinning up at you with a wink.

For all you’ve done together, this is a rarity. He tends towards worship, the focus of his body seemingly on yours alone, save for moments where you manage to catch him off guard, your teeth scraping his hip as he orients his hands on your body, prying you open for spit slicked fingers as you lick the weeping head of his cock.

He throws pillows to the floor before you sink to your knees, his aim precise enough to ensure a soft landing as your hands trail his thighs, encouraging him to sit, the softness of his stomach, the warmth of his skin making you catch alight. His hand is confident, trailing your cheek to the crown of your head, settling comfortably with a broad palm as he watches you, gasping lightly at the scrape of your nail along the sensitive skin of his thigh.

“You can’t fit it all Lou… But I’d love to watch you try”

Heavy. It’s the word that always comes to mind, whenever you take him in hand or feel him thicken beneath or behind you. The veins that run the length of him, pulsing inside you, the drips that leak from the fat head of his cock whenever he looms over you, watching your cunt pulse in wanting.

It flushes darker than his skin, like a storm on the horizon, swollen and tempting as you watch a single shining drop of precum appear at the head, sliding to drip sticky on his thigh. His hand tightens in your hair when you dart your tongue to taste it. Salty and hot, the heady feel of the weight of it on your tongue makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together as you guide him between your lips.

His hand tightens in your hair, a groan escaping his lips as you stretch your mouth around him. He fills you everywhere. The press of him on the roof of your mouth, immediately filling with saliva as you dig your nails into his strong thighs, shuffling closer as he spreads them for you, a low curse and a shifting of the sheets as he grips them in a wide palm.

“Fuck, yes… that’s it” he’s breathless.

You manage a third the first time, your throat protesting the attempted intrusion as you swallow around him, pulling off to watch the thick spit drip from the sides of your mouth, feeling your eyes prick with tears as he reaches to curl a hand around the base of it, holding himself steady for you to resume.

He watches you. His eyes only squeezing shut each time you choke around him, the depraved groan he lets out as you watch his hips twitch, suppressing the urge to fuck into the tightness of your throat, to apply a little more pressure to the back of your head. You’d let him, you’d like it.

Instead he lets you lead, a pool of your spit now dripping over his knuckles as you take as much of him as you can, a steady, slow rhythm as you synchronise your breathing, enough to stave off the tears in your eyes, focused only on the salty, hot taste of him as you feel his skin heat under your palm.

Your jaw aches, the unnatural stretch of him in your mouth as you pull off him, watching as he twitches, the thick vein pulsing as he grips himself tight around the base. With a gentle tug he pulls your head back, makes you meet his eyes as he strokes his length with a lewd squelch of spit and precum, his own wide hand barely fitting around the thickness of him as he squeezes more the swollen tip. You kiss his thighs, his skin still warm and clean from the shower as you scrape your teeth along the soft skin.

“Look at me” he says, his voice gravel rough as you stare past his lazy strokes to meet his eyes, blown dark and focused on you as your mouth travels further up his thighs.

He can do this, he knows how to control himself, has had this same sensation enough times. But the feeling of your breath, ghosting lightly over his skin makes him feel fevered as he shifts, allows your cautious exploration of the crease of his thigh, your cheek brushing his balls as he lifts his foot onto the bed.

You look like you want to ask, as if he’d ever say no to you, and he nods his head before you can find the words. This is new to you, not something you’ve ever ventured towards, despite a forbidden thrill at the thought. Dieter tries to relax, tries to breathe as your mouth travels lower, as the first cautious kitten lick of your tongue flicks across his hole.

The sound he makes is broken, ripped from his chest without permission as he half strangles his cock in response, the sudden locking of his muscles as he sees your eyebrows raise in a smile. You liked it. Slowly, torturously you explore him, every ridge of furled muscle, the sensitive skin of its surrounds as Dieter feels his hair begin to stick to his forehead with sweat. He can’t breathe for how good it feels.

You’re so careful with him, gently coaxing him open with your mouth as he pants and groans, finding exactly what way he likes to be touched, shifting lower to get enough access. He can still see your eyes, watching him as you lick and trace his glistening hole.

“You want to see me lose it don’t you?” he asks, braving a single stroke of his cock, his whole body shuddering from the searing pleasure that races up his spine.

“You’d like it, wouldn’t you, to watch? Or do you want to do it yourself, you want to have me like this, loose and begging for it, fucking myself back onto something just as thick as I am. You want to watch my face? Want to see what it looks like when I get fucked just as hard as I fuck you? I can tell, I can fucking smell your cunt right now, you’re soaked you filthy perfect thing. Don’t you dare stop”

You’re squirming, shifting your slick thighs together as he talks, his hand squeezing his cock in an unsteady rhythm, drops of sweat rolling down his chest as you breach his ass with the tip of your tongue, enough to feel the tight ring of muscle give under your ministrations, swollen and sensitive from your mouth.

“Fuck, don’t fucking stop, please, so good, fuck”

Dieter can’t help it, the barest scrape of your teeth around his fluttering rim and he sees stars. It explodes from the base of his spine with shocking force travelling through his limbs and robbing him of his senses. He comes thick and heavy splattering his stomach and chest, flowing over his knuckles as you lick across his sac, drawing it further, making everything oblivion as he half screams your name.

Your lips are swollen, wet with his cum. Its on your cheek, sliding down in a thick river as you watch him come back to himself, squeezing the last drops from the thick head of his cock. His hand is still in your hair as his eyes swim back into focus, watching you lick the taste of him from your skin. His knuckles are covered in it, and you watch as he releases himself with a wet smack, bringing his hand to his own mouth, collecting it on his tongue.

He leans over you, close enough for his nose to brush your cheek as your lips part for him, feeling him spit his own cum into your mouth as he follows it with a messy kiss. He drags you onto his lap with surprising strength and shaking fingers, and you feel your slick cunt graze against his cock as he tastes himself on your teeth.

You’re desperate, rutting yourself along the underside of his twitching length as you feel his hands grip you, guide your rhythm as your swollen clit catches on the slick head of him, making you gasp into his mouth.

“That’s it, there’s my girl. Use me, get yourself off on me, I want to see you cum on me. Got so wet, so needy from sucking my cock. Wasn’t enough for you was it, next time you want to, I’ll plant this pretty cunt on my face as well, so you can drip down my throat while you choke on me. And I want payback, I’m going to spread you wide open, show you just how good it feels to cum that hard with a tongue in your ass. I’ll stretch you enough to take me one day, get you nice and open and begging for it, hm?”

His hand slips between your own cheeks, slick still with spit and cum as he brushes lightly against your ass.

“You want that? Want me to fuck you here as well, treat me to the sight of your ass swallowing my fat cock while I make you cum on it?”

“Dieter… fuck”

“I know, you’re right there aren’t you. I can feel it, you’re soaking me, you always get so wet for me, just desperate to be filled up properly”

He holds you close when you come, wrapping his arms tight around you and holding you firm to his lap, so that every shudder passes through him as well his mouth claiming yours as you scratch down his spine, seizing in place as he spreads his hands wide across your spine. It’s those same kisses. The lazy, long and slow ones that bring you back to him, each gentle pass of his hands on your skin as he chases your mouth, catches his own breath in between.

“I need another shower now” he says, grinning as he presses his forehead into yours. “You’re coming with this time” You squeal when he stands, wrapping an arm under your ass as he lifts you both with seeming ease.

He’s had less sleep than you, you can tell. His arms wrap around you from behind as he buries you both in blankets, freshly showered on clean sheets as he kisses behind your ear. He insisted on you naked, cupping at your breasts, his hands sliding over your stomach as his breathing slows, the lazy circuit of his hands becoming heavier.

“Dieter…” you whisper, feeling him scoot closer to you, a half-conscious hum of acknowledgement.

“You could leave for real you know.”

“Mm, no” he says, nuzzling closer into your neck. “Your job is here”

“They’re eviscerating you, going after your family, and Owen and Molly and… I don’t know, if you went away for a while, maybe it would die down”

“Won’t” he grumbles, “Do you want me to?”

“No” you answer, the thought of it pulling gravity from your stomach as you feel him smile into your skin. “But you don’t have to put up with it, and if you wanted to… get away from it… I’d understand”

You feel him huff a laugh into your neck.

“They’ll get bored eventually. Find some other scandal and leave me to fuck you in peace. Besides… I’m not going anywhere without you”

It makes tears prick the back of your eyes, some swelling bursting feeling you can’t name erupting in your chest as he kisses your neck again, finding your hand to lace your fingers together.

“I watched Jezebel” You say, clearing your throat of a warm, soothing blockage that heats your insides.

“Oh, that’s a good one. Bette Davis did that one because she didn’t get to play Scarlett in Gone With the Wind. It’s funny though, it’s the first real link between her and Tallulah, because she originated it on the stage. Then there’s Dark Victory, and of course, The Little Foxes. They had these mirrored careers, one on stage and one on screen, and even though Bette had bad things to say about everyone, she never really did about Lou…”

His voice lulls you to sleep. You’ll hear the rest in the morning.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo smut #the bubble fic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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