#honest to god id really say it was good

[sleevebuscemii]

saw the gran turismo movie last night with some motorsports friends and its a 2hr playstation/nissan commercial but you know what. sports movies i love you. something about a dramatic win at a Big Final Contest will always hit cinematically no matter how ridiculous the context. to Me.

[semiotomatics]

what are the consequences of lying to a psychiatrist asking for a friend

[astrxealis]

my dad just played a bit of Nothing Else Matters just now on guitar he's so cool

[lightboundhellhound]

god you ever think of a celebrity you like and immediately go “oh god what heinous thing have they done… what heinous thing will they do…” but then you feel bad for assuming they must be awful but also you’re kinda justified because you’ve been let down so many times in the past but you wanna be optimistic cos there is good in everyone but also it sometimes feels like becoming famous just changes you on a fundamental level and you just spiral further and further down

[dizzybevvie]

I think one of the biggest issues I have is just assuming that Im a back up friend to everyone

[angels-fantasy]

Top Secret Fiction Ch. 2

First Date Jitters

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Description: After meeting the one and only pro hero Dynamight on a dating app, you two begin to see each other. Because of the dangers that come with his hero work, you both promise to be completely honest with each other from the beginning; though you can't help but keep one big secret from him.

You write fan fiction, mostly about him.

Chapter Details: theres a date ;) fluff, a little bit of anxiety/self consciousness on readers part. also reader has a quirk that allows them to talk to plants! it's talked about more in the next chapter

Word Count: 1.1k

previous chapter

It was now Saturday, the day of your date with Bakugou - which he told you to call him. He said Dynamight was too professional.

Since he had asked you out, the two of you had talked to each other everyday leading up to today. Sometimes even sending voice memos and photos to each other, which was nice. It was reassuring knowing it was actually him on the other side of the phone and not some random person playing a prank on you.

Currently you were getting ready for the date. He still didn't tell you where he was taking you, but he told you to dress nicely, but not over the top.

Whatever that meant.

As you added the finishing touches to your look, you smoothed down your clothing and looked yourself over in the mirror.

"I think this is okay...right?" You asked yourself.

"Mrow"

You looked at your feet and saw Cheerios standing in between them, looking up at you.

"Oh hey Cheerios!" You said and squatted down to his level, "You admiring me or what? Do I look okay?"

"Mroooww"

You giggled and lightly gripped his tail as he walked away, letting it run through your hand, "Thanks for your help."

Grabbing your phone, you looked at the time and saw that it was almost 5:30 pm, so you decided to wait in the living room until Bakugou told you he was here.

As you sat on the couch you couldn't help but bounce your leg nervously. You weren't so nervous about him being a catfish anymore, right now you were worried about how you looked.

Would he like what he sees? Would you be good enough for him? Oh god what if you get food stuck in your teeth or something. Would he even tell you?!

You didn't know how much time passed while you were wallowing in anxiety, but your phone ringing broke you out of it.

Looking at the caller ID, you saw it was Bakugou.

"Already?!" You cried, quickly composing yourself and answering the phone.

"Hi Bakugou! Are you here already?" You asked in a fake cheery tone.

"Yeah. Your place is the one with the big flower pots outside right?"

"Yep. I'll be out there right now, let me put my shoes on."

"'Kay. Bye."

"Bye!"

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and hastily put your shoes on, making sure to grab your keys.

While leaving you made sure to say bye to Cheerios, who only glanced at you from his spot on top of the couch, and to your plants who also said goodbye.

As soon as you stepped outside you locked your door and turned around to see an all black Camaro, which was probably the latest model. The windows were tinted, so you couldn't really see through them.

You walked towards the car nervously and opened the passenger door, seeing Bakugou in the drivers seat.

"Hi Bakugou, thank you for picking me up." You said as you got into the car.

Seeing him in person was much different than seeing him on TV or in photos. He didn't look bad at all, if anything he looked better. His eyes seemed to be an even brighter red in person.

He shook his head lightly, "'S no problem. You uh, you look really nice." He said quietly.

You smiled. "Thank you. I was worried I didn't dress the part, especially since you didn't tell me where we're going." You said teasingly.

He clicked his tongue and began driving. "I already told ya, it's a secret."

Laughing lightly at his words, you looked him over and his outfit. He had on a black cotton t-shirt tucked into a pair of black dress pants and a belt with a silver buckle. He was also wearing a silver chain and a very expensive looking watch to match.

Now looking at his face, you noticed that his ears were pierced. On his lobes he had diamond earrings, and a little higher up he had a helix piercing.

Cute.

"See something ya like or what?" He asked with a smirk.

Your face went hot, "Uh-sorry. I was just looking at your piercings."

He brought a hand up to his ear, fiddling with the earring. "Huh. I forgot that not everybody knows I have these. I replace them with clear piercings when I'm working."

"How long have you had them?" You asked.

"Since my third year of high school, I think. It's been a while."

The two of you continued to make small talk on the way to...wherever you were going. You were glad that he wasn't hard to talk to, considering the fact that first dates are always a little awkward.

When you finally arrived at your destination, you were expecting to see a restaurant, not a large open field of flowers with some patches of grass.

"Hey Bakugou, where are we?" You asked while looking out at the field.

"It's a flower field. You said you like them, right?" He asked as he began getting out of the car.

"Yeah, I do." You said and followed his actions. "You do realize how suspicious this is right? You're not gonna murder me or something are you?"

He smiled at you as he opened the trunk, "Nah, not until the fifth date." he said jokingly.

You laughed and watched as he lifted a large picnic basket with a folded blanket on top, out of his trunk.

"Do you need help carrying that?" You asked.

"No, just shut the trunk for me will ya?"

You did as he said and followed him into the flower field. He led you to a plain patch of grass near some flowers and began to lay out the blanket.

"A picnic date huh? I didn't peg you as the type."

"I wasn't gonna take you out somewhere with shitty food and shitty people." He sneered and motioned to the spot next to him on the blanket, telling you to sit down.

You sat down and asked, "So if the food you brought isn't shitty, where is it from?"

"I made it all." He said as you two unpacked all of the food. Now on the blanket, there were two bento boxes filled with tonkatsu, tamagoyaki, chicken karaage, and some vegetables.

There was another small box filled with onigiri. Bakugou continued unpacking the basket, handing you a bottle of water.

"Here. If you want something else to drink, I brought some sodas too. I wasn't sure what you'd want..." He trailed off, ears tinted red.

You smiled widely at him. "This is fine. Thank you Bakugou, this is really sweet and the food looks really good!"

The red on ears brightened even more, "Thanks. Just make sure to grab the green bento for yourself. The other one is spicier, since it's mine."

You hummed and grabbed the green bento box.

The date seemed to be going well so far, and you could only hope it'd stay that way.

...

next chapter

authors note

i hope you liked this chapter ! idk why but i think bakugou would be the type to take you on a picnic date, i hope you agree! also sorry for the little cliff hanger tee hee. i'm probably gonna post the next chapter in a day or two so you don't have to wait too long!

taglist: @doumadono @54fangirl @andysdrafts @dagger-dragger @lovra974 @l4rsun1vrrse @emmab3mma @littlkittenfan @tatiquichi @cloudxluv @seonne @shonen-brainrot @the2ndl

those in pink cannot be tagged for some reason!

[md-confessions]

It's Fwoggie ramble time, I apologize for yapping in advance.

Hey Nuzi lovers, want a fun fact I noticed after rewatching episode 7 too many times a few weeks back? Here's a fun way to tell how much time Uzi and N have spent "hanging out"

In case you don't remember, we've seen N write multiple times throughout each of the episodes. Let's also be a bit honest, he unfortunately isn't the best at it... or is he?

One of the things I noticed in episode 7, is that when N confesses, his hand writing looks SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER. Don't get me wrong. It isn't perfect, as there are some small errors with capitalization, BUT THERE IS IMPROVEMENT. The spacing and size of the letters has stabilized, and you can tell while it isn't extremely neat, he's definitely practiced his writing before. Not only that, but his art has improved a bit as well!

For example, the way he draws hearts. The hearts added in episode 2 are way more deformed, but the ones in episode 7 look way more polished. (i still can't fuckin believe he drew hearts with his own blood oh my god)

Another example is the dogs! There's a huge improvement with the form of the drawings, and you can actually tell the one drawn in episode 7 is a dog! (Last photo I edited the brightness on because the scene was too dark, however it is indeed the drawing from ep 7.)

Keeping the fact that he only has one "really good friend", who else would have helped improve N's handwriting if not Uzi.

Using context clues, Uzi and N started "hanging out" more after episode 4, meaning Uzi has probably taught N how to write and draw better within that time. According to google, it takes quite a while to improve your calligraphy skills. Let's say N was super skilled with learning. If we give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he's a fast learner and ignoring the time taken to improve art, N has probably spent 3 weeks to a month practicing daily with his writing.

So using general estimates.

N and Uzi have spent AT LEAST a month "hanging out together", and this is counting it as if N has been practicing this daily, which i'm sure isn't the case.

Do with that information what you will shippers.

[ID of image 1: Badly drawn N with blue and yellow line art, with "I'm sorry" written next to purple colored scribbles with sad faces in them. END ID.]

[ID of image 2: Badly drawn N and Uzi. END ID.]

[ID of image 3: No ID.]

[ID of image 4: No ID.]

[ID of images 5, 6 and 7: cartoon like hearts of varying shapes. END ID.]

[ID of images 8 and 9: drawings of dogs on paper using crayons. END ID.]

[ID of image 10: drawing of a dog on the floor using oil, with a question mark next to it. END ID.]

[syluscore]

I Would Never Let You F**k Me

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 1196

This is my writing for @myrarenee ‘s ask that I have copied below:

This isn’t really a question but I think a Leon Kennedy smut where he hacks his best friends camera system and watches her fuck herself with his names on her lips. And one day she get snippy and says “id never let you fuck me” or something of the sort. He just grips her jaw and says “Sweetheart, I’ve been watching you fuck yourself while moaning my name.” “Why don’t we make it real this time”

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

“But our babies would be so cute. It’s theoretical, you can agree to a stupid deal that probably won’t come to fruition,” Leon teased you. The both of you lazily sat on the couch, watching some shitty rerun on TV that you weren’t really paying attention to. You’d be lying to yourself if you claimed this whole conversation between the two of you didn’t make your heart flutter in your chest. He’s your best friend, the only guarantee in your life. Everything could go to shit and Leon would still show up and show out for you. You’d been crushing on him since the two of you met so many years ago.

He could so easily jokingly flirt with you, because unlike you, he wasn’t repressing feelings in order to preserve your friendship. You’ve fucked up so many things in your lifetime and you refused to let Leon be another one. All you could do was shake your head, “We are full ass adults, Leon. You don’t need some agreement with someone to marry and have kids if you don’t have it figured out in ten years. You’ll find somebody and will breed your spawn, you will be just fine.”

You stared at Leon as he pouted at you. Once this man had his mind set to something, it was impossible to persuade him another way. You sighed before speaking, “You do realize babies don’t magically appear right? Like we’d have to have sex to make one. Me, you, fucking. That thought alone should be enough to get your mind off your ridiculous deal.” He gasped and acted horrified at the mere thought, clutching his chest causing you to laugh hysterically. 

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings? I don’t think I’m that bad in bed, good god. I think we’d figure it out just fine,” he continued to insist on his idea. All you could do was roll your eyes at him. “Hey don’t roll your eyes at me! I haven’t had any complaints from the ladies who have taken a ride on the Leon-” you couldn’t bare to let him finish his sentence.

You snapped, “Just drop it okay? I would never let you fuck me.” Your tone was so much harsher than you intended, but you were desperate to drop this conversation. You didn’t want to go there with him right now. It’d be putting too much at stake and you couldn’t allow anything to ruin your friendship. A hurt look washed over Leon’s face and you felt so guilty. You were getting ready to apologize, to back track, maybe even just agree to his little idea, but then a smirk slowly grew on his face. He can be so confusing at times.

“Liar,” he suddenly proclaimed and you cocked an eyebrow up at him. You were ready to ask him what he meant by that before he continued on, “What do you think about when you touch yourself, hmm? And don’t fucking lie to me.”

You blinked at him, trying to comprehend if he really just said that. “Excuse me-” you started, ready to give him an earful about how inappropriate his behavior was. How none of that is any of his business.

He wasn’t having any of it though. He reached out for you, gripping your jaw tightly, making you stare right into his eyes. “I’ve been watching you, watching how you fuck yourself while moaning out for me. Moaning my name and holding back all those little noises you make. Watching your face as you cum while begging me to fuck you. So yes, you are a liar. How about you be honest with me and tell me exactly what you think about while touching yourself and maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll give you what you’ve been wanting,” he said in a low, husky voice. Between his firm grip on your jaw and the way he was speaking to you, your traitorous pussy was becoming wet extremely fast.

“How?” you questioned him in an embarrassingly shaky voice. Your throat had run dry, your body slightly trembling as your nerves grew and your anxiousness peaked.

He snickered at you, “Yeah, the government training didn’t teach me anything. Surely, I wouldn’t be able to hack into some pesky little cameras. I gotta be honest sweetheart, the security system you installed is a joke. Someone could so easily access them and watch all the dirty little things you do when you think no one is watching.” With the grip he had on your jaw, he slowly pulled you closer to him until your faces were just inches apart. “Now, you still haven’t answered my question. Cmon, it’s just me, you can tell me,” he told you in a condescending tone.

“I-I,” you struggled to speak between your dry mouth and jumbled thoughts. He gripped your jaw tighter, raising his eyebrows as if he was daring you to test him. “I think about what it’d be like if you tied me up and did whatever you wanted with me,” you tried to turn your head away to avoid his gaze, but his grip on your jaw only got tighter. He gently nodded his head, encouraging you to continue. “I think about you forcing your cock down my throat and telling me how I’m such a good girl for you. About how pretty your cock must be. How you’d spank me if I disobeyed you,” you spoke softly and he hummed in response.

“Sometimes I fantasize about you bending me over and fucking me roughly in front of others. Showing them how well I take your cock. How hard I let you fuck me,” you confessed as you both slowly leaned in closer and closer to each other. “You’d mark me up so everyone knows I belong to you. You’d make sure every step I take for the next week reminds me of you and your cock,” you told him as he closed the gap between your mouths.

His hand slipped from your jaw to your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer. The kiss started slow and sensual, but quickly turned messy and desperate. Leon didn’t leave a single millimeter of your mouth untouched by his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulled you on top of him to straddle him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands traveled down your sides until they landed on your ass, giving your cheeks a tight squeeze in his big, strong hands. You couldn’t help but whimper beneath his touch.

He pulled away from the kiss, a line of saliva still connecting your mouths together as you both greedily sucked in breaths. Leon reached his hand up, breaking the line of saliva and running his thumb across your bottom lip. He slowly pushed his thumb past your lips and you instantly wrapped your mouth around the digit, sucking it as you stared into his eyes. A moan slipped past his lips at the sight of you like this.

“What do you say sweetheart? Why don’t we make it real this time? You can show me just how much you’d never let me fuck you.”

~masterlist~

[moncharrow]

water polo player! abby

a/n: hey!! i know i said id be posting for ellie first but this thought hasn't left me for a month. i love the though of this oh my god i am feral. thanks for reading! rb or comment to support a lil fic author :) also i'm gonna be referring to water polo as a super gay sport and that's because it is xoxo i mean high contact with buff women. like.

-content/warnings: 1.4k, mentions of contact sport violence, smut scenes (strap, riding abby, nickname 'beautiful', semipublic sex in a locker room, fingering, oral (both receiving), gn reader but has a pussy, mentions of roughhousing in water/ drowning (not really drowning but yk)

men dni.

water polo is one of the most intense sports- it's high contact, rough, with a high probability of being punched, getting a black eye, etc

but when you're as buff as ms abby anderson here, it's not as big of a deal

there aren't really many set positions in wp, but the most important one is center- placed front-and-center of the goal, they're the person everyone looks to to get a good shot

center has to be dependable, strong, and fast

abby is perfect! her drive is amazing (ahem ahem) and she's constantly swimming like crazy to get into position so her team can rely on her

she started in high school, learning the ropes and getting to know the sport

got crazy good, and was definitely a very proud varsity athlete. she knows she's good, so why shouldn't she flaunt a bit?

im gonna be honest she absolutely wore her varsity jacket for way too long during freshman year in college

she joined her collegiate team (possibly on a small grant/scholarship) and met the most amazing team

it's hard to be queer in sports a lot of the time, but her entire team is queer/allied!! she has a space to be herself which she really appreciates

she blossoms on that team

every girl at her college absolutely drops their panties for her im not even kidding. its not even that fun to her because she just wants someone to love, not just a hookup

((that doesn't mean she rejects them all though))

the pretty center draws crowds to the natatorium

and that includes you, of course

you're a friend of the goalie and you're not all that into sports, but once you hear that the hot girl you've been thirsting over in org. chem is there?? it's all over, goodBYE

you are seated right in the action, front row of the bleachers, cheering in school colors, pretty eyes glimmering in the bright sun, sweat drops dripping down the front of your shirt

abby is fully focused on her game but when she's benched she gets a liiiiiittle distracted ngl

like i said though, she's mostly game face

but after a win? she feels like she's never lost. she's pure confidence and she decides to keep the streak going and see if she can successfully get your number

it's slightly awkward because when abby gets closer she sees that wow you are so much more attractive than she first thought when she had chlorine water in her eyes

so she just doesn't ask you out lolol she bails and bugs the goalie about you for the week leading up to the game, asking who you are, if you're coming next time, if you like this or that

her hands are so large and strong from gripping that ball... just imagine what they could be used for !

her thighs are absolutely massive- she has to stay above the water somehow, and the kicking she has to do has sculpted her into a thunder-thigh goddess

eating her out is insane because she fucking clamps down on your head with her thighs LMAO

broad shoulders that you can hold while riding her

strong shoulders that you grip and squeeze onto for dear life every night before a game as she plows into you for "good luck"

-the room is filled with the rhythmic slapping of her skin against your thighs as she grips your hips and bucks up into you.

"taking it so well for me, huh? my little good luck charm..." and you can't say anything. you just whine as you feel every muscle in her body working overtime to treat you just right

the veins in her forearms throb and pop out as she bounces you up and down, touching and squeezing and groping everywhere she can. she looks up at you cheekily, biting her lips and grinning. "there we go, beautiful, look 't you go"

"i'll be sore tomorrow" she says. it isn't a complaint. she says it's her favorite workout

yeah she says she's done but she's also finger fucking you in the locker room during half-time

-"sorry coach, i'll be quick, i promise!" abby lifts herself out of the pool with pure upper body strength, muscles tensing and water dripping off her like some kind of lesbian wet dream. when she promises haste, she means you'll be quick, because you know the drill. you're already amongst the rows of lockers as abby pushes you against them, sliding past your underwear and shoving her fingers in. her thumb is on your clit, middle and ring fingers finding your g-spot immediately and going at it relentlessly. "think you can do 5 minutes for me, beautiful?

-you can because she won't accept anything else. you're cumming all over her fingers, groaning at the overstimulation as she fucks you through it. when you're done, she pulls out, inserting her fingers into her mouth and cleaning them. you shoot her a playful dirty look as she jogs back out the locker room door

-"thanks for the pep talk, babe!" girl.

she wins every game and says it's because of you

it's sweet, but she's just that good of an athlete

but if you met her because you play too? oh get ready for a whole 'nother world

you're her defense during practice, in the trenches with her and jumping over her shoulders to make sure she doesn't get the ball

but she'll do petty shit to fluster you, like turning and kissing your shoulder and holding your hand in the middle of wrestling for position like ???

-"anderson!" the team captain reprimands. she gives a cheeky smile and puts her game face back on, pinching your thigh underwater where nobody can see

water polo players' love language is straight up drowning people. like the coach yells for everyone to meet him in the corner of the pool and instead she's fucking barrelling toward you, wanting to pull you under

when you're waiting to practice throwing the ball into the goal, she'll slide under the surface and tug at your ankles to pull you

when you come back up, she's giggling like a child and acting like it was another teammate

-"abby, i know it was you, you idiot!" you say, grinning

despite not really having jerseys like in other sports, abby will have you wear her team merch with logos

you wear last year's team shirt to bed, her flannel pants to class, her two-piece tops when you go to the beach with her

you go crazy for her when she's in her polo suit. they're tight so that players can't get grabbed, but it's tight in all the right places

it showcases abby's broad shoulders and slutty waist, curving around her chest and tastefully contouring her back muscles

thank god for this sport, you think

she always complains about how the suit rides up her butt, giving her a slight wedgie, but it gives you perfect access to her tight ass

smacksmacksmack

-"can you hold off for one minute, babe?"

-"no."

it's like there's no person attached to that ass. and she's just as obsessed with yours dw! she uses those big hands to grasp your entire cheek and land a harsh slap! on there that makes you jump. she just smiles n laughs

water polo! abby who takes you out to dinner after games and ends up stealing your food because "ohmygodbabeimsohungryyoudontevenunderstand"

it's like she's never eaten

speaking of eating... (im sorry)

she will throw your legs open when she eats you out. if you try to shut them she'll use the full force of her forearms to pin your thighs down and dig her face deeper in your pussy, sucking and licking like a woman starved

who wrote that. i didn't. anyways..

you put her hair up in a fishtail braid for her !! then she'll ask you to put her swim cap on and give you a cute smile when you screw it up

-"i fucked it up! sorry!"

-"babe it looks great" while she's tucking all her shorter hairs into the bottom of it

if her team is winning by a lot, she'll mess around a bit and point at you after she scores a goal, and you roll your eyes and your face feels hot because she's so ridiculous

but you do feel a lil special.

anyways water polo abby mi amor :3333 take me in the locker room

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

🤍AO3 Link

🤍Series Masterlist | Prev | THE END

🤍Masterlist

“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

[allamericansbitch]

since y'all seemed to want this.... here's the live notes i took while listening to each song for the first time (bold are thoughts i had during later listens)

fortnight: 

‘i was a functioning alcohol till nobody noticed my new aesthetic’ what the fuck does that even mean…

love the fact she gave post the female collab treatment. don’t wanna hear what he has to say. 

they’re voices sound actually good together? 

some pockets of the melody are catchy

okay i don’t hate this 

ttpd:

her red flags are on fire in this song lol

this seems very half-cooked

also jacks weird mixing continues to plague us all

CHARLIE PUTH???? WHAT THE FUCK WHY HE HERE

tattooed golden retriever??? ……no way

my boy breaks all his favorite toys:

i blinked and it’s half over

this also is like… half cooked and didn’t need to be released tbh

i love the way she sings the second verse tho

down and:

the production does not match the vibe

did tpain produce this

i’m… kinda bored lol

like i have nothing to say this also didn’t need to be released tbh 

this grew on me a lot actually

so long london 

the production is so futuristic? 

oh im obsessed with how she sounds on this one

her talk-singing in the verses is great

honest lyrics without any clunky unnecessary metaphors! a win!!

the fast-paced verses with th slow chorus is really really cool

a favorite so far

daddy i love him

i can barely hear her? the bad mixing continues 

‘growing up precociously sometimes means not growing up at all’ oh yeah WE KNOW

is this…… is this about her dating matty and loving how people hate him… no fucking way she’s this stupid

SHE IS BEING THIS STUPID

‘it’s white noise’ yeah yeah that’s exactly how id describe him  

.... anyway y'all remember when fans really believed the little mermaid theory and this song was supposed to be about how 'joe stole her voice' lmaooo

we will pretend this one doesn't exist!

fresh out the slammer

are we getting another ‘i didn’t cheat technically’ song lol

what is this weird tempo change….

okay kinda catchy

it’s sounds exactly like you are in love at the end….. jack is really out of tricks

florida

‘my friends all smell like weed or little babies’ what the fuck is she even talking about anymore 

i’m sorry but i’m laughing at the phrase ‘fuck me up florida’

again the production sounds so detached from the vocals 

i honestly still have no idea how i feel about this one

guilt as sin

an real instrument?? wow crazy 

okay she’s kinda cute? catchy and fun, love the melody

i love when she goes up at the end of the vocal 

okay…. i don’t mind this one she’s catchy, a little too long and drawn out but cute

who’s afraid of little old me?

what is this production? it’s way too soft to be as threatening as they’re trying for 

why did jack push her vocals back so far when she’s supposed to scream…. that’s ruins the whole thing…. she’s supposed to be screaming and threatening….. not quiet and far away…. hello

this song is trying very hard to be threatening but it’s not... vigilante shit 2.0

‘you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum they raised me’…………… upper middle-class pennsylvania? 

‘i’m drunk on my own tears isn’t that what they all say, that’ll  sue you if you step on my lawn’ okay bar?

the bridge was good but that’s about it.

i can fix him 

…………… not another matty song oh god

‘i can handle a dangerous man’…… im too stunned to speak this is so embarrassing 

wow taylor really is that girl who like ‘women supporting women’ and then dates/defends a racist bf…. a walking example of white feminism

intersectional feminism found dead.... twice....

loml

okay this is really nice? 

I WAS ACTUALLY ENJOYING THE SONG WHY DID SHE RUIN IT BY SAYING ‘MR STEAL YOUR GIRL’ 💀

if we ignore that one line we're good this is good. im refusing to let that line ruin such a good song

i can do it with a broken heart

‘bitch smile’ why are there so many cringey lyrics on this album lol

what is this song omg why do i kind of like it 

taylor please learn depressed isn’t a synonym for sad 

they recycled the mastermind production 

wait till taylor finds out most of the entire world is sad while they're doing their job and has to pretend they're not

smallest man who ever lived 

oh i think i like this?

‘you said normal girls were boring’ GIRL AND YOU DIDNT IMMEDIATELY GET UP AND LEAVE??? EWWWW??? she's not beating the pick-me allegations

'i just wanna know if rusting my sparking summer was the goal' okay love that line

i like this a lot

the alchemy

no….. no way this is real

i cannot

THE SPORTS METAPHORS WE JOKED SHED DO THAT AND SHE ACTUALLY DID IT OH NO 

touchdown ✅ teams ✅ benches ✅ winning streak ✅ the league ✅

she’s doing…… the worst thing ever this is so laughable 

the corny lyrics are on overload 

‘this time it’s heroine with an e’ didn’t she write folklore? i can’t remember 

that literally was an snl parody of a taylor song

clara bow

love how the guitar sounds… bet money this is an aaron track 

a stevie nicks reference!! a win!!!

i like this one a lot no cringey lyrics yet

nope never mind she name-dropped herself don’t like that

overall really liked it tho

the black dog

i think i like it?? this is kind of what i expected the album to be

okay for once the weird production choices kind of pay off

imgonnagetyouback

kinda catchy? 

she loves a fancy car getting wrecked line

the pre-choruses are the best part 

this would’ve been better without the jack of it all bc he loves a song that doesnt build to anything

this just comes down to personal preference: i don’t like her lighter vocals with jack’s heavy production (ie most of lover lol)

the albatross

a real instrument!!! production that matches taylor’s voice and is well mixed!!! aaron’s arrived!! 

i think it’s solid, has good writing and she sounds great. that's about it.

chloe or sam or…

took me a solid minute to have any semblance of a fuck to know what was going on but okay

okay i love this one

wayyyy more emotive than like… most of the original album

a lot of the 2nd version (or whatever this is lol) are way more emotive, maybe because her voice isnt drenched in reverb so we can actually hear her voice emote better

how did it end

this sounds like an old school adele song? 

i love this one too…. 

her being upset people wanna know what happened but then also feeding it while promoting the album oop 

i love the story of this one it's so refreshing

so high school

THE PRODUCTION is so good ugh aaron never fails 

the man here is a walking red flag girl and the lyrics are ~not it~ but the production is too pretty to hate it

fuck these lyrics are so bad lol

maybe if i disassociate hard enough i can ignore the lyrics and just listen to the production and vibe

give me a karaoke version of this song and we'd be so back

i hate it here

i mentioned disassociation and she made a whole song about it!!!! this one’s mine!!!! 

‘without all the racists’ GIRL HUH

WHAT WAS THE REASON

also... girl don’t act like we don’t know you’re fine with that lololololol

if i had a dime for every time i was liking a song to then have it slapped away because of a bad, out-of-pocket lyric…… 

thank you aimee

this isn’t grabbing my attention 

oh the bridge is interesting 

it’s meh 

i will never be thanking the people that bullied me thanks tho

i look in peoples windows 

what do you mean aaron didn’t produce this??? it’s well-made and has instruments? 

i love this one, again a really interesting and unique concept that's very refreshing to hear at this point when a lot of the songs feel repetitive

the prophecy

aaron guitar!!!! 

she’s nice i like her 

i've really grown to love how she sings this one, the melodies are cool.. however i feel like we've heard the same melody.. like on this exact album... where she upturns at the end of every line...

cassandra 

this seems very…. familiar… idk i feel like we’ve covered this (i mean there are 31 songs we’ve already covered everything lol)

this is such an aaron song, that's a classic 'the national' piano

i like her voice in this one tho, sounds good

peter

oh love i love this

now this? THIS feels the most like a taylor swift song

once again she’s at her best with a simple instrument and emotive simple lyrics

the piano reminds me of champagne problems

the bolter 

i like this! the chorus is so cute

oh i like that ending line a lot!

she’s cute, a little long and drawn out but cute

robin

i haven’t seen anyone talk about this one

welp…. i literally have no feelings toward this one but sounds pretty! 

the manuscript

oh this is soooooooo powerful 

i love this concept 

her ending the album on another introspective album that sums everything up a la dear reader yep yep!!

if you actually read of this ily 💗

[georgeclarkewifey]

Inconvenience | g. clarke

Chapter 5 - The Bach and Arthur Podcast

Summary: Noa spills all in an eventful episode of her favourite podcast

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: swearing (I think that’s all of them? lmk if you think there should be more xxx)

noamurphy

liked by arthurtv, italianbach and 18,938 others

noamurphy Issac wouldn’t smile for the photo :(

but hey, catch me on the Bach and Arthur podcast where I talk about literally anything and everything (sorry Chris)

Comments open

italianbach i look so cool

chrismd10 what do you mean sorry Chris??

⮑ noamurphy guess you’ll have to watch and find out ;)

⮑ chrismd10 Noa…

⮑ noamurphy Christopher…

arthurtv best episode yet id say

⮑ noamurphy yeah bc I was there

⮑ maxbalegde useless hotline when??

⮑ noamurphy 👀

⮑ fan NOA WHAT DOES THIS MEAN????

fan1 the silence from George is LOUD

⮑ fan2 yes!!! Bc why is the entire uk yt scene following her except for him???

⮑ fan3 speculation 👏 means 👏 nothing 👏

⮑ noamurphy fan3 speaking facts

gkbarry_ everyone prepared to get jealous bc I’m meeting her tomorrow

⮑ noamurphy giggling and kicking my feet like a child

⮑ arthurhill can confirm this

⮑ taliamar can I come 🥺👉👈

⮑ gkbarry_ noamurphy odds on making it a London girlies meet up?

⮑ noamurphy let’s do it x

⮑ gkbarry_ freyanightingale consider yourself invited

⮑fan4 this meet up is going to be legendary

“Welcome back to the Bach and Arthur Podcast, where we have a very special guest, please welcome the very cool Noa Murphy!” Arthur introduced, grinning as Noa moved onto the set.

She sat opposite Arthur and Issac, relaxing into the plush sofa. “Hello hello, thanks for having me.”

“You’re very welcome, to be honest I’ve wanted you to come on ever since you moved.” Arthur said.

“What can I say, I’ve got some great stories to tell of our childhood in Jersey.”

“Please tell me you have embarrassing child Arthur stories.” Isaac begged, adjusting the microphone in front of him.

“Oh of course I do.” She replied, grinning mischievously at Arthur, who closed his eyes.

“How am I regretting having you on already?” Arthur asked.

“Maybe you should give yourself a small introduction, so those who are watching who may not know who you are?” Isaac suggested.

Noa nodded, and waved at the camera. “Hi! I’m Noa, I grew up in Jersey with Arthur, and the even more famous Chrismd, and I’m currently working as an architect.”

“God you’re instantly cooler than all of us.” Isaac replied, glancing at Arthur and shaking his head.

“I mean I’ve got a law degree-“

“But you’re not an actual lawyer.”

“But I trained-“

“But you quit two months in.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine.”

“So, growing up in Jersey? What was it like?”

Noa smiled fondly, leaning back in the chair. “Even though it was small, I did really enjoy my childhood ya know? There’s been times where I’ve thought I was a bit hard done by, like missing out on being near London, and all the cool stuff there, but at the same time, as a kid who was fond of the outdoors, being able to run around in fields for hours on end was really good for me.”

“All fine until you encounter a bull.” Arthur added, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“I’m sensing a story…” Isaac said, leaning closer to the mic with a smile.

Noa rolled her eyes playfully and looked at Arthur. “Shall I tell the story or do you want to?”

“You’re the guest, all yours.”

Swiping a few stray hairs away from her eyes, Noa smiled fondly and set about telling the story. “So, next to the roads where Arthur, Chris and I lived, there were loads of farmers fields - some had crops in, but the majority of them were grazing pastures for cows.”

“Jersey cows, one of the main things we’re known for.”

“Exactly. And so as kids, we’d run around these fields whenever they were empty, which would be a couple of weeks to a month on rotation. The farmer knew we did this, he didn’t really care so long as we weren’t in with the cows.” Noa said, exchanging knowing smiles with Arthur.

“So one summer, I think I was about 12? So Arthur and Chris were 15,16 maybe, and we’re running around these as we do, with the other kids in the neighbourhood. And it’s getting late, so before we go home, what we would do is we’d go up to the fence within the field, to try and feed the cows, Arthur even had a favourite.”

“He what?”

“Oh my god, Moovis! How could I forget about her!”

“You named a cow, Moovis?” Isaac asked, slowly turning to look at Arthur.

He shrugged. “She was cute, and she liked me, so I thought why not?”

“So we went up to this fence as usual, but for some reason the herd wasn’t in the adjacent field, which we all thought was weird, so we decided to investigate.”

“Hindsight shows that we should never have done that.”

“So we all climb over into this field, and start exploring. I think we got about halfway across when we realised why there weren’t any cows in that field.”

“I’m really scared about what’s going to happen next.”

“There were bulls. No cows because there were about five bulls in the field.”

“Honestly, it was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.” Arthur insisted, nodding furiously. “The fear that went through me was insane. I think I’m still apprehensive to go in fields with cows now after this.”

“So we then have to get out, but we’re trying to creep backwards in the hope that they haven’t seen us, and that we can escape without dying.”

“I’m guessing that something went wrong?” Isaac asked.

“So as we’re backing it towards the fence, this fucking massive bull spots Chris, who’s wearing his bright red Arsenal shirt, and does the normal thing and starts charging. Which prompts the rest of them to start charging us. So, we are all scared to death, sprinting for our lives - I’m pretty sure Kelly, Chris’ sister and Chris were both holding my hands and dragging me along, because eleven year old me could hardly keep up.”

“That sounds deeply traumatic.”

“Trust me, it was.” Arthur said, looking a little pale.

“Then as we get to the fence, I reckon they were about ten metres behind, so we throw ourselves over, and as we tumble over, poor Chris landed headfirst into a cowpat.”

Isaac’s jaw dropped, and slowly formed into a grin as he looked between Noa and Arthur. “You’re kidding.”

“She isn’t.” Arthur confirmed, biting his lip in an attempt to grin too much. “He then started screaming about how he had cow shit in his hair and all over his face.”

“So we did the sympathetic thing and laughed at him, because we were all so high on adrenaline and were just happy to be alive.”

“That might just be the best story that’s been told on the podcast yet.”

“I think I have to agree, poor little ChrisMD.”

“He complained the entire way back, and then to make it even better, we had to hose him down, because his mum didn’t want him coming inside with shit covered hair.” Noa added, grinning. “He stank for a couple of days though, he had to play Sunday league smelling like a cow’s arse.”

————————————•————————————

“So, Noa - the question everyone wants us to ask, are you ever going to do content creation?” Isaac asked, glancing over to Noa, who was happily curled up in the chair, cupping a fresh mug of hot chocolate.

She sighed. “It’s a complicated thing - I’ve obviously got my regular job, to which I am very happy in - my project is going well, which is always a plus.”

“For those who don’t know Noa is a really cool architect.”

“Arthur is exaggerating, I’ve just started at my dream firm and this is my first proper project.”

“But you’ve got a Masters degree, yeah?”

Noa nodded, rolling her eyes at Arthur. “Yes. Distinction in Modern Architecture with a Special Specialisation in Greco-Roman Architecture, is the full title I believe.”

“And it’s from Cambridge.”

“And that.”

“So, vlogging, TikTok? Are we going to see you there in the future?” Isaac questioned, trying to steer the conversation back onto the right track.”

“Right, yeah. I have considered it definitely, seeing as nearly everyone I know is a creator. But I’ve really considered the pros and cons, the biggest factor being that I don’t know how to edit, and I don’t really have it in my budget right now to pay an editor.”

“But if you found something that you were good at would you?” Arthur pressed, exchanging a glance with Isaac. “Because we must admit, we both think you’d make really good kinda micro-vlogs, or just really minimalistic ones.”

“Yeah, like they’re only like, ten, fifteen minutes long and it’s just your entire week, and it’s just you doing your normal routine.”

Noa raised her eyebrows. “You guys genuinely think that people would watch that?”

“Hell yeah! Even if there’s hardly any voice over, and you kinda just have some gentle music over your soft footage almost?” Arthur suggested.

“I mean, I’ll consider it. If people would genuinely watch it then yeah, I would probably start doing something like that.”

“You’d want it to be manageable.”

“Oh for sure, because it’s got to come after my job, and I’d also feel a bit weird if I become that one coworker that does YouTube or TikTok.”

“I mean, that was me. And I was working at a law firm.” Arthur added, trying to convince Noa more.

“Well on that subject, how did you get into architecture? Was it something you were always into?”

Arthur gave Isaac a slightly panicked look - this wasn’t something they had planned to talk about. He glanced at Noa, who didn’t seem too phased about the question.

“I mean, kind of? It was my special interest as a kid, aside from other things, and it was always fostered whenever we’d go on family trips to literally anywhere, because I’d just be walking round a city staring at all the buildings. That’s also how I was nearly run over by a bike as a child.”

“Stepped into the road without looking?”

“Indeed I did. Always look where you’re going kids.” Noa said, pointing down the camera lens that was focused on her. “So yeah, when I was applying for uni I knew that it was what I wanted to do.”

“That’s pretty cool. Would you ever design a house for one of us? You know, if we paid you enough?” Isaac questioned jokingly, raising an eyebrow at her.

Noa huffed, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Maybe? It would have to fit the style of what I enjoy designing, but maybe.”

“You hear that Sidemen? You want a new house, get Noa to design it.”

author speaks: hello! I’m back! Sorry for the break in updates, moving out of uni took a lot of my time, therefore hardly any time to write :(

but I’m back now, so we vibin 😎

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

I’m gonna be honest I don’t understand how people can be hazbin hotel fans and just know everything vivziepop has done and dont care or they choose to pretend they dont know so they dont have to feel guilty about it. Shocking news, you can be INCREDIBLY critical of media you enjoy parts of. I enjoy parts of this show but I’m not going to go buy shit to watch it and support some random lady using a closed religion to make her tumblr sexyman character look “scary”.

I saw someone say vivziepop misgendering someone (allegedly on accident) after getting mad, was a “nothing sandwich” which 1. No the fuck it aint. And also 2. Are you actually off your rocker nuts. I don’t give a fuck if it was an accident heat of the moment thing. Sure you can apologise for that, not me who you misgendered so I cant accept it, but misgendering anyone is never a “nothing sandwich”. Same guy also said that vivzie demonising and appropriating vodou was okay because “Alastor can do it” That… doesn’t fucking matter? VIVZIE can’t practice vodou and neither can her weird red suited deer man, sorry to burst your bubble.

I think everyone thats scrolled even a few inches on my blog (cause really thats all I have) can tell I like Angel Dust. Lots of people like Angel Dust. But apparently half of those people can’t comprehend you can dislike aspects of a character while liking other ones. I mean this directed toward fans by the way. Id sure as hell prefer if he wasn’t fucking fetishised for being a gay man but its vivziepop so literally what can I expect from the lady that makes merch glorifying his abuse. “Yes vivzie! Id love to purchase merch of a traumatic situation ive also been in! Thank you so much for making it look pretty!” I will literally eat glass and drink battery acid before any of this shit actually comes outta my mouth.

It’s so fucking weird how her spin-off show has better representation, humour, writing, and more than her actual main show. Im super glad Helluva Boss is good. Im glad there isn’t any stupid racist representations in there or overly fetishised gay men. Fizzaroli and Ozzie are a cute couple thats written very nicely but even they have elements of vivziepops unsavoury interests that you can see sometimes, but oh my god. Put some of that care into your MAIN show. I am holding out so much hope that vivzie continues the good writing of episodes 7 & 8 so much I am not going to stop noting that, but I am also fully ready to crash and burn from those hopes and that is so fucking disappointing.

[dreamsy990]

so, re:chain of memories, huh?

warning! its been a little while since i played through recom, so the game isnt as fresh in my mind as some others. sorry for any innacuracies!

spoiler alert, this is my second favorite kingdom hearts game. at least of the ones i've played so far. i get that this isn't like. a POPULAR opinion but fuck you i have almost nothing but positives to say about it.

let's start with the easy stuff first. recom introduced a new card-based combat system. i cant compare it to the gba version, since i didn't play that, but i can say that for what its worth i DID enjoy the combat. recom is by far the hardest game so far (at least for me) and almost every boss took multiple days for me to beat, even with my hp maxed out. it took me a while to get the combat system, but id honestly love to replay the game now that i have a better understanding of how it works. the card system requires a lot of quick thinking and i get that it isnt everyones taste but its CERTAINLY mine. every fight is difficult and feels genuinely rewarding when you win. the movement, like kh1, can use a lot of work, but i wouldnt call it terrible. just kinda sluggish. i think my favorite boss fight was larxene. shes a pain in the ass but i love her.

i think riku's side dropping the deck building mechanic isnt terrible, but i wish i could reorder his deck at the very least. and the lack of healing cards is. not fun. basically any damage you take is permanent unless you HAPPEN to get mickey and its simply Not a fun time. im not very good at games okay.

i have a lot less to say about the worlds than the combat. they're definitely the worst aspect of the game, though. the idea of making worlds with cards is fine! it just leads to kind of repetitive world design. the stories are forgettable, so forgettable that i literally forgot them. and i could make a point about how thats the idea its a game all about forgetting things!! but honestly that just making excuses for it. the worlds couldve kept the idea of forgetting things without literally making them forgettable. i say this about every world, except for one. because DESTINY ISLANDS

destiny islands is just. so fucking good in recom. its the climax of both sora and rikus stories and i think theyre both amazing. id have to say i prefer rikus, soley because of the visual storytelling you get from his side of it, and thats not to say soras is bad at all. but something about zexion telling riku that its his fault his home was destroyed, as riku sees a version of himself turning into a literal monster? thats just good okay. its really good.

i ADORE the characters in this game too. everything we get from them is sooo good. it's the introduction to the organization and all of them (except lexaeus who did literally nothing) are a treat. axels my favorite ofc, but larxene is such a fun villain, you love to hate her. shes really the star of the org cast in this game. sure, axels may have said its his show now, but larxene stole the spotlight.

its namines introduction, too, and i love her. on one hand, shes just really kind. she wants a friend, she wants someone to talk to, she wants to meet sora. on the other, shes just a little bit fucked up actually. sure, shes honest with sora, but shes the tiniest little bit guilt trippy and i LOVE THAT. her response to sora saying he wants to get back his own memories and forget her is "oh okay. you want to remember your REAL friends, huh? theyre the ones who REALLY matter to you? yeah anyone would want that. no friends for namine i guess." like shes just a bit salty and we love that for her. i want slightly guilt tripping and salty namine back nomura.

but ofc one of my favorite new characters in this game HAS to be repliku. god i ADORE repliku. his hatred for riku is sooo fun and the way he fights with sora is great too. like in soras side i thought he was a neat villain but rikus side? hes amazing omfg. one of the only villains i liked in rikus story (sorry lexaeus, you werent good until days)

over all, this game certainly isnt everyones cup of tea, but its DEFINITELY mine. it's the game im most excited to replay at some point, mostly because of the amazing boss fights. 9/10. its got issues, but the story and characters are so good that i genuinely could not care less about like. most of them.

[thecynthh]

smart ass - M.S

synopsis - matt’s not doing to well with his schooling but is determined to get his degree and pass his classes. one essay which is a huge part of their grade haunts him with a bad mark, luckily y/n is willing to him him

notes - college setting, no smut yet, more of matt in the next part, hopefully a long series !

author notes - heyyyyy so this is my first series i guess, i hope you guys like this and i promise not to take too long with the next part. love all u babes and j hope u have a nice new years if you celebrate it!

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

a notification appears on my laptop, new grade from Ms.Garcia. shrugs and groans rung throughout the lecture hall, clicking on the notification a website pops up onto my desktop.

*97%,A+ good job y/n keep up the good work*

what were people so upset about, i thought to myself. my shoulder gets tapped by the person beside me.

“oh my god this old woman just hates me,” madi cries from beside me. i peak over at madi’s screen seeing a whopping 54%. i dont understand how that happens to a girl like madi, she was so smart and didn’t deserve that grade. i knew she didnt deserve that, i read her essay myself !

my hand lands on hers, “ okay that’s actually insane for you to be getting a 54, your essay was so good?!?”

everyone's head shoots up to the women below the many rows of seats, “so as you see at your grades only ms y/n got a good grade. i'm willing to let everyone else rewrite their exam and hand it in by next week if you do not like your grade.” the decrepit woman just packs her bag after saying that and begins to leave the room. everyone replicated her and began to pack up their belongings, including me.

madi and i leave the large space and stand in the hall just outside. “oh fuck, i promised nick id meet him after our class, ill see you later babes.” she ghosts a kiss on my cheek as i do the same to her greeting her goodbye. i grab my phone to check the time but to mostly look busy before i head somewhere else.

large footsteps creep up behind me and i hear my name being called. “y/n? thats your name right?” a man around 5’8 is standing in front of me. a little startled i take a second to reply.

“uhm yes that's me” i say replying to him. i notice his outfit, simple black cargos with a baggy sweater over it saying RANSOM with angel wings projecting off of the word.

“s-so i was wondering if you were willing to help me with the essay, you know, maybe study the material more?” he says while slightly looking down and looking very nervous.

“oh yea! of course i’ll bring over my notes and materials that i got from Ms.Garcia. does friday work for you? i have work tomorrow so i’ll be busy after class…” i cringe at my own sentence.

i knew who matt was, he was quite the popular guy and a social media influencer who made a lot of money. he didn’t have to exactly work a normal job like i did. although i don’t blame him, i’ve watched some of their videos and if i’m being honest they are pretty funny. i’ve slowly started to keep up with them ever since i was introduced to them by madi at an influencer party where she and the triplets got invited.

“mhm friday works, you can swing by my house, my brothers won’t be home that night. thanks for this by the way.” he says with his face softening, he definitely seemed more relaxed after i said yes.

“okay then! it’s a date- oh well not really a date, but i mean date as in like… oh you get it.” i trip over my words and finally take in his features. he has a beautiful jawline and scruffy that would feel so good on my-

he chuckles at my mishap “yeah it’s a date just lemme give you my number i’ll text you the address soon.” i present my phone to him as he begins to type out his phone number into his phone, naming his self matt s with a panda emoji next to it.

he’s still typing a little after he names himself, thinking nothing of it i just let him place my phone back into my hand at him as i wave to him bidding him goodbye.

i let my shoulders relax after i see him turn a corner and is out of my line of sight. god why am i so bad at talking to guys, that was straight embarrassing, i thought to myself.

——————

thursday afternoon

madi and i met for coffee after our classes were finished, we caught up ate some small pastries and drank coffee, the usual. but once i told her about what happened yesterday….

“YOU WHAT??” madi says, nearly snorting out her coffee from her nose.

“i agreed to help tutor matt so he can pass this class” i repeat to her seeing zero problem with this.

“so you wanna tutor him, at his house, without his brothers home, at night.” madi tells me in a “matter of fact” tone

“well if you say it like that it sounds like i’m dancing with the devil over here.” i say sarcastically still not seeing the problem.

“you. matt. alone. even after what happened at the party?” madi retorts bringing up the party again.

“okay i still have no fucking clue what you mean by matt was eyefucking me at that party, i was enjoying myself and he was more or less just observing everyone at the party.” god just hearing myself make me realize what is happening.

“you know, just good luck and please don’t be so naive, i don’t want you to get hurt.” madi says in such a sincere tone.

“i’m glad you are at least okay with the whole idea of it, but i gotta go, i have a shift in an hour.” i tell her collecting my things, she stands up and ghosts a kiss on my cheak.

“kk love ya girl, i’ll see you tomorrow.” madi says waving me off before i become late for my shift.

let’s just hope she has at least a little bit of faith in me.

authors note - YAYAYAYAYAY IM SO EXCITED FOR THIS !!!

[marlsswrites]

you're absolutely disgusting for glorifying fascist characters

james married lily and they would both vomit at the idea of being anything close to friendly with a death eater

Okay this is so stupid but I feel like I should speak up about this because it is HORRENDOUS.

Also really? An anonymous hate comment? Thats just sad, if you’re going to be hater at least have the guts to say it to my face.

I actually laughed when this came into my inbox. They are wizards! Fictional wizards, to clarify. We know next to nothing about regulus, james or lily! So, if i want to make a post about jegulus, i will make a fucking post about jegulus.

You can’t go around calling people fascists just because you dont agree with their opinion, it is so childish and it takes the meaning from the word.

I respect everyones opinions, you dont like jegulus? Thats fine, i respect that. You ship jegulily? Cool, I don’t massively ship it but id never hate on someone who does. You ship jily? Yay, me too! So how about you send a prompt to my inbox and ask me to write a jily oneshot, you dont need to flood my inbox with stupid hate while being anonymous! If you really want to say something, you wouldnt do it anonymously.

There is so much to this fandom, so many headcanons and so so many opinions. And everyone has the right to their opinion, I really dont give a shit that you dont like jegulus, but calling me a fascist is just so pointless.

How on earth do you want me to react? “Sorry, I will stop shipping the couple that have offered me comfort on a daily!” Or “oh wow, you’re being pointlessly stupid, that is such a good point!”

No, because at the end of the day, no one reacts like that. No one will listen to you if you act like that! If you dont support me for liking jegulus, get off my page, honest to god. If you dont like jegulus but you like wolfstar, just skip the jegulus content. Its so easy!

If you want less jegulus content on your feed, maybe stop actively searching for jegulus creators to hate on?

Jegulus brings me so much comfort, if im having a bad day I can just do some writing, or make a video, or read some more of the fanfic i was in the middle of. And you are calling me a fascist simply because i seek comfort in a couple of fictional wizards? Just let people be happy, it really isn’t difficult. And if you cant understand that, you really shouldnt be commenting on it, because you are obviously uneducated and not mature enough to be saying and speaking up about things like that.

I am literally just a another human trying to have some fun and find happiness in the things that I love, and you are some random person online who clearly only finds joy in trying (and failing) to make people feel like shit, get a life. And again, if you have a problem with this post, please DNI, hate is not wanted and is really not needed.

Anyway im off to write some more gay fanfiction about said ‘fascists’, bye!! 🫡