#idris elba fanfiction

[dilfsxysh]

NAVIGATION

me ⇨ im a new-ish writer and go by she/her. i also dont have a laptop at the moment so all of this is written on my phone, thus meaning there will be vigorous spelling mistakes.

my work ⇨ ill write what i want and what people request as long as its not weird. ill write smut, fluff, and angst for anyone. and youre all responsible for what you read, not me.

༻༺

MASTERLIST

jake gyllenhaal (and most of his characters) -

james franco -

josh hutcherson (and most of his characters) -

- envy

rick grimes -

glenn rhee -

daryl dixon -

finnick odair -

simon ‘ghost’ riley -

aaron taylor johnson -

penn badgley / joe goldberg -

evan peters -

idris elba -

tom hardy (and some of his characters) -

ryan reynolds / deadpool -

daniel kaluuya / oj haywood -

bill skarsgard -

aaron hotchner -

matthew gray gubler / spencer reid -

chris / matt sturniolo 😭 -

markiplier -

zach tinker / jacob custos -

[holylulusworld]

Heimdall masterlist

Masterlist for all Heimdall x Reader stories

Rotten masterlist (feat. Thor)

Behold the seer masterlist Coming late 2024

Find more Marvel fanfictions here: Marvel Masterlist

[shambelle97]

Il liquido dolciastro dell’idromele scorreva a fiumi sul suo corpo, lasciandolo precipitare in un baratro di accecante follia e disperazione.

La maschera colma di alterigia e superbia era caduta in maniera definitiva.

Per mesi osò sfoggiarla, riscontrando ottimi risultati.

Tuttavia la situazione peggiorò col passare del tempo, costringendolo a rinchiudersi nelle proprie stanze.

Neppure Thor e il resto della famiglia riuscì a risollevargli il morale.

Il matrimonio con Sigyn sfumò a causa di un equivoco: un fraintendimento che la obbligò a lasciarlo.

Ella fuggì da quella sontuosa dimora, evitando di lasciare possibili tracce.

Tutte le notti bramava un tocco che non esisteva più.

Esse sembravano più lunghe e gelide.

Pregò affinché potesse tornare a stringerla.

E Lingua D’Argento non aveva mai supplicato nessuno.

La sua secolare esistenza era mutata in un vero e proprio inferno da quando lei se n’era andata.

Non avrebbe potuto reggere ancora per molto.

Molte donne incrociarono il letto del secondogenito, però solo la sua meravigliosa sposa riuscì ad appagarlo realmente.

Fugaci avventure senza importanza.

Accettare la loro relazione non fu affatto semplice.

Scoperto l’inganno, entrambi furono esiliati da Asgard per un anno.

Midgard disponeva di scarse risorse.

I coniugi dovettero cavarsela senza ricorrere alla magia: una terribile punizione imposta da Odino.

Le nobili gesta nei confronti degli umani permisero di rincasare al Regno Dorato.

Costui provò a reggersi in piedi, aggrappandosi allo scrittoio malandato.

Si guardò allo specchio, notando solo il riflesso di un fantasma.

Il vetro era in frantumi come la sua anima.

Quei riccioli neri così ordinati e perfetti, lasciarono spazio ad un paio di ciocche disordinate e malcurate.

Il bel volto del principe cadetto assunse un colorito più pallido del normale.

Le iridi smeraldine erano vitree e spente, circondate da vistose occhiaie.

Fu allora che un lieve scricchiolio della porta lo fece voltare lentamente…dinnanzi a lui c’era nientemeno che suo fratello.

“Guardati, Loki: guarda come ti sei ridotto.”

Proferì mesto, denotando un’aria sconvolta.

Il minore accigliò il proprio sguardo, ordinandogli perentoriamente di uscire.

“Che ne è stato di mio fratello? Colui in grado di ostentare un atteggiamento fiero, nonostante le avversità?”

Si chiese più a sé stesso che a lui, desideroso di aiutarlo con ogni mezzo.

“La sofferenza è tutto ciò che ne rimane.”

Ringhiò furente in preda ai postumi dell’alcol: se non avesse bevuto avrebbe ricorso alle solite menzogne, negandone l’evidenza.

Thor si limitò a scrutare ogni angolo della stanza.

Era circondata dal buio a causa delle pesanti tende scure e la pregiata mobilia godeva di pessime condizioni.

“Lascia che ti aiuti, fratello: non riesco a vederti in uno stato così pietoso.”

Riprese il Tonante, guadagnandosi una risposta sprezzante da parte del minore.

“Se pensi che mi stia crogiolando nell’autocommiserazione, stai commettendo un terribile errore. Non ho alcun bisogno del tuo aiuto, tantomeno della tua misera compassione.”

Gridò iracondo, con gli occhi velati dalle varie lacrime.

Dopodiché afferrò la bottiglia, frantumandola alla parete.

“Ti ordino di fermarti!”

Ammonì il primogenito, bloccandogli i polsi.

Il più piccolo svenne tra le sue braccia, necessitando di urgenti cure mediche.

Tre guaritori si avvicinarono a costoro, deponendolo in un’apposita barella.

Era opera di Frigga se giunsero al momento opportuno.

Il Dio del Tuono prese la decisione di recarsi personalmente a Vanaheim.

Bisognava riferire a Sigyn delle disperate condizioni del marito.

Da otto mesi risiedeva alla terra natia, vivendo in compagnia della madre.

Bjorn preferì ripudiare entrambe dopo lo scandalo che riguardava la sua unica figlia e il principe cadetto della Città Eterna.

Sigrid non l’avrebbe mai abbandonata.

Si avviò in direzione delle stalle, alla ricerca del suo fidato cavallo.

Fu lesto ad inserire le redini.

Montò in sella, impartendo al destriero dal manto bianco di partire.

L’animale galoppò verso il Bifrost a gran velocità.

Heimdall si accorse della sua presenza, intuendone le intenzioni.

Il Signore dei Fulmini scese dal quadrupede, riferendo al guardiano la meta prestabilita.

“Ho saputo di vostro fratello: sono davvero costernato.”

Pronunciò con velato dispiacere, inserendo la spada per attivare il pieno potere del ponte.

“Lei ha sofferto in codesti mesi: ricondurla ad Asgard non sarà prudente.”

Aggiunse l’uomo dalla carnagione scura in tono amaro.

“È un rischio che bisogna correre per il bene di entrambi: Sigyn non sarà affatto lieta di sapere come stia l’uomo che ama. Loki ha lottato con le unghie e con i denti per conquistare il suo cuore, impedendo a quell’idiota di sposarla...non lascerò che anneghino nelle loro sofferenze; il loro amore è solido.”

Illustrò determinato, sperando in cuor suo di portare a compimento la missione.

“Allora non mi resta che augurarvi buona fortuna.”

Replicò la sentinella, attivando il meccanismo.

Il fascio multicolore lo avvolse per intero, spedendolo nel regno dei Vanir.

Percorse le vie della città, chiedendo indicazioni ai passanti.

Fu un povero contadino ad accompagnarlo.

Le due donne abitavano in aperta campagna, lontane da occhi indiscreti.

Il figlio di Odino gli offrì alcune monete d’oro per ringraziarlo.

Bussò alla piccola porta in legno, ritrovandosi l’esile figura della cognata.

“Non mi aspettavo di vederti: prego, entra pure.”

Lo accolse con innata cordialità, facendolo accomodare.

“Gradisci qualcosa?”

Chiese la dama, tentando di offrirgli un liquore tradizionale della zona.

Egli rifiutò senza troppi ripensamenti.

“Loki non sta bene.”

Disse d’un tratto, rischiando di temere il peggio.

Sigyn sgranò le gemme azzurre per lo sconvolgimento.

“Non nominarlo mai più: se sei giunto fin qui per parlarmi di lui, puoi anche andartene.”

Thor non demorse, invogliandola a dargli ascolto.

“Sta soffrendo senza di te: non esiste un giorno in cui si riduce in stato di ebbrezza, distruggendo sé stesso sia a livello fisico che mentale.”

Spiegò affranto, ottenendo una replica da parte della giovane.

“E credi che me ne importi qualcosa? Quel bugiardo di mio marito ha osato dilettarsi con una squallida cortigiana nel giorno delle nostre vere promesse nuziali al termine del nostro esilio sulla Terra, fingendo di amarmi!”

Inveì, piangendo a dirotto: era giunta l’ora di raccontare la reale versione dei fatti.

“Sbagli, Sigyn: Lorelei lo ha baciato di proposito. Ha agito per vendetta dopo ciò che accadde al compleanno di mio padre un anno fa…non aveva digerito l’idea di essere stata usata solo per i suoi secondi fini. Loki ha rischiato tutto per te, dovresti saperlo.”

La Dea della Fedeltà conferì un chiaro e preciso ordine, asciugandosi le lacrime.

“Portami da lui: ho bisogno di chiarire tale questione.”

Il maggiore abbozzò un sorriso, attendendo che Sigyn ultimasse di scrivere un biglietto nei confronti della madre.

Varcarono l’uscita, permettendole di reggersi a lui.

“Heimdall, quando vuoi!”

Formulò a gran voce, sparendo oltre il fascio luminoso per tornare indietro.

Rincasarono all’osservatorio, rivolgendo i propri saluti al proprietario.

“Bentornata ad Asgard.”

Esordì il guardiano del ponte, dandole un sincero bentornato.

La moglie del cadetto ringraziò senza esitazione.

Salirono in groppa al destriero, incamminandosi verso Valaskjalf.

Gli Einherjar si inchinarono al loro cospetto.

Furono lesti a lanciare occhiate stupite nei riguardi di colei che ancora ricopriva il ruolo di principessa.

Frigga li accolse a braccia aperte, conducendoli alla Camera della Guarigione.

“Il principe Loki ha ingerito una dose massiccia di idromele, rischiando il peggio. La procedura di disintossicazione è terminata un’ora fa. Necessita di assoluto riposo in questo momento…potete visitarlo non appena si sveglierà.”

Sentenziò Eir, monitorando la salute del Fabbro di Menzogne.

“Per quanto tempo rimarrà sotto osservazione?”

Domandò la Vanir, preoccupata per le sue sorti.

L’amore che provava per il Dio dell’Inganno non aveva mai cessato di esistere.

“Se le condizioni miglioreranno, verrà dimesso oggi stesso.”

Informò l’anziana guaritrice, lasciandoli soli per qualche attimo.

Il paziente si svegliò dieci minuti più tardi con indosso una maglia di lino verde bosco e dei pantaloni in pelle nera.

Gli smeraldi del corvino si posarono nello sguardo di Sigyn, manifestando una spaventosa freddezza.

Una rabbia che avrebbe tentato di reprimere ad ogni costo.

Era colpa sua se il raziocinio ebbe modo di abbandonarlo.

Da sempre paragonava un sentimento come l’amore ad uno splendido pugnale.

Un’arma a doppio taglio, pronto a lasciarlo sanguinare alla prima occasione.

Tale comportamento non le piacque per nulla.

Comprese di aver effettuato un viaggio a vuoto, rimpiangendo la tranquilla vita nelle campagne di Vanaheim.

Corse via, allontanandosi da quella maledetta stanza.

Sostò vicino ad una colonna, sfogando il dolore che le attanagliava il petto.

Un pianto disperato e al contempo liberatorio.

Era evidente che non l’amasse più.

L’Amica della Vittoria si concesse una passeggiata nei pressi dei giardini reali per riordinare le idee.

Ammirò alcune rose, inspirandone il profumo.

Rammentò il loro primo incontro come se fosse ieri: un battibecco scaturito da un innocuo scherzetto.

Avrebbe voluto ritrovarselo accanto, ripetendo l’illusione del serpente attorno al braccio.

E infine stringerla a sé, chiedendole di fare l’amore con lui.

Pianse a quel ricordo, guardando in faccia la realtà.

Niente sarebbe più tornato come prima.

La voce dolce della sovrana la riscosse dagli amari pensieri.

Costei si rincuorò che fosse ancora nei paraggi.

“Sei una donna forte, Sigyn: non lasciarti sopraffare dal timore dell’abbandono. Per quanto possa sembrare cinico e spietato, mio figlio non ha mai smesso di amarti.”

Garantì onesta, sperando di essere persuasiva.

Sigyn scosse la testa in disappunto.

“No, Altezza: il nostro amore si è rivelata una mera illusione. Tornerò a Vanaheim entro domattina.”

Annunciò atona, voltandole le spalle.

La regina non si arrese, scorgendo l’animo ferito della fanciulla.

“Lascia che ti dica una cosa: non rinuncerà mai a ciò che gli appartiene. Fingere è nella sua natura.”

Concluse la regnante, esortandola a rientrare.

Eseguì quanto detto, venendo accompagnata agli alloggi che fino a otto mesi prima condivideva con il consorte.

Notò l’eccessivo disordine, intristendosi di colpo.

Persino i cocci della bottiglia rimasero al loro posto.

“Loki rientrerà questa sera: tra poco giungeranno le ancelle per ripulire le vostre stanze. Nel frattempo concediti un po’ di sano riposo.”

Consigliò Frigga con fare materno.

Al calar della sera, la bionda si nascose nella camera riservata agli ospiti.

Udì i passi felpati dell’amato, dirigersi verso la piccola stanza.

Rimase dietro la soglia come se avesse intuito che ci fosse qualcuno al proprio interno.

Non ebbe il coraggio di manifestarsi al Dio dei Misfatti: temeva che l’avesse ferita con quella lingua sagace e tagliente.

La scaltra divinità si recò in refettorio dopo interminabili minuti a fissare la porta.

Sigyn non si degnò nemmeno di cenare, sdraiandosi sopra il divano.

Scivolò in un sonno privo di sogni.

Un paio di affusolate dita sfiorarono le ciocche lucenti, ridestandola dallo stato dormiente.

Due familiari specchi d’acqua si limitarono ad osservarla.

“Credevi che non lo sapessi? Credevi che non fossi al corrente della tua incantevole presenza, mia adorata moglie?”

Incalzò l’Ingannatore con una lieve nota canzonatoria.

Non era intenzionato realmente a schernirla, ma chiarire la difficile situazione tra loro.

La rabbia scemò appena la vide dormire sullo scomodo divanetto.

Desiderava riaverla nel proprio giaciglio, imprigionandola in una morsa protettiva.

Inspirare l’odore di miele dei capelli, spingendolo a bramare qualcosa di più profondo.

Il battito accelerò, venendo scossa da brividi di puro terrore.

Loki se ne accorse, riservandole un abbraccio.

“Non voglio recarti alcun male: desidero solo riavere al mio fianco la donna che ho sposato.”

Mormorò sincero, asciugandole una lacrima col dorso del pollice.

“Mi ami tuttora, Loki di Asgard?”

Costui la baciò intensamente, annuendo attraverso il romantico gesto.

Non avrebbe mai osato tradirla, nonostante tale natura gli imponesse di farlo.

L’avrebbe protetta per sempre.

Si era pentito amaramente di rivolgerle determinati pensieri.

Pensieri scaturiti da un atroce dolore.

La sollevò in braccio, conducendola al letto matrimoniale.

Slacciò frenetico i lacci del corsetto, liberando i seni dolci e rotondi della sua bellissima moglie.

Un’occhiata lasciva e maliziosa trapassò lo sguardo febbrile della ragazza.

Accennò un lieve sorriso, abbandonandosi a quell’erotico contatto.

Roteò la lingua attorno all’areola destra, suggendole il capezzolo...stesso procedimento avvenne col secondo.

Sigyn gemette in preda alla libidine.

Si spogliarono dei loro abiti, liberando il sentimento.

Una lunga scia di baci percorse ogni singola curva della donna.

Risalì verso il collo, lambendolo e baciandolo con sfrenata passione.

Invocò il suo nome, beando le orecchie del Dio.

Invertirono le posizioni, permettendo alla graziosa vanir di esercitarne il controllo.

Le ciocche dorate ondeggiarono in maniera selvaggia ed elegante.

Loki rimase folgorato da una simile bellezza.

Aveva atteso quel momento da troppo tempo.

Una bramosia incessante e corrosiva da renderlo instabile, quasi folle.

La Dea della Fedeltà si dilettò a farlo impazzire.

Sfiorare i candidi pettorali si rivelò l’assoluto punto debole.

Osò chinarsi per baciarglieli, concedendo all’amato di gemere senz’alcun contegno.

“Mia piccola e insolente Vanir: non hai la minima idea di quanto abbia sentito la tua mancanza.”

Sussurrò sfacciato e voluttuoso, confessando i propri sentimenti.

La razionalità lo abbandonava ogni volta che faceva l’amore con lei.

“Anche tu mi sei mancato, amore mio: perdonami per non aver creduto alle tue parole. Per non averti dato ascolto.”

Ambedue le divinità passarono gli ultimi mesi, costituiti da un inferno colmo di disperazione.

Tuttavia non si sarebbero riconciliati quella notte, soddisfacendo soltanto dei puri piaceri carnali.

Continuarono ad amarsi, finché l’orgasmo non li colse in pieno.

Le lenzuola sgualcite furono testimoni dell’amplesso appena consumato.

L’Ase assunse una posizione supina, lasciando che Sigyn poggiasse la propria testa sul suo petto.

L’oscuro mago carezzò la morbida consistenza dei capelli d’oro per rilassarla.

“Per quanto possa godere della perfetta fama di bugiardo, tradire la mia splendida consorte non rientra tra i miei subdoli piani.”

Garantì l’asgardiano, proseguendo con le docili carezze.

Una sincerità che manifestava solo quand’era in sua compagnia.

“Thor mi ha narrato ogni cosa: ho agito impulsivamente senza concedere la possibilità di spiegarti. Sono consapevole d’aver sposato il temibile Dio dell’Inganno per ben due volte, ma di avere al mio fianco anche un uomo che cerca di essere onesto e sincero a modo proprio.”

Lo sposo sorrise, baciandole il capo.

Un sorriso genuino, destinato solo ed esclusivamente alla sua signora.

“Non ti lascerò andar via: non più.”

Ribatté risoluto, voltandola a sé per assaporare di nuovo quelle labbra vellutate.

Una nuova ondata di erotismo li travolse, riprendendo coi passionali amplessi.

Si amarono fino all’alba, scivolando in una tranquilla e dolce dormita.

Due cuori indissolubilmente intrecciati che ritrovarono il loro equilibrio nel mondo.

                                           𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒆

 One Shot:

~ Mischief And Fidelity ~

Name Chapter:

~ Hell Is Living Without You  ~

[egocentered]

That kind of medieval fantasy fiction where two strong bad-ass characters come together only by necessity to fulfill some world saving quest, and find themselves having a very steamy yet gentle dopamine-filled sex in the middle of the wild after a savage battle.

He looks like Idris Elba (mind you) and she is a warrior/soldier that has never been attracted to nor interested in any kind of sexual interaction with any gender whatsoever.

I now live for the sexual tension between these two that can barely stand each other the rest of the time.

[missanthropicprinciple]

Pacific Rim and Newmann: A 10 Year Retrospective.

Strictly speaking, I’ve only been a fan for 9 years. I was at the dentist when the film was released. I never went to see it in theatres even though I was interested. I’d seen the clip they showed on Leno when Charlie Day was on to promote the film, the bit where Hermann and Newt bicker while Idris Elba, Charlie Hunnam, and Rinko Kikuchi look on. By the end of the year I saw people posting about it on Tumblr and I became increasingly intrigued. By the summer of 2014 I was shipping Newt and Hermann hard, getting sucked into very naughty fanfiction. 

That August I bought the DVD and then watched it into the early hours. The scene with Otachi’s baby blew my mind at 4am.

(gif from neillblomkamp)

I didn’t know then that it would change my life. I spend a lot of money on kaiju and a couple jaegers from NECA, books, clothing merch, stickers, doujinshi, zines, and several prints that adorned my apartment walls for years. I wrote a large volume of fanfiction, sometimes in a notebook at work. Other than academic work it was the most I’d written in years. I even created fan art which I had hardly done before that. I was so invested as a person and a writer.

Even more impactful was how it changed my social life. I made friends who sadly did not remain so. I miss those people, I truly do. And I feel very badly about how things either ended abruptly or faded away, regardless of it that was my fault or another’s, or simply life. The people have gone and the ghost of my love for them remains.

But the friends I have stayed close to changed my life more. I never thought I would gain a sister out of it. I met my best friend in October 2014 online through the fandom and as the years went by we became very close, closer than we are to our own families. I’m going to see her in person for the third time this summer. And of course I made so many other friends and mutuals who have been so kind and patient with me all these years, talented writers and artists, and very good people. I love them all.

And of course the sheer fun that came out of being in this fandom. The fact that we all mass-halucinated a lab couch, thereby proving the concept of the hivemind. The wonderful, unhinged conversations we’ve all had and the laughter we shared. Not to mention cosplaying as Hermann when I went to see the Guillermo del Toro: At Home with Monsters exhibit.

The scene where Hermann says they’re going to drift together is STILL my alarm every morning after all these years.

I certainly love Newton and Hermann. They’re a part of me in many ways. Expressions of who I am. I never stray too far away from them. Even now after so much has happened in my life, they continue to be a comfort and conjure up so many fond memories and always will.

[chaneajoyyy]

Do you know if any Daniel Kaluuya character fics? I needs it 😩

Y'all know I do! 😘😘

DANIEL KAALUYA FANFICTION (UPDATED)

daniel kaluuya imagine- @livingmybestfakelife (search: daniel kaluuya)

wifey- @theeblackmedusa

daniel kaluuya headcanon: if daniel was your boyfriend...- @b-m-scott (search: daniel kaluuya x reader)

naivety series (with michael b. jordan and idris elba)- @lemonrosecake

"Hi hun, just wondering if I could request a Daniel kaluuya one, I’ve heard his very attentive and has good eye contact, so please do with that what you will"- @cecereads209

[royallyprincesslilly]

SMS Triple XXX: A Collection

Summary: A collection of stand alone text exchanges between reader/you and any of the men and characters I write for or whoever I may get an idea for. It could be anyone really. I have no control. 

Will these be the length of a one shot? Not necessarily. Each exchange will not be too long.

Will I write one if someone requests it? Maybe. It really depends on who it is but I am open to requests---eventually.

Who do I write for? The list grows everyday. Yahya Abdul Mateen II, Rege Jean Page, Jason Momoa, Chris Evans, Henry Cavill, Superman/Clark Kent, Idris Elba, Heimdall, Steve Rogers, Trevor Noah, Zeeko Zaki, OA Zidan, Charlie Hunnam, Pablo Schreiber, Master Chief, Lewis Tan, T’Challa, John Boyega, Nick Sagar, *Florian Munteanu (Kinda, I try), Ransom Drysdale (Kinda, I try).

What won’t you find here? So far, scat talk, anything r*pe related, incest, anime characters or cartoon characters (just throwing these out there).

Am I open to writing someone new being celeb or character? Depends on who. 

Will these only be XXX? For now, they all will have some aspect of XXX. Now, it could be the entire exchange or a portion. Safe to say they will all have a NSFW warning in the beginning as with all my NSFW content. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you would like to be tagged in this collection let me know & I’ll make it happen.***

[miyuhpapayuh]

Sugar.

"Why won't you let me take care of you?"

Sitting in the middle of the deep red comforter, Simone pouts and stares down at her baby pink acrylics, avoiding his question.

"Answer me, babygirl." He pats her ankle, coming up from his crouched position in front of her, to sit beside her on the bed. She looks up at him and bats her falsies.

"I'm expensive." He shrugs.

"That's never been a problem. You know that."

"But, its a problem for me! I don't want you spending that kinda money on me, all the time."

"Simone, if that was really the case, you would've said so a long time ago." She opens her mouth to say something smart, but shuts it.

"Exactly." He pulls her right hand up to his lips, pecking her knuckles. "What else is bothering you, hm?"

"Well, it's not an issue of mine... but, the age difference throws people off. I look like a little girl next to you." Her pout deepens.

"That's not true—"

"Yes it is, Idris. You know how times I've gotten asked if you were my uncle— or my Daddy?! Or if I'm waiting around for you to die, so I can collect your insurance money?" She snatches her hand away from him and sticks a finger underneath her bun to scratch her scalp.

"One, I am," she rolls her eyes, standing up from the bed. "Two, we both know what we got goin' on and it ain't nobody's business. You shouldn't be caring about what people say or think. They're jealous of you."

She pulls her black lace robe up on her shoulders and leans against the dresser. She knew those women envied her. I mean, who wouldn't?

"Well, I can't really blame them." He smirks, standing up from the bed and sauntering over to her.

"You ain't the only one, baby. It's a line of men at that door, waitin' to take you from me." His tall, husky figure hover over her petite one.

"Is that so?" Hoisting her onto the dresser with one hand, he nods and brings his face closer to hers.

"Hmm.. you gon' be a good girl for Daddy?" Her lust glazed orbs stare back at his.

"Mhm."

Wrapping his hand around the front of her throat, he presses his lips to hers, smudging her clear lipgloss.

Pulling the robe away from her body, his large hands pull the straps of her bra away as well, gliding his thick tongue over her breasts.

Running her fingers through his grown out curls, she inhales deeply. Making a trail from her slippery chest to the left side of her neck, his fingers pull at the waistband of her panties.

"You always smell so fucking good," she widens her legs, allowing him more access. Wrapping a hand around her waist, he lifts her up and removes her wet thong.

Pulling her left foot up on his chest, he reaches between her legs to rub her aching slit. Simone bites her lip and wraps her hand around his wrist.

"Baby...."

"Wassup,"

"Come and kiss it." That dirty smirk comes back as Idris drops down to his knees in front of her, pulling her thick thighs onto his broad shoulders.

"Where you want me to kiss it at?" She takes her pointer finger and begins rubbing small circles over her clit.

"Right here." Moving her hand, he places a peck on her bundle of nerves, keeping his eyes on her face.

"Come on, baby... kiss it." Her fingers return to his hair, slightly gripping his curls. Placing another kiss there, his tongue comes out and wraps around it.

".....fuck!" Her body slouches from the action, moving closer to his hungry mouth. His hands grip her hips, rubbing circles into her flesh.

"Ugh... shit!" Her clit collides with his nose, with every roll of her hips. She arches her back and puts a vice grip on his hair.

"Oh my God, oh my God— ohh my God!" Her moans grow louder with every flick of his tongue.

"I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna—" her body shakes slightly, while she grinds against his mouth like a madwoman, releasing every ounce of her honey onto his tongue.

"Fuck," standing up, he beams back in between her legs, "that shit gets sweeter, every time." Their lips smash back together, allowing Simone to taste herself.

Tugging at the button on his jeans, she bites down on his lip. Sliding his tongue into her mouth, Idris removes his jeans and briefs.

Pulling her up from the dresser, he turns her around to face the mirror, wrapping his hand back around her throat.

Locking in on her lustful gaze, he slides into her swiftly. Her eyes dim and her mouth drops open, letting out a faint whimper.

"Fuck me, Daddy." His controlled pace speeds up a little, much to her approval.

Her nails scratch against the cherrywood, leaving small digs behind. Her bun starts falling to the side, on account of his curt thrusts.

"Mmm, fuck! That f-feels so good!" He drops his chin onto her shoulder, his salt and pepper beard tickling her skin.

"You like when I make you feel good?"

"Yes!"

"Say it, babygirl." Her mouth tries desperately to form the words, while his hips begin to swivel into her.

"Unh! I love it! I love it!"

"Shit," his growls hit her ear, sending a sharp chill down her spine. Pulling the elastic band out of her bun, her hair falls down her back and he grips it.

"You gon' do what Daddy says?" She nods, feeling her second orgasm approaching.

"Uh uh, let me hear it."

"Yes Daddy! I'll do— I'll do what you say!"

"You gon' let me take care of you? Huh?" He speeds up, knocking the air away from her lungs.

"Yessssss! I want everythinggg." Her back becomes pressed against his front, as he begins thrusting upwards.

Her screams bounce off the tawny colored walls. Idris watches her love faces through the mirror, twitching inside of her.

Simone's hands thrash around, reaching for something to hold onto. Her left hand finds the hand that's cutting off her oxygen, while the other digs its nails into the side of his leg.

"Fuuuckk! I w-won't listen to them, anymore! I promise!"

"Who's business is it, Simone?"

"Nobody's! Oouu shiiiittt!" Pulling her head back, he calmly demands her to cum. Her body responds and explodes, before the rest of her can catch up.

With him still gliding in and out her, she quivers in his hold. His deep chuckle sounds from behind her.

"I know, you got one more in you."

@soufcakmistress @ibeoutchea @quietstorm-thundathighs @uzumaki-rebellion @sheabuttahwrites @hearteyes-for-killmonger @honeyandpeaches @daddy-killmonger @l-auteuse @chaneajoyyy @cecereads209 @captainsaveasmut @blowmymbackout @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nicaurora @nayaxwrites

I’m real bad at making taglists, so please comment if you’d like to be added & as always, enjoy :)

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional​​ for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head. 

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you. 

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks. 

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication. 

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.  

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile. 

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed. 

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it. 

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly. 

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off. 

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically. 

He glares. 

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar. 

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks. 

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible. 

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole. 

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-” 

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye. 

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands. 

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent. 

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line. 

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water. 

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there. 

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you. 

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat. 

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be. 

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten. 

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls. 

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you. 

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers. 

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.” 

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble. 

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens. 

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy. 

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered. 

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder. 

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

[ingeniousmindoftune]

Who do you all want me to write about next!!! Fill out here and add the name of whom you’re requesting. And below if you also have a specific request for yourself, feel free to as well, drop your request and then message me personally. ❤️ looking forward to seeing these requests.

[teejaywyatt1]

This is a random question but how do y’all feel about Heimdall? Cause I’m feeling something. 🤤👀 Possibly a Fic brewing underneath the surface but I don’t know. 🤔

[lady-olive-oil]

So lemme introduce to y’all, Heimdall and his family. Ready? Yes the kids are Egyptian deities, they get it from their mother. They have ties to both Asgardian and Egyptian mythology. They often travel back and forth to Duat, it’s kinda like Olympus, and Atlanta. They rarely go to New York seeing as though the compound is there. Nefe is best friends with Khadijah, Nick Fury’s daughter (that story is in the works too) This is all for my M’Baku x Nefe story, that I am redoing.

L to R:

Heimdall (Idris Elba)

Wife: Rahsida “Anuket” (Gina Torres)

Only son: Isaiah “Osiris” (Broderick Hunter)

1st daughter: Nefertiti “Serket” (Amara La Negra)

2nd daughter: Aaliyah “Isis” (Shantania Beckford)

3rd daughter: Melandra “Sekhmet” (Aja Naomi King)

4th daughter: Nailah “Hathor” (Sandra Lambeck)

[alirhi]

chapter 25 FINALLY yeesh...

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 25/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. Notes: I kinda really hate that they gender-swapped Laufey in the MCU, so now I have to do the same with Farbauti. The main reason I have a problem with this is Loki's name – it was one of the very distinctive things about him. In a rigidly patriarchal society, Loki's surname is matrilineal. I don't know if Marvel misunderstood or changed it on purpose, but they basically erased a detail that makes Loki a feminist icon. Also, I'm drawing from actual Norse mythology again, a little.

"Whoa."

"Welcome home, Your Highness."

Hiding a smile at his lover's childlike wonder, Loki nodded cordially to Heimdall. "How have things been here?"

The Guardian of the Bifrost chuckled, watching Bucky wander slowly about the room. "Tense, as I'm sure you can imagine. Your wife and mother ask after you daily."

"And what do you tell them?"

"The bridge is rainbow!" Bucky was leaning against the far wall now, peeking out at the world beyond the open door. "It's actually rainbow! And super shiny... Is it as slick as it looks? That doesn't seem safe."

"He's adorable," Heimdall murmured, making Loki cough to mask his laughter. Clearing his throat, he returned to the topic at hand and told the Prince, "I tell them that you're well, and that your brother is aiding you in clearing your name so that you may return home."

Loki snorted. "Oh, is that what Thor is doing? When I left, he was playing cards with Stark, Banner, and Miss Potts."

"If it makes you feel any better, he's losing."

"It does, actually," he admitted with a grin. "A bit."

"This is Jotunheim?" Eyes hilariously wide and never settling on one thing for more than a second, Bucky approached them. "It's not as cold as I expected."

Loki chuckled and held his arm out, pleased when his beloved immediately cuddled up to his side. "No, darling. This is Asgard."

"Asgard?! I thought-"

"We can't linger," he explained, somewhat surprised by the melancholy ache in his heart at the thought. "Heimdall has been kind enough to agree to open the Bifrost to us; I didn't want to risk harming you by teleporting between worlds after how you reacted to being transported between continents on your own world."

"I appreciate that." Bucky glanced around again, the awe and curiosity in his big blue eyes reminding Loki vividly of their daughter. Eira truly did take after her father. "That's a lot of gold. Is that actual gold, or just paint?"

The Aesir and Jotun both opted not to answer him. While Loki fought not to laugh, Heimdall reached for the Bifrost sword and told him, "Be careful, Your Highness. This isn't a fight you can win with deception."

He sighed. "Wait a moment." While the Guardian smiled and dropped his hands, Loki stepped away from Bucky and turned to face him. "I'd better show you now so you aren't shocked when we arrive."

"Show me what, Doll?" The words were barely out of his mouth before it dropped open as he watched Loki's disguise fade away. Loki tensed, seeing the look of stunned disbelief on his lover's handsome face, but Bucky quickly came back to himself and laid his fears of rejection to rest. "How in the Hell did you just get more beautiful? Are those tattoos? Or... No, they're markings. Were you born with those? They're gorgeous!"

"Y-yes." He cleared his throat, glancing helplessly at Heimdall's fond, patient smile before returning his attention to his beloved. Immediate, enthusiastic acceptance was... not exactly the response he'd been expecting. "Yes, I suppose I was born with them."

Grinning, Bucky closed the gap between them and tugged Loki into his arms. "You look good. Ready to get this over with?"

With a soft, amazed chuckle, Loki hugged his love and kissed his scruffy cheek. "You are a wonder. And yes, let's get on with it. Heimdall?"

"Be well, my Prince." As he twisted the blade and opened the bridge again, Heimdall assured him with a smile, "I'll assure your wife that she's in your thoughts, and that she will see you again soon."

"It's nice that someone there is on your side-fuck it's cold!" Bucky cringed, rubbing his hands together as his lover snorted and conjured him some warmer gloves and another jacket. "After this, we take Eira to the Caribbean, yes?"

Laughing outright at that, Loki conjured him a hat, as well. "We'll see. Are you going to be alright?"

"I'll live." He held up his left hand, looking a bit perplexed. "You know this one doesn't feel anything, right?"

The Trickster shrugged, already turning and heading away from the Bifrost site. "Take the glove off, if you wish. Honestly, I'd forgotten it was metal."

"How? I could use it as a disco ball!"

"Well, if it isn't the little Princess."

Loki stopped, shifted to female form, and smirked. "Well, some of the time." Standing straight and doing her best to ignore the unnerving height difference, she stared the guard down. "I'm here for an audience with your Queen."

"Why do I doubt that she's expecting you?"

He was staring openly at her, taking in the fur-lined Asgardian armor, the diminutive stature, the blue skin marked with swirling designs... She allowed it; after all, she'd dropped the illusion that she was Aesir on purpose, to get their attention. Small or not, under Odin's magic and then her own, she was Jotun. She belonged in this frozen wasteland about as much as she belonged in Asgard.

For the moment, she chose to ignore what a low bar that was.

"I am Loki," she reminded him as she switched back to male form. He was perfectly comfortable either way, but as a man he was a little bit taller; still tiny for a Frost Giant, but he'd take what he could get. "Son of Laufey and rightful King of Jotunheim."

The guard smirked. "King Helblindi will be quite surprised to hear that."

Loki stalled out for a moment, stunned. He'd forgotten that he actually had biological brothers, not just a very annoying adoptive one. No wonder he'd been cast aside; his father had other sons to replace the worthless runt.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned. Bucky's wide blue eyes were locked on the guard, who the flustered Prince had just belatedly recognized as his other brother, Býleistr. Visibly steeling himself for a confrontation, Bucky sucked in a deep breath and addressed their amused audience.

"Prince Loki is used to having to boast and take an offensive position to be heard. I'm sure you're familiar with Odin and his unending pomposity?" Grinning when Býleistr chuckled, he continued sweetly, "Obviously, your people are much more refined; couldn't you look past his boorish Asgardian upbringing and see that he only wants to talk to his family?"

Laughing red eyes drifted from Bucky to Loki, and Býleistr nodded. "I like this one, little brother. Very diplomatic, for a Midgardian. Come. I'm sure Mother would like to see you."

As he turned and walked away, Loki paused to gape at his lover. Bucky was lightly bouncing on his toes, though Loki wasn't sure if it was from pride or cold. Just in case, he conjured him a warmer coat and a scarf. "You truly are a wonder, James!"

"Hey, I listen when you talk!" he teased, prodding him lightly until they were both moving, hurrying after Býleistr. "I know what a total asshole Odin is. Seemed a safe bet that the people he's been oppressing for centuries would agree that he sucks."

Loki chuckled, draping an arm over the other man's broad shoulders. "I did tell you that you're brilliant. I love being proven right."

___________________________________________________ Next Masterlist

[oneawkwardcookie]

Sometimes you’re reading a fic and you just have to create a meme: @maddieandchimney‘s Stripper Chim verse has inspired me 🤣🤣🤣

[image description: Four panel meme of Idris Elba from Pacific Rim.

He's shouting 'You! Shut up!' and the text reads "Creepy Chris'. He's saying 'You, keep talking' and the text reads 'Guy we're setting Josh up with'

/end ID]

[chaneajoyyy]

I need some help finding a story. I was reading a Idris Elba fanfic, his name was David Williams I think, and he was in his 40s and the girl was 24 in medical school. Do you know who wrote it?

It’s called My Sugar Daddy by the good sis @nayaxwrites 😘. His name was Derek Williams in this story.

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

Alice smiled bitterly, "everyone you care about dies in the end, that's how the story ends for them. I was fully expecting to die in that warehouse, but I didn't. I survived and then I disappeared so that we both could live. Even if it was not together."