#me: *absolutely loathes pictures of me*

[halinski]

.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

the problem with reading DC vs. vampires as my first introduction to anything DC is that now i will never trust hal jordan ever for as long as I live

[marleyybluu]

Another Man's Treasure

Oscar Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 6.8k (I am so sorry lmao)

Warnings: 18+, shitty husband, smut, p in v, unprotected (but pls don't be this stupid), creampie, dirty talk, cheating (but is it really if your husband is an ass), flirting, fluff, love at first sight type shit, Spanish/English pet names (pretty lady, hermosa, cariño), limited use of y/n(I literally used it once) idk lmk if I missed any.

(I only mention the first song but the other two are more for the… spicy scene😏)

——

The only escape from reality you had was the small moments of disassociation you had between the screaming of your children and the-

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

The shouting of your overgrown child of a husband playing his stupid games on his stupid PS5 that you wanted to set on fucking fire. This is not the life you pictured as a stay-at-home mom, yes the piles of dirty laundry were expected, and the mountainous dishes in the sink but you never predicted you'd be doing this alone. Your own mother stayed at home with you and your two brothers but your dad would still help her around the house so that she got the time to kick her feet up and relax.

You never got that.

You were living with this dark cloud over your head and deep regrets in your mind, why did you marry this man? You did think he was the love of your life, three years together before you got married proved your theory but never did you think it was going to end up like this. The amount of work you did was overwhelming, just one look at the number of toys on the floor made tears sting your eyes. You were tired, exhausted, drained and absolutely depleted.

If this was a job, you'd quit, you would take your children and quit. You wanted to so badly but the small hope of him changing clung to you like a piece of lint. You sighed holding your eleven-month-old on your hip while you made him a bottle, anything to keep him from wailing in your ears-- Jesus, half the time you couldn't hear.

"Babe!"

Your eyes rolled, you loathed his voice at this point. "What?"

"Can you pass me a water bottle?"

"Get up and get it, I'm making Malakai a bottle."

He groaned. "For fuck sake, you're in the kitchen already."

Your nostrils flared, and your eye twitched. You wanted to cuss at him, shout at him until your voice box shattered but you kept whatever calm you had left and ignored him. A small hand landed on your nose and you smiled kissing the tiny palm. "I love you too bubba."

He flashed a little smile and your heart sobbed at the fact that your last baby was growing so fast, teeth already emerging from his gums when just months ago he didn't have any. You could never regret your three little creatures, you loved them dearly, so much so you were willing to put up with the man that helped you create them just so they could have a two-parent household but you didn't know how much longer you could take this.

Heavy footsteps trailed inside the kitchen, you could tell he was angry at the fact that he had to pause his little game just to grab some water. He looked over the sink, utterly disgusted by the site in front of him and instead of just keeping his mouth shut or for once volunteering to do them he decided to spit out a sentence that made you want to knock his head off with the glass bottle you were holding; "You need to wash the dishes."

Your blood was boiling, if life was a cartoon you'd have steam coming out of your ears. "Why don't you get off of the game and do them?" You bit.

He cracked open the bottle cap. "Hey, I'm the one that works all week, you just stay home and do nothing."

Nothing? NOTHING!?

That was it.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Your shoulders dropped and he left the kitchen, there was that ringing in your ears again that came and went every time you zoned out. Ever since you got married you'd felt nothing but unappreciated by him, you quit your job to stay home with your children and not even a thank you, you made sure he had a good meal when he went to work and all you got in return was an "it was okay." And the disgustingly dirty dish tossed right in the sink you'd just emptied. You were at the end of your rope.

You held back your tears and lightly kissed your son on his head handing him his bottle and putting him on a beam bag so he could lay down and drink. You trotted upstairs to check in on your oldest twins who were in their room colouring and getting along for once. Then you headed to the bathroom locking the door behind you, your body sliding down to the floor, you curled up in a ball burying your head between your knees you let out a long and heavy sigh before your river of tears took over.

A cry session your body and mind were so used to. You wailed into the void, muffling your weeps so that your children wouldn't hear you and come asking what was wrong, a question you couldn't answer without them turning on their father and you didn't want to ruin that relationship they had with him.

You were just so tired.

--

As night fell you remained mute when it came to your husband, whatever he had to say you didn't respond to, you were just happy that it was Sunday and soon he'd be out of your face for a few hours.

With the kids all asleep you were in the kitchen on FaceTime with your older brother. "The kids are great, they're sleeping." You conversed.

"And how have you been?"

There was no hiding how you felt when it came to your siblings, you were the baby and the only girl so when you were hurt they knew and they'd do whatever they could to fix it. "I'm okay... I'll be okay." You reassured. He was the only one who knew some small details about what you were going through and you begged him not to say anything not even to your mother until you figured out how to deal with everything yourself.

"Hey, listen, Jordyn is going on vacation next week, she's hitting Fiji, and I think you should go with her."

You squinched up your face, you didn't have a problem with your brother's wife, always so thankful for the sister you never got but what about your kids? Could you even trust that man to take over your duties even for a day?

As if he read your mind he continued. "I mean it'll be summer break next week, and they can stay by me if you want. I just, I really think you need time away from life. I want to see my little sister happy."

You pouted, it really touched your heart how concerned he was. A vacation would be wonderful, it was all you could dream of after the kids were born, you loved them but you just wanted to be by yourself.

"I'll think about it."

"Well, don't think too hard." He joked. "Whatever. I gotta get their lunches together, I'll call you when I make my decision."

"Sounds good, night."

"Night."

The call ended and you finished packing the twins' lunch placing the bags on the only empty spot on the counter. You huffed at the dishes and your husband's words replayed in your head. Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.

The longer you stared a vengeful plan began to brew. You were about to show him what doing nothing meant.

--

You decided you were going on that trip, Jordyn was excited and your brother was happy with your choice. The week flew by quickly, you kept up your normal appearance of keeping the house clean and to your husband's liking and by each day you grew more distant from him not like he cared in the first place.

On the last day of school you explained to the twins that you were taking a trip with Aunty Jordyn and they, unfortunately, couldn't come but they'd be staying with their uncle and they'd loved that man to death so they were excited either way. Your house was a mess and for once you smiled at it, you'd been letting everything pile up for the last two days, packing the clean clothes they did have in advance. The only explanation you gave your husband was that they were all staying by your brother for the week but you didn't mention that you weren't coming back.

You were leaving tonight and there would be no stopping you. You loaded the van with their stuff and yours and hollered for them to get their little butts in the car. "Last one in the car has stinky feet!" You laughed at the building volume of stomping feet coming across the hall and down the stairs, your twins were out and your youngest sat on your hip giggling at their antics. You happily wrote a short note.

Bye.

That's it.

You showered your baby in kisses and grabbed your keys before heading out the door, you locked it and made your way to the car, buckling in your baby and making sure the other two were in securely. You closed the door and first time in a long time you felt a weight off your shoulders, you smiled in satisfaction at how you left the house knowing you were not going to answer a single phone call from that man.

--

Jordyn squealed. "Ugh! I am so excited I don't even know what to do with myself!" You laughed at her enthusiasm as you put your hair up in a ponytail. It was day 2 of your trip and you were living life, you couldn't remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Now, of course, you missed your children it'd been the longest you'd ever been apart from them so you were a bit clingy with the calls but it was all understandable.

You two were hitting the beach today and you were a bit nervous, nobody had seen your body in almost a year not even your husband but Jordyn had persuaded you to find your behind in a two-piece bikini and you argued that you'd wear it as long as you could wear a cover-up so it was a deal. You looked yourself over in the mirror, you felt oddly confident. You looked fucking good. Three kids did your body right.

"You sure you want that cover-up?" She teased watching you admire yourself. "Hmm," You angled your lower half so you could check out your bum, how plump it had become over the years. "Maybe not."

She winked. "That's my girl."

You two grabbed what you needed and headed down to the beach which was right in front of the hotel you were staying at. The slight wind brushed against the water sending a cool and comforting breeze your way, your ears wiggled at the sound of the waves, and the giggles of other vacationers enjoying their time like you were.

The cushiony sand had greeted your toes after overflowing onto your sandals. You two travelled until you found a decent spot, it was close to the bar and the body of water. You set up your area as best as you could but you were in a battle with the beach umbrella Jordyn insisted on bringing. She watched with her hand covering her mouth to camouflage her laughter. "Okay, you know what, I'll handle this and you go handle us some drinks."

You childishly stuck out your tongue and strutted your way over to the bar, you hopped on an available stool. The bartender noticed you asking for you to just give him a minute. "No worries." You responded. You went on your phone and checked the many pictures your brother sent of your children, you smiled and a bit of sadness tugged at your heart. You missed your babies dearly.

The number of messages went up and it could only be one person. You promised you wouldn't look but you just had to, you swiped and tapped on your husband's name.

Where the fuck are you!?

The house is a fucking mess!

I'm not cleaning up, I hope you know that.

Baby, come on, we can work this out. Please.

You scoffed at the last message and put your phone down casually being greeted by the bartender who watched your various emotions while you went through your phone. "Everything's okay?"

Oh. Wow.

He presented a sweet smile, your eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of you. He was handsome, scratch that, he was fine as fuck. The shaved head didn't usually work on a lot of men but it did him justice, the scattered tattoos on his pretty and tanned skin, his broad shoulders that looked like they were made for legs to be hooked on and not to mention his big arms that looked like they could hold you snug and tight all through the night.

"Uh, yeah, everything's... everything is good." You stammered, a queasy feeling crept through you as it settled in your lower stomach. Butterflies? But you couldn't even remember what that felt like in order to come to that conclusion.

"Good to know. What can I get you, ma?"

You shuddered at his voice. He could talk to you all day.

"One Long Island, and one Piña Colada please."

He nodded. "Starting off slow I see." He chuckled. "Eh, we're on vacation, gotta soak it all up before we go back."

"I see," He multitasked making your drinks and conversing. "And when does the pretty lady go back?"

You blushed, should you even tell this literal stranger when you're actually leaving? But he felt... comfortable, easy to talk to and it's not like you'd ever see him again. "End of the week."

"Oh, you have plenty of time to get shit-faced." He encouraged. He'd finished your order and placed the liquored-down drinks in front of you. "Don't worry about paying yeah? It's on the house. Enjoy your vacation pretty lady."

"Y/n... you could just call me Y/n."

Not like you wanted him to, pretty lady was working just fine

"Nice to meet you. Oscar... Diaz." He winked. "Thanks, for the drinks."

"Anytime, pretty lady."

Your legs felt wonky as you walked away, and your breathing quickened. You did your best to walk back to Jordyn without looking back, if you did you were pretty sure you'd fall, just clumsy as fuck. "Girl, that man was watching you walk away." She whispered. "Stop." You poked, shoving her drink toward her. "Oh please, his eyes were on you." Jordyn gazed over to the bar, "He's still staring."

You casually whipped your head around and sucked your teeth when you noticed he wasn't. You glared at her. She snickered taking a sip from her Long Island. "Makes good drinks too."

You sighed, "Shut up."

The topic was silenced, you downed a few more drinks but sent Jordyn to get them instead while you swam around in the cooling water, floating around enjoying the peace the water brought you. But you couldn't help but occasionally look over to the bar. Oscar Diaz... nice name. Nice face. Cute little moustache that sat above his lips and a goatee that sat below. Pretty rosy pink lips...

Your eyes darted away. You're married.

Are you though?

You swam back up to the beach, it was beginning to get dark and the patrons on the beach became scarce. You wrapped yourself in a towel and collected anything Jordyn hadn't packed up yet. "You want one more drink before they close up? Maybe your new friend will allow it." She teased. You took off your flip-flop and threw it at her but your reaction only made her laugh.

A familiar voice was heard behind you. "So she's beautiful and she's got good aim, better watch out." 

You quietly gasped. "Hi... Oscar."

"Hey, uhm, listen I own a club not too far from here and you know it's a decent hangout for the locals... and the visitors." He winked. "Wanted to know if you two would like to come check it out?"

You fought back a smile. "We could try." You answer without even thinking. "I'll take that," He reached into his pocket handing you a folded piece of paper, you assumed had the address of the place he owned. Your fingers brushed against his, prickles felt like they were forming on your skin and those weird feelings returned in your lower stomach.

He sent you another wink and headed back off to the bar to close up.

--

Of course, Jordyn was down to go. You groaned internally as you two pulled up to a crowded place, looking up at the illuminated sign reading Cloud 9. Hmm, cute. You pulled down your dress as it rose up with each step, your heels clicking against the cold ground, the music booming so loud you could feel your body vibrating the closer you got to the entrance, flashing lights of different colours beamed through the door every time it opened blinding whoever entered. "Where's your friend?" Jordyn asked. "Have patience, I just told him we got here."

"Mhm." She sassed. Your heart thumped in your ears, it pounded against your chest. What were you doing? It was a question you asked yourself from the moment you got back to your room and began to get ready for tonight. You shook off your thoughts and shifted your eyes over to a black door that slowly began to open. "Hey, over here." Oscar waved you two over and you followed. "What's going on, pretty lady?... And pretty lady's friend."

Jordyn nodded at him as a silent greeting, she was just here to observe your anxious behaviour for her entertainment. "Come on," You followed him through a dimly lit hallway and up a flight of stairs, your nerves building and sudden regret forming in your bones until you entered a brighter atmosphere, the loud music returning to your eardrums. He had led you two to a section that only had a few people, you could assume it was the VIP section.

"Anything you two want to drink just let me know and I got you."

Jordyn raised her eyebrows at the tempting bottle of unopened champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. Oscar chuckled granting her permission to open it, she shimmied her shoulders in excitement and got to work. You shook your head at her, you travelled over to the balcony and looks down at all the patrons having the time of their lives, a few familiar faces from the resort and others that weren't recognizable which you could only assume were locals.

Oscar found his place beside you and nudged your shoulder with his. "You want anything to drink?"

"No, not yet, I'm good."

He slowly nodded. "So, what are you doing in Fiji? Besides vacationing."

You huffed, "I just needed time to myself... to get away from shit."

"I hear that." You could just feel those sweet and curious brown eyes boring into the side of your head, you poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue and looked down at your shoes, just anything to not make eye contact with him. You were shy, you were never shy not even with your husband when you first met him. It's like this was a new feeling, you were queasy and nervous and it honestly felt good in a weird way-- it felt good to not be comfortable, to get all flustered over someone like a schoolgirl crush.

"You really own this place?"

He scrunched up his face. "Half own, I guess. My brother and I came here for an escape just like you and we ended up staying. Now, we own Cloud Nine and I work down at the resort once in a while."

"Oh, you're a busy man."

"I try to be." Oscar chuckled. He was so easy to talk to, why was he so easy to talk to?

You found yourself moving a bit closer. "What were you trying to escape from?"

"Life. I wasn't happy where I was living and I wanted better but... given the circumstances, we just couldn't get it. So I threw a dart on a map, so to speak, it landed on Fiji and we've been here ever since."

"Where are you from then?"

"Originally born in Mexico, we moved to LA, and then out here."

"Would you ever go back to the States?" You asked finally looking up at him knowing he hadn't taken his eyes off you all night. He leaned forward, officially entering your bubble. "If I had a good enough reason... yeah."

You looked up at him through your lashes and softly smiled, meanwhile, Jordyn sat on the couch sipping and shaking her head at the sight in front of her. She would playfully scold you in the morning but tonight she'd let you have your harmless fun.

As the party went on you were getting a bit bored being upstairs so you grabbed your girl and headed downstairs to where the crowd was and of course Oscar was right behind you, he felt a sense of protection over you two tonight given this was your first time out here and inside his establishment. You had found enough confidence to start dancing around, a little two-step from left to right to get you going, but soon the constant flow of drinks Jordyn handed you helped you loosen out of that as well.

The DJ was beginning to play all the oldies, and that was your specialty. Oscar watched in adornment as you killed every lyric, every adlib and every beat to whichever song came on. It had transitioned from a bit of Hip-hop to something a lot slower.

  "Right now, we're gonna slow it down a bit, so grab your lovers and take your time."

The lights changed to blue and a recognizable first note had you close your eyes.

Mmm ooooh, my my my my my my my babyyy ouuuuuu

Jordyn had already found herself dancing with a random woman. She looked widened her eyes at you and quickly flicked them over to Oscar, trying her best to encourage you to make your move. But he was faster. You felt yourself being pulled into his warm embrace, his strong chest against your exposed back, his hands carefully snaking around your waist as if he was worried about you rejecting his touch but you gladly welcomed it.

Melting into his hold you two swayed side to side, he leaned down comfortably nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You were lost in the vibes of Keith Sweat's Right and a Wrong Way. You reached back hooking your arm around his neck lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. "You smell so good, mamita." He whispered, it was a miracle that you heard him. Your lips parted slightly as you felt his warm breath tickle your skin. His swift hands ran up your sides resting right under your breasts and gliding back down to your hips.

A thumping began between your thighs, now that was something you hadn't felt in a long time. You put that feeling to the side no matter how hard it was to do so. The rest of the night it felt like all the songs were targeted for just you two, you hadn't eased up on him once-- always in close proximity to him. He touched you in simple ways, ways you hadn't been touched in almost a year.

It was getting super late, almost three in the morning and you couldn't recall the last time you were out like this, it'd give you hell when you woke up but it was worth it. You and Jordyn rode back to the resort with Oscar, she exited the car first thanking him for the night out and wobbling her way inside. You giggled watching her walk away, "I should get in there before she tries the key on the wrong room."

But you didn't want to leave him.

And he didn't want to leave you.

"Thanks for tonight, I had a lot of fun."

"No problem, anything to help a pretty lady escape." He bit his lip. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Recovering," You laughed, "But other than that nothing."

"Can I see you again?"

You gulped and nodded. "Mhm."

He laid out his palm your eyebrows furrowed as you rested yours on top of his, he brought the back of your hand to his lips and placed such a gentle kiss on your skin. "Goodnight, mamita."

You wanted to scream. You left the car putting a little swing in your hips as you walked away, you looked over your shoulder and sent him a cute little wave before disappearing behind the doors.

— —

And that's how you spent the rest of your trip, shamelessly flirting with Oscar. You got to know each other a lot more, when you weren't spending time with Jordyn you were with him. Giggling like an airhead and blushing red like Rudolph's nose.

Jordyn constantly teases you about the crush you'd seem to quickly develop.

"Is this stupid?" You ask shoving your face in the pillow. This all felt too good to be fucking true, a guy that you met only four days ago was treating you so much better than the man you married four years ago. Oscar had flowers for you at the front desk of the resort every morning and sent you the sweetest messages throughout the day about how he was thinking of you, how he caught a glimpse of you today and you looked stunning, calling you the prettiest woman he'd ever seen step on this island.

You convinced yourself they were all lies, sugarcoating you like he probably did every woman but who were you fooling? Certainly not yourself and certainly not Jordyn.

"It's not."

"I'm married." You argued tiredly to which she fake yawned. "I don't see a ring on that finger and I don't see that man treating you any better than Oscar has. Just saying."

The fingers on your right hand brushed your vacant ring finger, you'd taken it off the minute you got on the plane, you didn't want to be reminded of him on this trip at all and yet there was that piece in the back of your mind that reached out to him. Checking his messages once in a while but never responding, he was giving you the attention you wanted but it didn't feel right.

The fact that you had to spontaneously leave to get even a fraction of what you were asking for was bullshit. Downright bullshit.

You groaned sitting up the pads of your fingers now rubbing your temples, tired and stressed. The trip was almost over and you dreaded going back to that house that was no longer a home. He'd sent you pictures that he'd finally cleaned up but you had a feeling once you returned home things would go back to the way they were and you did not want that.

"I think your brother would agree with me, you've smiled more in these past few days than I've seen back home, I mean you two are always so distant when you come over. And don't think I don't hear your rants when you and your brother are on the phone. Now I don't condone cheating but, hey, I didn't see shit."

You sighed checking your phone for any recent texts from your husband but Jordyn caught wind of what you were doing and snatched your device. "Enough with him. Flirt and have fun before you have to go back to normalcy."

You heard your phone buzz in her hand, she looked at the message for you. "Speaking of, someone is downstairs."

You felt nauseous. "Where are you two going anyway?"

"Down to the beach, said he has to restock the bar... and I wanted to spend time with him so I offered to help."

"Mhm." She winked. You grabbed your phone back from her grasp and told her you'd be back soon. You left your room, entered the elevator and headed downstairs where Oscar was happily waiting for you. "Hola querida." He become more comfortable speaking Spanish around you, especially when he noticed how the little nicknames got a reaction out of you.

"Hi," Oscar noticed the shaky tone in your response and made note of it You had comfortably slipped your hand inside his, he immediately hooked his fingers in the spaces of yours. Like he was your puzzle piece.

You two headed down to the decent-sized Hut, your eyes widened at the number of boxes sitting on the sand. "Don't worry, I got the heavy bottles, you just get the small ones." He reassured pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You loved those, so innocent and sweet, although you wish sometimes he'd kiss you on your lips or you had to courage to kiss his. "Think I can't handle the big boxes?" You scoffed walking inside after him.

"I think you can, I just don't think my pretty lady needs to."

My pretty lady.

ugh!

With music playing in the background you two got to work, "Do you still think about running your own restaurant?" You asked sparking a conversation, you squatted down to the lower shelves and propped the glass bottles in an organized fashion, eyes tearing through the material of your sundress and you could feel them. "I do, yeah. Why?"

You bit your lip. "Would it still be down here?"

There was a beat of silence. "Most likely."

Another pause in the moment aside from your soft humming to the music. "You excited to see your kids?" He asked. You smiled at the mere thought of them. "I am. My three little headaches." Oscar found himself next to you, leaning against the counter, you stopped your movements and looked up-- he had one arm folded over the other and a bit of a scowl on his face.

"What?" You innocently question standing up to match his eye line, well more-like chest line. "Nothing, just trying to take my time to remember this face." He reached for your cheek, his fingers ghosting your flesh. "You flirt like this with all the girls here?"

A question that was supposed to come out jokingly but you were a bit serious. "Nah," You squinted at him watching his lips press together, his chest stuttering as he held back a laugh. "You asshole, I knew it." A dramatic hand to your heart as you playfully pouted at him and fake cried. Oscar's arms enveloped you in their warmth, you attempted to push him off but it was no use, your feet suddenly off the ground, you squealed and giggled as he switched positions with you plopping you on top of the counter.

He placed his palms flat on the side of your thighs while he was positioned comfortably between them. "To be fair, hermosa, it is kind of my job. But believe me when I say I've never spent any time with them. And I've definitely never brought them back here after hours." His thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. "Just you, princesa."

You melted, your whole body could be seen physically slumping in his hold. His eyes sparkled while he looked at you, the crinkles in his eyes appearing as he smirked. Before you could comprehend anything his lips brushed yours, your head suddenly becoming foggy with the inappropriate images of him that you'd conjured up these past few days.

His nimble fingers danced along the hem of your dress, a rush of heat passing over you as he hiked it up further exposing more of your flesh.

This was no longer a want... it was a need.

Your hands landed right under his jaw as you pulled him in crashing your lips onto his and he happily reciprocated your energy, his hands wandered up to your hips tugging you closer to him as if it were possible. Your lips moved as one, tongues passing by in the heat of the moment, the only thing on your mind was him and you wanted it to remain so for as long as possible.

Tingles scattered around your body, both of you flushed with lust and arousal. Your hands travelled to the bottom of his shirt quietly begging for him to take it off, you needed to feel his skin, thankfully he got the message-- pulling away for a brief moment to remove his top. Your eyes glazed over his lightly tanned skin, little scars here and there you can only presume he earned before he got here.

You smiled at the strewed ink on his torso, chest and ribs. "What are you thinking about?" He inquired. You looked back up into his brown iris'. "I wish I had met you first." You mumbled drawing him back down, this kiss was a lot more passionate and slow unlike the first.

Oscar's hands gently tugged at the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling over and his calloused hands finding them. You softly moaned against his lips, your nipples hardening from the cool breeze and his fondling. He pinched and rolled them between his fingers, your head tipped back and his teeth nipped at the column of your neck.

You were forming a small pool in your panties at his teasing. His tongue grazed your neck continuously licking and sucking a specific spot that was getting a squirming reaction out of you. You felt his devilish smile, he knew what he was doing to you and he liked it.

His hands moved from torturing your swollen breasts back down to your thighs shoving your dress up until your little black panties were on display. You sat on the edge of the counter making it a bit easier for him to remove them, the cool air hitting your soaking slit.

"Touch me, please, touch me." You whined not caring about how desperate and needy you sounded. Oscar listened to your pleas and dipped one hand between your legs, his fingers quickly finding your slick folds. You shuddered as he glided two fingers up and down, dipping them inside you once in a while.

You were soaking, you were throbbing, and you just wanted him inside you where he fucking belonged. He slowly plunged his fingers inside, you clench around them happy to have something pleasuring you. Your eyes are closed and your legs spread further for him, nails digging into his shoulder blade hopefully leaving little indents.

He pumped them in and out of you with the squidgy noise of your wetness to follow. "Yes... oh yes, like that."

Oscar felt himself twitch under his boxers using his other hand to undo his belt and pulled down his materials. His dick is hard and his tip a rosy pink turning cherry red oozing with a bit of cream, his hips buckled once his hand brushed over it-- equally as desperate as you were. Your erotic moans were like music to his ears, so much sexier than he could've pictured. You whined once he removed them your hole flexing around nothing as you caught your breath.

Oscar hooked your legs over his arms spreading you to his desire, you reached between your bodies firmly (but not too tight) grasping his length and guiding it to your entrance, his swollen head prodding inside you as the rest of him followed.

Your jaw slacked at the feeling of him deliciously stretching you out, he was so thick and it felt so nice. Oscar croaked out a moan while burying himself deep inside your warmth-- coating his dick with your sticky walls, so slick and welcoming that he didn't want to move.

You caressed the back of his neck as he pressed another kiss on yours, trailing it up the side and finally landing on your mouth. You giggled into the kiss, Oscar pulled back with a questioning look. "I can't tell the last time I felt like this." You mumbled under your breath but he heard you. He didn't want you to leave, hell if you didn't have kids he'd probably try to convince you to move out here with him.

He didn't say anything in response just pulled out and pushed back in. "Fuck." You both moaned.

His head dipped back down, nibbling on your sweet skin.

You whimpered through every tantalizing stroke he gave you, his tip poking right at your hot spot and you knew you wouldn't last. "You feel so good!" A sentence broken by little gasps. Oscar grunted, violently gripping your thighs as he pounded you, pulling the filthiest sounds from your pretty little throat. So loud and erotic he was sure they could hear you back at the resort.

Your eyes squeeze in absolute bliss, your head hazy from the constant pleasure you received, quickly feeling a sensation in your lower belly a wave of heat threatening to take over. Your palm lay flat on his back while the other gripped the edge of the counter.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oscar!"

He lifted you off the counter a bit, relentlessly slamming into you now. Your high getting closer and closer. "I can, shit, I can feel you mamita. So fucking tight."

Your toes curled and your eyes rolled. "Baby, ohhh, I need to..."

Oscar smiled. "You wanna cum for me, baby? Come, mi amor, all of it."

His words tipped you off the edge, your back arched and your body trembled from the shockwaves of your orgasm, he held you closely revelling in your pulsating pussy dripping down his shaft.

He quickly brought you off the countertop, your wobbly legs barely holding your support. He turned you around, you barely recovered from the first position.

You were sensitive and extra wet just how he wanted you. You flinched when he pressed himself against your entrance once again, pushing in ever so carefully. "Fuck... you."

He laughed menacingly, his hands squeezing your hips. "That's what I'm doin' pretty lady."

You wanted to give him a smart-ass answer but it was cut short when he began to move. Your nipples were hard against the surface, you rested your head down and whined. "So fucking good."

"Yeah?" He chuckled spanking you. He was enjoying the pornographic sounds that you provided, all going straight to his dick.

He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you up against him, back pressed on his chest, his warm breath in your ear. "Can't get enough of you I swear." He admitted.

He poked and prodded against that familiar spot, tears of overwhelming pleasure threatening to spill when he pinched your nipple. "Fuck! I'm gonna miss you, so fucking much."

"You gonna think about me?"

"Yes! Oh!"

You felt him twitch inside you, you smiled egging him on. "I won't stop thinking about you, when I touch myself I'll picture it's you-"

"Fuck, cariño,"

"Ou, you're the only one I want inside me."

You convulsed around him feeling another orgasm quickly building and getting ready to fall apart. A few more thrusts and Oscar held himself still inside you, your body shivering at the warm cream he just spilled inside you. His high triggering yours. You reached behind hooking your arm around his now sweaty neck.

The sound of the wind against the water and the waves crashing describe exactly how you felt right now.

"Oh... my god." You said breathlessly.

"You're okay?" He asked with a laugh. You giggled tipping your head back on to his shoulder. "Better than okay."

He sighed kissing your back. "I meant it..." You said.

"What?"

"I'm gonna miss you."

He smiled sheepishly. "I'll miss you too."

--

Those moments replayed in your head constantly, it was the only thing getting you by once you came back home. You two still talked every day, called and FaceTimed but it wasn't enough. You would stare at the prices of tickets and sigh, you couldn't afford to go back right now.

Your life was the same, unloved and unappreciated, despite the embarrassingly desperate messages your husband had sent when you were on your trip. You stared at another pile of dishes, your shoulder sinking with exhaustion. With your two older ones at school and your son almost an hour into his nap you decided to just relax. You clicked on Netflix and attempted to finish Bridgerton's, Queen Charlotte.

Your eyelids felt heavy, sleep threatened to take over but the doorbell had them shoot open. It wasn't just one ring it was multiple and it was annoying so you assumed it was your brother. You groaned trudging to the door. You swung it open aggressively, ready to give him a piece of your mind. "You're going to wake-"

There he was. Standing in front of you, on your doorstep... at your house. "O-Oscar..." You poked his chest to see if he was really there. "Said I'd come back when I have a good reason." Your eyes softened, your arms reaching for him. His lips immediately find yours. "I," kiss, "fucking," kiss "missed you."

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he stepped inside closing the door. He carried you over to the couch and plopped you on the cushions. You laughed, your mood immediately changing with him around. "Jordyn told you where I lived didn't she?"

He nodded. You rolled your eyes. "Of course."

"Not happy to see me?"

You pulled him down for another kiss.

"Beyond happy."

I was going to wait until the weekend to post this but I am a little too excited to get this out.

Shoutout to my girl @darqchilddaydreamz for her input on a few things and her encouragement. Holdin it down ✊🏾

if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Alsooooo thank you for 800 followers, yall cool as fuck thanks for fucking with me and my antics.

Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @skyesthebomb @realhotgurlshit

[porcelainbambi]

strawberries, cherries & an angel’s kiss in spring

a small glimpse into farm life with ellie <3

18+

ellie williams x femme coquette reader

disclaimer: the first picture in the moodboard is not meant to directly represent the reader’s skin/body, i just think it fits the mood well <3 ik this will only appeal to some ppl stylistically and that’s ok!! this one is 4 the coquette pillow princesses, hope u enjoy <3 dedicated to the lovely @clearheartgreyflowers n @elskittie who encouraged me to write a lil something in the first place!! mwah

You enjoyed the work that came with living on the farm, you truly did. Loved to wake up early while the morning dew was still clinging to every petal and leaf, loved to tend to the animals and manage the gardens you cared for so dearly. Loved to dance around both inside and outside, loved that it was all a part of your home, part of the life you shared with Ellie.

Since moving onto the farm, you had formed quite the habit of doing all your daily tasks in the early mornings, usually having finished all you needed to do before noon even rolled around. This left you with the opportunity to spend some time in your beloved kitchen, sometimes baking small desserts with what ingredients you had available, other times simply washing and preparing some fruit you had gathered for a snack you could share with Ellie, all before she had even begun her own work for the day.

While you thrived in the morning hours, Ellie, on the other hand, preferred to do her share of the chores around midday, finishing shortly before dinner on the odd days where serious labour needed to be done. Never the morning person, she would’ve kept you in the warm nest of your shared bed, loving on you from the inside out until her own work beckoned around midday, every single day if she could. Even by then, she still hated to be away from you just as much as you loathed being separated from her for too long.

And so, you often accompanied her while she worked. Her little shadow following her around, floating from task to task, sometimes attempting to help (though she almost always stopped you, insisting all you had to do was sit pretty and talk about whatever was on your mind.) She would let you guide the conversation while she worked, occasionally coming over to where you sat perched on the fence or the hood of her truck to peck at your strawberry-stained lips, rough hands gently grazing over the soft peach-fuzz hair on your warm skin, leaving you love drunk and breathless before returning to her job with a poorly hidden smirk.

You absolutely adored this routine. You loved to watch her work with her hands, white wife-beater and black jeans often dirtied with mud or motor oil, gazing at the way her muscles worked under her skin and trying not to lose focus on what you were saying at the moment, lest she catch on to your staring and tease you about it until you were pink faced and huffy.

You loved when that teasing turned into something more, ending in her taking you over the hood of her truck, on top of a hay barrel or against a tree, fucking you dumb with the strap she so often wore under her jeans just for moments like that. She knew watching her work tended to get you riled up, heat pooling in your tummy until you couldn’t take it anymore, whining and pleading for her until she put her tools down and all too eagerly came to your rescue, helping you take care of the ache between your soft thighs.

You loved the routine that’d been created over the years of living on your farm together, and Ellie loved it just as much, maybe even more.

Sometimes, however, all of your own work you had done so early that morning would catch up with you around midday, a wave of fatigue you would relentlessly fight, not wanting to miss out on a single moment with your girlfriend. That is until Ellie would notice your small yawns, the way your eyelids began to droop and she would insist you go lay down for a little nap, promising to come get you as soon as she was finished. You would always whine, insisting you were barely even tired, your own body betraying you when a yawn cut your argument short.

And so, with a few extra kisses and a pat on your bottom, you’d make your way over to one of your favourite places on the land you called home.

Next to one of your large oak trees laid a small clearing, a sun-dappled expanse of plush grass that practically felt like a blanket all on its own. Violets and buttercups littered the ground, an old large picnic blanket sprawled out that seemed to beckon you to lay down. Sometimes you didn’t sleep at all, simply lazing about and listening to the soothing sounds of the wind and the nearby river, the sheep occasionally bleating nearby, letting your thoughts and daydreams carry you away, often finding that those daydreams were awfully close to the life you already were living with Ellie. Sometimes you took the time to read, leafing through old magazines and books you’d read countless times before and somehow never tired of. But most times, your eyelids would heavy and before you knew it you were peacefully resting, dozing in and out of sleep until Ellie came to wake you, having finally finished her tasks for the day. Always gently climbing over your form, careful not to dirty your sundress with her own muddied clothes, admiring you for a few moments before gently rousing you from your slumber.

And that was just how she found you then: warm and drowsy, laying on your tummy with your cheek squished against your arm where you had rested your head. Your linen covered back rising and falling steadily with your breaths, the little sundress you wore ruffling gently with the occasional breeze. As her eyes skimmed down, she could see the way the dress had bunched up slightly with your small movements, the backs of your thighs completely bare up to the slightly visible crease where your thighs met your ass, pink cotton panties peeking out just a bit. She felt herself warm from the inside out at the sight.

Ellie approached quietly, as always. Wiping her hands on her jeans to make sure they were clean, she slowly knelt on the blanket, hovering over your sleeping form. As she leaned down, her senses were immediately overtaken by you, you, you. Your balmy skin that smelt like sun & faintly of the lavender soap she’d helped glide over your body the night before. Your hair splayed out over your shoulders like a veil, which she gently pushed away with a calloused hand to lay soft kisses on the expanse of skin now exposed to the humid air and her touches.

You awoke slowly, humming quietly when you recognized her presence. She always toke care to wake you as gently as possible, soothing you back into consciousness with grazing touches and hushed words. You rolled onto your back underneath her hovering form, blinking away the sleep from your tired eyes until the face you loved more than anything in the universe came into focus. A roughened hand came down to brush some of your hair out of your face as she smiled sweetly at you, finally murmuring out a greeting.

“Hi, sweet girl.”

You giggled at the pet name, muttering a small “Hi” back, cheeks heating already at the small display of affection. That was just the thing with these moments, no matter how frequently they occurred and how often she absolutely spoiled you rotten with her affection and touch, you were seemingly always more sensitive to it in that warm, sleepy, sunkissed state. Everything felt a million times stronger, heavier and simultaneously lighter, time passing leisurely under her gaze. There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to be done, your existence together on that frayed blanket the most important moment in history, as if the universe formed just for this. Just for the two of you. And, more often than you’d like to admit, in these moments you also tended to become a million times needier, the urge to be completely consumed by her and in turn to consume her back entirely overpowering any other senses you possessed.

Ellie knew this, of course. She could read you like a book that she knew by heart, had learned all your micro-expressions and committed their meanings to memory until she could practically read your mind at any given moment from a single glance, a one second scan all it took to know what you needed. Now was no different, as she immediately picked up what was going on: the tiny shifts of your hips under her own, the way you were worrying at your bottom lip with your front teeth, your little fingers aimlessly gripping and releasing the fabric of your dress as you gazed up at her, bambi eyes glassy and wide and so, so trusting.

Ellie also knew you were often too shy to verbalize what you wanted, when you wanted it. A much needed discussion at your small kitchen table had helped clear this up, as you explained to her how you often felt at a loss for words when you needed her most, throat seemingly closing up and an air of timidness taking over. She knew this, and she knew the solution was; To do all the serious talking, saying what needed to be said and letting you confirm or deny with your small noises and nods and the pawing of your hands until you’d relaxed enough to open up verbally again.

Toying with the trim of your dress between thumb and forefinger, eyes boring into your own with the intensity that always seemed to subdue your mind into that fuzzy state you couldn’t quite describe with words, she began to speak in the hushed tone she reserved for moments like this.

“You feelin’ a little needy, baby?”

You nodded, a small noise of agreement coming from the back of your throat.

“Want me to take care of you?”

You nodded quickly, up and down so fast she thought your head might pop off your shoulders if you kept at it.

She let out a small giggle, followed by a string of “alright, alright baby”s. You had been in this position countless times, enough so that she knew exactly what you needed the most, beginning by gently flipping up your dress and laying it neatly on your tummy. Placing soft kisses on the newly exposed skin, seemingly in no rush at all as you started to whine, hips stirring, body doing everything in its power to call her to where you needed her most.

This was stopped, however, by her big hands gripping your hips, gently pushing them down into the blanket again, holding them there as she continued her ministrations. “Easy, sweetheart” she cooed. “Gonna give you what y’need, just be my good girl ‘nd be patient.”

She didn’t make you wait too long, wanting to reward you for the way you almost immediately stilled your movements at her request. Repositioning, she laid down between your thighs, pushing your knees up until there was room for her in the middle. Propped up on her arms resting on either side of your hips, her head was now just mere inches away from your clothed mound. Your breathing had quickened significantly, and while another time she may have teased you for longer, really taking her sweet time just letting her warm breath torturously fan over your heat, she felt like being nice today. With one last look for permission being met with an eager nod of your head, she gently pulled the damp cotton to the side, simply admiring your puffy cunt for a moment before ducking her head down.

The first kiss she laid over your slit immediately had you keening, reaching a hand down to hold onto her own that was laid across your tummy, keeping you pressed to the blanket where she wanted you. It didn’t take long for the small kisses to turn into messy, open mouthed ones, to her flat tongue swiping through your folds, occasionally working her way up and suckling on your swollen clit as you cried out softly.

Your mousy noises were nearly entirely drowned out by her own noises of pleasure as she went to work on you. Ellie was never one to be quiet in times like this, and there was no exception when she was using her mouth on you. Grunting, moaning, slurping, all from her own enjoyment of the pleasure she was giving you mixed with the addicting taste of your juices she so greatly savoured, it was obscene every single time.

Eventually, she could start to feel your hole clenching around nothing as she continued her tongue’s movements. Dipping lower, she slowly circled it with the tip of her tongue, relishing in the feeling of your body fluttering against her prodding. Once she deemed you ready, encouraged by your increasing whines and a muffled “please” from your plush lips, she began gently pushing the muscle inside your warm heat.

Spurred on by your whines and the way your grip on her hand tightened, she flicked her tongue upwards and revelled in the way you clenched around it. Your taste was even stronger like this, now leaking directly into her eagerly awaiting mouth, and she couldn’t get enough, ever. She moved like a woman starved, the vibrations from the groans she let out adding to your own white-hot pleasure, which was mounting by the second.

You could feel it rising, building and building, knot forming in the lowest part of your tummy. The intensity was overwhelming and suddenly, your upper half felt too exposed. You needed to be eye level with Ellie, needed to feel completely encased by her, fully consumed by her. Needed the intimacy of her breath fanning across your face when you eventually reached your peak. You began to pull where you gripped at her forearm, mumbling a quick “up, up, please”, and of course she knew exactly what you meant.

Pulling away from your heat, you got a hazy look at the mess you’d made of her face, lower half glistening with your slick, reddened lips puffed slightly, appearing as though she’d just devoured the ripest peach one could find. She immediately replaced her mouth with her warm hand, simply cupping your pussy as she clambered, repositioning until she was laying next to you on the blanket, using her supporting arm to wrap around the top of your head a bit, caging you in safely. she removed her hand only to finally push your panties down your thighs, returning her touch the second they were out of her way. As she slotted her lips with yours, your own taste quickly melting with the laps of her tongue against your own, she let two of her fingers slip inside you, quickly assuming the motion she knew you loved so much: stroking your velveteen walls in an upward motion, punching in and out with her forearm so she hit that sweet, gummy spot with nearly exact precision every single time.

You were gasping into her lips immediately, still trying to kiss back through it all, small hand shooting up to wrap around the back of Ellie’s neck, keeping her face close to your own as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten further. She kissed the corner of your mouth where it was stretched open, sweet noises falling from your plush lips as the pleasure began to build to that special point again, this time feeling safe in her body’s shelter, allowing the feeling to wash over you completely as it rose. She knew it was happening right away, from the way you clenched around her fingers, gushing out more liquid that dripped down her wrist, to the frantic sounds you were producing and the way you gazed up at her, completely falling apart in a way you only could because you knew she was there to keep you together.

“You gonna cum, angel? Hm?”, she says against your lips, knowing she won’t get a proper verbal answer. A warbled moan and a teary-eyed nod are what she gets in response, and she knows the last thing you need to push you over that edge.

“C’mon baby, s’okay. Cum for me, you can cum. My sweet girl, let it happen. Love you so much-”

The knot unravels with a whip the second those words leave her lips, and she feels you gush around her fingers at the same time as she sees those familiar tears of pleasure spill over your inky eyelashes. You’re trembling and crying out, her movements continuing to help you ride it out as long as it can last. The pleasure is almost unbearable, warmth blossoming in your chest as your thrust your head into the apex of her neck.

You can distantly hear her speaking to you, not quite able to make out the words as you let it all wash over you, floating within your high, but you know she’s talking you through it all. You know there’s gentle praises spilling from her lips. And sure enough, as your senses begin to readjust, that’s exactly what you hear.

“There you go, thaaat’s it baby. My sweet girl, did so good, ‘m so proud of you, such an angel. I’ve got you, shhh-sh-sh.”

It’s only then that your ears register your own cries, gently whimpering into your girlfriend’s neck as the tears continue to spill. The overwhelming feeling from your release catching up with you, and you’re suddenly snapping your thighs shut around Ellie’s arm, the stimulation now too much in this sensitive state.

“Okay, okay baby, i’ve gotcha. Gonna pull ‘em out now, ‘kay?” she soothes, waiting for your approval before gently slipping her fingers out, triggering a rush of your own release to spill out onto the blanket below as you whine.

You feel her wiggle down your body until she’s face level with your now soaked pussy and thighs again, using her thumbs to gently part your folds without further stimulating your swollen clit. With a few tentative fingers, she scoops up what she can of your release from your drooling hole, shushing you when you flinch at the contact before popping them in her mouth, humming at the taste, her own eyelids fluttering.

After a few small kisses to the tops of your still shaking thighs, she gently pulls your cotton panties back up, playing with the little bow that sits at the top of the waistband gently before lowering your sundress once again, covering your sensitive cunt.

Before you know it she’s back up there with you, lifting your spent body until you’re cradled against her as you catch your breath, humming contentedly. She kisses the side of your head, moving down to the fat of your cheek until you’re giggling and completely pliant in her arms. Only then do you begin to speak coherently again, starting the conversation in the only way that feels appropriate in the moment.

“Love you els”, said through giggles.

Ellie thinks her heart might just break through her ribcage and escape her body in an attempt to completely join itself with your own.

“I love you more, silly girl. How you feelin’? All good? Comfortable?”

Your answer is easy, not needing to think at all. “Perfect”, you mumble back. “Jus’ a little sleepy again.”

Ellie laughs, hard enough to shake you a bit where you lay against her chest. You didn’t need to tell her that for her to know, your penchant for wanting to sleep against her skin after she’d fucked you dumb all too familiar. “Alright, I hear ya sleepyhead. What d’you say we head inside, get cleaned up and cuddle a bit before dinner? Hm?”

You nod, humming along before thinking for a moment, brows furrowing in the slightest, immediately prompting Ellie to smooth it out with her thumb. Then blinking up at her gently, eyelashes fluttering, giving her those bambi eyes you know she melts under the gaze of before speaking once more.

“Carry me inside, els?”

And she never, ever could say no to that request.

[monzabee]

a not so meet cute – cl16

paper rings, prologue(?)

masterlist || series masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles meets his neighbour, who quickly captures his attention.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none other than charles being charles, also might have some cursing, google translate french

Request: “Hii if you’re taking requests could you please write a fic for Charles where he’s your best friend and he asks you to fake date him because he think he likes another girl so he wants to make her notice him/make her jealous kind of thing and you agree even though you love him and during the fake dating he realises that he loves you too and yeah angst fluff and all but a happy ending .If you decide to write this tysm and incase you don’t feel like writing this that’s cool too thanks either way ❤️”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! although i am still working on the first chapter of this new series, i wanted to write a little something for you guys to introduce you to the world i had in mind! i know it was not on the wip schedule, but the inspiration struck so i decided to go with it. ever since i saw the wedding pictures of margaret qualley and jack antonoff, the only thing i've been thinking of was the song, and i though it was the perfect song for the characters i had in mind. so, welcome to the new series, inspired by the request above, so thank you for the anon who put the idea in my mind to create this whole series, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

August, 2017

He met Margaret on our rooftop, she was wearing white And he was like, "I might be in trouble"

Charles loves his country, he really does. He’s always been patriotic of some sorts, he supposes. But the one thing he absolutely loathes about Monaco? The heat, no questions asked. The worst part isn’t even the heat itself, per se, it is the fact that his apartment has no elevator and he has to walk up five stories just to make it to his apartment – in the heat. So yeah, even though he is as patriotic of a Monégasque as they come, he definitely wishes he was somewhere else at the moment. When he does make to his floor, however, he’s met with a rather peculiar view, where his new neighbour is yelling at someone on the phone.

“No, I said I wanted the granite counters,” the person specify, fingers clutching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No!” The man straight up yells, “Ceux en granit, connard, pas ceux en graphite. I don’t think they even come in graphite!”

Deciding to remain silent as he makes his way towards his own apartment, Charles ignores the man standing in front of the apartment opposite of his. Though, he realises that the apartment’s door is open and there is construction going on inside, which explains the drilling sounds he’s been hearing early in the morning and the smell of fresh paint that never seems to leave the shared floor.

Side-eyeing the whole ordeal, he manages to make it to his apartment without attracting the attention of the man – or so he thinks. Just as he’s about to unlock his front door, he feels a pat on his shoulder. As he turns towards the man, there is a curious look on his face, “Hi?”

“Hello,” the man greets, “do you know how i can contact the superintendent?”

For reasons unknown (extreme hangover), Charles’ brain decides to blank out, “Quoi?”

“Le commissaire,” the man clarifies, “savez-vous comment je peux les contacter?” And Charles realises he would have been impressed with the man’s accent if he wasn’t so hangover from the night before. The superintendent, do you know how I can contact them?

“Ah,” Charles nods in understanding, “sure, let me give you his number.”

After the man saves the number he gives to his phone, he extends his hand in a friendly greeting. “I owe you one, I’m Declan, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Charles,” he responds with, what he hopes to be, a friendly smile. Motioning the apartment behind them, he asks, “Are you my new neighbour?”

“Oh, no, no,” Declan laughs, and it’s a warm, almost infectious laugh. It reminds Charles of– well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Declan’s voice draws him back to the conversation, “My sister is, I’m renovating it for her.”

Charles nods in understanding, “Ah, I see. I’ve never seen her around, I don’t think.”

“Well that’d be because she’s as annoying as little sisters come,” Declan laughs again, and this time it manages to get a smile out of Charles. “You know what? We’re actually having a small party at my place tonight, why don’t you come?”

“You’ve just met me,” Charles points out, voicing his confusion, “you really want to invite me to your house?”

“Pish posh,” Declan waves him off, already starting to walk back to his sister’s apartment “I’ll send you the details, bring alcohol!”

Charles tries to come up with excuses to give Declan when he’s a no show at the party, but all the excused he come up with sounding either shitty, entitled or just a mess in general. So he convinces himself to get ready after a much needed shower, and remembers to pick up a bottle of tequila on his way to the address Declan texted him earlier that day. Considering the amount of cars parked in front of the apartment complex, Charles thinks whether it’s going to be a ‘small’ party as Declan put earlier, but he manages to find a place to park his car, nonetheless. Surprisingly, it’s not hard to find which apartment belongs to his new ‘friend’, as the people he seems to keep literally bumping into give him directions which lead him to the top floor – he thinks, like brother like sister, huh?

“Ah, bienvenu, Charles!” Declan greets him as he enters the apartment, filled with more people than he honestly expected; but hey, they are in Monte Carlo after all.

Because he was raised by his mother, Charles replies, “Merci de me recevoir,” but because he is Charles, he finds himself reverting easily to French. Of course, he soon realises that his new friend has no trouble understanding him.

“Of course, ma maison est ta maison.” With a wide smile that reaches his eyes, he takes the bottle Charles offer him and pats his shoulder in a friendly manner, “Good lad, let me put this in the kitchen and we’ll find my sister together. I suppose she’s here somewhere.”

Giving him a firm nod, Charles is suddenly left alone to gaze around the living area. He quickly realises that he’s not the only one who is particularly patriotic as he comes face to face with the Union Jack on the wall, proudly displayed on the wall, seems to tell a story of cultural connections and a home away from home. He’s also, somehow, met with a very eccentric group of people, who seem to be insistent on having him join their various conversation – which he does his best to partake in.

As he chats with a group of fellow partygoers, he notices Declan making his way through the crowd toward him. “Charles,” he says with an apologetic smile, “sorry for that, let’s go.”

As they move through the apartment, Charles catches glimpses of the décor, which can only be described as eclectic, but what he realises that Declan made sure to fill up his walls with all kinds of memories; from photographs of what Charles thinks is his family to his diplomas, to even famous artwork – he’s not sure whether the Warhol he just passed by is real or not, but he supposes it’s probably the first option. They arrive at a corner of the rooftop terrace where a cozy seating area is arranged. A few guests are engaged in animated discussions, while others lounge comfortably, enjoying the ambiance. However, it doesn’t take either him or Declan to realise that his sister is, in fact, not with the group.

Though, it doesn’t take the latter to spot his sister, mumbling with a wince under his breath, and when Charles follows Declan's gaze to find her engaged in a rather animated discussion with a man who looks both frustrated and slightly bewildered by her. “Poor guy.”

“Seems like she's keeping him entertained.” Charles offer, careful with his words, and also quite confused at the man’s reactions to whatever Declan’s sister seems to be saying.

“Eh, sisters.” Declan shrugs, and motions Charles to follow him.

As they approach their corner of the terrace, her voice becomes clearer, and Charles can overhear snippets of the conversation. “I just don’t understand why we can’t print more money,” she says in an airy voice.

The man she's speaking to rubs his temples, clearly grappling with how to respond. “Well, it's not that simple. Printing more money can lead to inflation and devalue the currency.” He takes a moment to think, then, “Think of it like shoes–”

“Okay,” Declan laughs nervously as he places himself between the two, turning to the other man with a kind smile, “I think we’re done here, mate, she’s playing you. She’s an econ major, sorry for that.” Though Charles can’t see the expression on her face, he imagines there’s some sort of a victorious smile as she waves the man away, “Stop emasculating my friends, please.”

“Well choose better friends, and I won’t,” she shrugs, following his brother’s movements as he makes his way back near Charles, she turns towards him as the white dress she’s wearing sways gently in the evening breeze. There’s a surprised look on her face when she realises and they are not alone, “Um, hi.”

With a playful grin, Declan points to Charles and turns to his sister, “This is Charles, your new neighbour, and Charles, this is my sister–”

Bambi.

It’s the only word that comes to Charles’ mind when he sees your eyes and a friendly smile you give to him, “Nice to meet you, Charles.”

His eyes fall down to your extended hand, and he scrambles to regain his composure, taking your hand and shaking it gently. “Uh, yes, nice to meet you too.”

With an unexpected clap from your brother, which has both you and Charles jumping slightly, you turn to him with a glare, “Well, now that you know each other, I’ll leave you to get acquainted. And you,” he points to you which elicits a raised eyebrow from you, “don’t scare him off, and for God’s sake change this music.”

“What’s wrong with ABBA?” You ask with a small pout already forming on your lips.

“We need a change,” Charles watches with a silent chuckle as Declan starts walking back towards the kitchen, “ergo, change it!”

“Well that was an interesting exit,” you mumble, eyes following your brother until he’s out of both your and Charles’ views. Afterwards, you turn your attention back to the man standing in front of you, “What do you think about The Smiths?”

“Who?” Charles asks you, confusion written on his face.

“Not The Who,” you nudge him slightly, chuckling softly, though your laughter dies down once you realise he’s really confused. “I– The Smiths, Charles! To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die,” you softly sing, but he replies with a small shake of his head, and a shrug. “Oh, I love The Smiths! Come on, you have a lot to learn.”

As you grab him by his wrist to guide him back inside the apartment, I might be in trouble, he thinks to himself. And then, you turn around to give him a full smile, with a glint of mischief in your eyes that he can't quite interpret, and say, “I can already feel that we are going to be very good friends.”

And then he knows, he’s definitely in trouble.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Villain who actually used to be sinister and obnoxious is now an AMNESIAC lil softie😩😩😩

For whatever reason, the villain blocked the hero's hit perfectly. Not only that, but when the hero went in for a kick, the villain managed to throw them off balance. Before the hero could fall to the ground, the villain caught them, arm around the hero's waist, pulling them closer than decency allowed.

The villain's eyes widened and a gasp escaped them. Despite the hero's blush, they tried to look grumpy and annoyed - as so often - but the villain could tell it was just for show. What a night. They were exhausted and confused.

"Sorry," the villain whispered. "I almost hit you."

They pulled themselves up and with them the hero.

"No, it's fine, it's good." As soon as possible, the hero took a step back and the villain still felt the warmth of their waist on their fingertips. Was it possible to yearn for someone they had forgotten? Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe they hadn't forgotten the hero at all. They remembered parts of them, not the whole picture but the most beautiful pieces, it seemed.

"I'm sorry if I-"

"Your muscle memory seems to be pretty good. I think you learnt how to fight at a very young age. Which is...sad." The hero looked at them and their face softened. Suddenly, the villain felt a familiar pain in their chest. Something was hitting close to home. "But you're not as aggressive as before. We need to work on that."

"I appreciate that you want to help me, really. But I think I don't want to be violent," the villain said. The hero touched their own chin, thinking intensively. That was familiar too.

"I've told you a lot of people want you dead," the hero said slowly. "Killing you would turn the whole city upside down. Every criminal tries to be on top of the whole network."

"Can't I just, I dunno, retire?"

"If you want criminals to take over and burn everything down to prove that they are the one on top of the food chain...sure." The hero took in a deep breath. "It's hard to admit but I need you. This city needs you. You keep things organized. You cause damage, yes, but if it wasn't you, it would be five different criminals at five different locations and I don't have the time nor the energy for that."

"Seems like I was a big deal before they fried my brain," the villain said. From what they had been told, they had been a horrible human being. They didn't really miss not remembering.

But there was one thing they wished they hadn't forgotten.

One person.

"You have no idea," the hero whispered. They were quiet for a moment but the villain was sensing that their annoyed and grumpy mask was slipping from their face. "Sometimes it feels pretty lonely. We used to talk about that every now and then."

"We used to talk?" the villain asked, even though they knew they hadn't always tried to murder the hero. Trying to remember was like going through mist and when they had seen the hero for the first time again, it had felt like a warm light in the middle of all the thick fog was calling them.

The hero smiled.

"Most of the time you tried to make me join you. You loved taking me hostage."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing." The villain was disgusted at their own actions. What on earth had driven them to such drastic measures? It was like the villain from the past was someone else.

"...no, of course it wasn't a good thing. It was...different." The hero cleared their throat. "Talking to you was refreshing in a sense. I don't know, it is hard to explain. Our relationship was difficult."

"Like a love-hate-thing?" The hero looked at them but didn't say anything. That was enough of an answer for the villain and acid started to burn their throat. So, the hero had liked them and now they seemed annoyed by them.

What if the hero had liked their old version more? The villain that was violent and aggressive? What if the hero wouldn't like how they were now? What if the hero absolutely loathed them now because they weren't the right villain?

"I was taught not to show any emotions to my enemies. I think that has made me quite bitter but you challenged that. I was angry at you and I hated you a lot of the time. But in your soft moments I loved your voice. I loved your thoughts. I loved when you were kind to me. When you decided to saved me before death could take me. I loved it when you talked to me and argued with me without being an asshole. And those mixed feelings for you conflicted me."

And now? The villain's heart was beating in their chest, loud enough, they swore, for the hero to hear.

"Of course, I knew you wouldn't understand it. You were doing this for your own benefits. You were a strategist, after all. It is more complicated now for me. You're someone I like a little too much."

"You've been waiting to get that off your chest, haven't you?" The hero looked at the ground and back at the villain. Their ears were red and they closed their hands into fists over and over again. They closed their eyes, swallowed.

"I know training can get tiresome and-"

"I remember talking to you. You're pretty much the only thing I remember. Little details. What you look like. What you smell like. Honestly, I thought we were married when I saw you for the first time after waking up." The hero's blush stretched over their cheeks. "Maybe you can give me some more tips? Punches and kicks, I mean."

"Y-yeah of course." The villain smiled softly.

[stillebesat]

DP x DC HC that Stephanie Brown and Dash Baxter are cousins. (Moms are sisters)

*walking to a WE meeting room where all the Waynes are sitting*

Dash: I can't believe you talked me into this! Steph: Come on! It will be funny. It will probably work too! Dash: He doesn't like rich people. Steph: Neither does Jason. Dash: Didn't you say the oldest grew up in a circus?! Danny's not a fan of the Circus. Steph: No, you said he doesn't like clowns. Dick is an Acrobat. Totally different. And! This entire family, heck the entire city absolutely LOATHES clowns. He'll fit right in. Dash: But! Steph: Nope! *shoves Dash into room* Go get 'em Tiger! *barricades door shut* Bruce: You had a proposal for us, Mr. Baxter? *gestures to his family*

Dash: *gulps* Ah. Uh. Yes. *clicks on the projector where 'WHY YOU SHOULD ADOPT DANNY FENTON' with a picture of Black-Haired Blue-Eyed Danny front and center flashes onto the screen* Wayne Family: o.o Dash: *clears throat* So, there's this orphan in my hometown...

[mosaickiwi]

14DWY As a Drama AU

Hey remember when I said I’d post this in February oopsies!! (don’t ask me about demon!ren i will cry)

Open at your own risk this thing is LONG. Tried to give everyone at least a little something! upon putting this in my drafts i realized olivia exists i'll add her at some point uhhh. Also you can tell how much I love Elanor... hehe

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

The cult classic romantic thriller, 14 Days With You, is now a drama! Coming to all your favorite streaming platforms this summer. A whirlwind romance gone right and wrong that you DON’T want to miss.

Cast List

[REDACTED]

🖤 Quiet kid that used the after school theater program to delay returning home. Never wanted to perform, but loved doing costumes, make up, and correcting others (in his mind) on how to portray their roles. 

🖤 Spent a little extra time perfecting the costumes of a certain someone who didn't even know they existed. He always traded house chores with his sister so she'd sit in the audience to solely film Tree #2's performance.

🖤 Was an apprentice special effects makeup artist after graduation at first, particularly for horror films, but it didn't exactly pay the bills when they left home.

🖤 Easily rose to the top in their acting career due to his dedication for crafting characters to perfection. 

🖤 Dolly Parton/Lady Gaga-esque in their separation of work and life—completely unrecognizable in their regular civilian attire. Paparazzi have never gotten a picture of them in all their years trying.

🖤 Has zero issues getting into character, but does "method acting" on occasion to make sure people leave them alone on set. And also to fuck with directors and producers they don't like. Notoriously difficult to work with because of it + their overall attitude towards others, still gets hired somehow.

🖤 Got offered the role as the main love interest in 14DWY without an audition, thanks to a previous manipulative pink haired character he played in a film that ended up never being released. (2017 Ren because it's funny)

 Angel (you!)

💜 Participated in the same after school theater program as [REDACTED] and Leon for a few semesters before you got bored of it. Curiosity for acting resurfaced later in life.

💜 Newbie actor at the recently formed talent agency of your friend. Only starred as non-speaking roles or background characters in small productions until the drama. You moved back to Corland Bay after uni for the better industry prospects.

💜 You initially auditioned for a very small role in the drama as an employee in a seaside shop at first, but somehow you wound up as the lead? (un)lucky you.

💜 Feel free to fill in the blank for any whys and hows you think of to fit your OC/self/sona as you so please <3

Elanor

💖 Normally an actress and casting director, first time as an executive producer for the drama. Dreams of bringing her own romantic screenplays to life. Hasn't quite proven herself the way she wants in the industry to feel confident enough in them. 

💖 Catalyst for the drama being made. A "friend" mistakenly recommended the 14DWY book to her. She absolutely loathes all the psychological horror of it but sees the potential it has.

💖 Also the reason [REDACTED] was immediately cast, and you as well once she saw your chemistry with him while reading for a minor role. He hadn't shown a fraction of as much interest when reading lines with other potential candidates, so she decided to take the risk of an untested talent as the headliner.

💖 Refuses to use her family's name to get her stuff made. She wants her works to speak for themselves. Very picky about who she works with due to her family having hands in most of Corland's entertainment industry so she hardly gets a genuine interaction beyond ass-kissing.

💖 Always partial to working with Conan's small studio since he was the only director to give her any sort of criticism in spite of her family, as gentle and polite as it was. She still cried a little in the dressing room though.

💖 Genuine confusion when Conan wants her to act as both a producer and assist with direction. She only intended to bring it to his interest. But how could she say no to someone whose judgment and opinion she respects so much?

Conan

💖 Runs and owns a small scale studio in the Bay that seems to pick and choose its productions at random. It is in fact Alice sneaking into her dad's home office and putting scented stickers on the ones she likes. (She only reads the titles)

💖 Extremely proud of Elanor for getting so far on her own, and would take on one of her dozens of scripts no questions asked if she'd only work up the courage to show him one. So imagine his surprise when she comes to him with a romantic horror instead of one of the fairy tale romances he sees her scribbling notes on during breaks.

💖 While he’s the one with the final say, he does try to let Elanor have as much free reign as possible on the project in the hopes to boost her confidence.

Kiara

💖 A super-star actress and model that got her start in Corland’s local industry, but quickly hit it big. 

💖 When she isn’t drowning in work, she’ll swing through town to check in on her sister.

💖 Desperately wants to star in one of Elanor’s productions, but respects her sister’s desire for independence. Though she does like to tease about certain casting decisions on the drama when made aware of them.

the rest of the cast are unfortunately very silly i couldn't resist

Moth

💖 Started a talent agency out of spite for the terrible castings in their favorite media. Got further invested upon realizing they could read the scripts before the movies or show adaptations were even announced.

💖 The one who pushed you to audition for a minor role in the production once the rumor about who was cast as the main love interest reaches them. They've heard all the horror stories about [REDACTED] so wanted the inside scoop. Horrified and fascinated to find out you get the lead role. It’s like watching a train wreck.

Leon

💖 Joined the theater program initially because of you, but got really into it. Moved away to attend a performing arts school until his mother got sick.

💖 Took every wacky infomercial or street performance gig he could find to pay the hospital bills until Teo found out and swooped in.

💖 Eternally grateful for the burden of financial ruin being relieved, so he always accepts the jobs Teo gets for him. He definitely won’t complain since he’s not dressed in an animal costume and shouting nonsensical slogans for cleaning products.

Teo

💖 Met Leon through a shared production and quickly bonded. Attended a different performing arts school and met Jae as a child.

💖 Almost the exact opposite of his game character purely for the funnies. Shy, introverted, can’t flirt to save his life. Still a nepo baby but he can hold his own in acting. Doesn’t like his character much, but is extremely jealous of the confidence he oozes.

💖 Leon and Jae are his only friends in the industry so he uses his sway to get them parts if they haven't already gotten a call back. Gets REALLY nervous on set for certain roles so he needs their support.

Jae

💖 Attended the same school as Teo when they were kids, and is constantly pitching intentionally bad ideas and joking on set to reassure his friend.

💖 A little bit of a thrill seeker, so does all his own small stunts if he thinks he’s capable. Stands there and gawks watching the more extreme stunts, loudest to clap when they go well.

💖 Kept bringing Maple to the shoots cause how could he even think about leaving her at home? She would occasionally break her leash and wander into a scene for head scratches and kisses. The film crew always booed when a PA came to take her off set.

Violet

💖 Completely terrible at caring for plants. Inspired by her role, she starts vlogging about her plant mom journey before shooting even begins. All her advice is completely wrong and terrible. Her personal assistant keeps her in the dark by tending to the plants themselves to fix her mistakes.

💖 Finds out she has a talent for flower arrangement, though. Does thank you vases for the cast and crew on all her future productions that last a lifetime because her PA made sure all the flowers were fake.

Exposition

(silly on set shenanigans)

🎬 Scenes get retaken quite a bit, since you’re still extremely new to it all. Most of the cast and crew expect anger out of [REDACTED] after the 4th call for a re-shoot on the first day’s library scene, but he’s surprisingly cracking jokes about his dye job and reassuring you that you’re doing great. The infamously ill-tempered actor is smiling somehow… even being patient? Not glaring down his co-star for minor slip ups? They cannot recognize this person.

🎬 Violet and [REDACTED] naturally butt heads on set. She respects their acting, not the actor. Zero hesitation to snap back if he’s getting snarky with a PA. You’re the one people have to beg to separate them, and you’re completely baffled that [REDACTED] doesn’t treat others as nicely as he treats you.

🎬 Even though Elanor is a nervous wreck about the first real thing to ultimately make or break her career, she’s scarily efficient on set—as long as no one distracts her. She does get sidetracked once in a while, only because she loves chatting and answering any questions the cast or crew might have. She even brings one of her own cats to set during a slower day to see if they can get along with Maple. Leaves Conan in charge when the horror scenes are being shot. They’re both put off by how vivid they feel, but Conan at least can grin and bear it. 

🎬 You and Leon manage to catch up on set while [REDACTED] is otherwise occupied shooting said horror scenes. You tease him about a few infomercials you saw when looking up his actor reel, and Leon teases you back about your unlucky streak of being a tree or a rock in every play the theater program put on when y’all were younger. Laughs even harder once he finds out your most prominent roles until then were “unnamed zombie #5 at the bottom of the pile” and “sleeping train passenger.”

🎬 Try as he might, [REDACTED] doesn’t convince Elanor to change up a few crucial parts of the script for his benefit. His offhand threats of leaving the production fall on deaf ears, as she is all too happy to do re-shoots to make Teo the lead. His innocent hints to you about the shoddy script fly over your head for some reason! You love how it's turning out, what does he mean?

🎬 Super shy Teo prefaces and warns his co-stars before acting in every scene of his character being excessively flirty. Most of the actors have worked with him at some point or another beforehand, so they let him go through his routine without issue. Some crew members love the whiplash of him switching between overly courteous and smarmy, others vastly prefer the flirty character and mourn the loss as production comes to a close.

The Build Up

📺 The higher ups pressure Violet to start a short-lived streaming career to boost interest, since she’s hopeless with plants. She amasses a cult following for her MMO reviews, blind raids on new patches, and her wild ride of a Minecraft playthrough. In the end she winds up preferring to play games off stream, but once in a blue moon she’ll do a first time raid stream so her more dedicated fans can join and watch her alliance get wiped. Creative trolling is highly encouraged.

📺 Teo, Jae, and Leon appear on a late night TV show for promotion. It was meant to be for Teo and [REDACTED] at first. (Where’s the leading lover? [REDACTED] refused all promo appearances or sit downs without you being involved in them.) The host plays a clip that Teo’s particularly embarrassed about, and he hides his face in shame when the crowd hoots and hollers praise about his portrayal.

📺 [REDACTED] comes across as doting and overprotective of you once you’re pushed into the spotlight of celebrity, and shows increasingly concerning behaviors as the premiere looms closer. Depending on your response, they’ll back off to a point or dial it up. Interviewers and consumers mistake it as the eccentric actor’s “method acting” so the red flags just slide right past.

📺 Elanor and Conan guest star in a podcast for off-the-cuff romance enthusiasts. Their strangely cagey and joking comments like “there were so many retakes we couldn’t keep track of what was meant to be the actors messing around or part of the final cuts,” and “we’ve actually sent all the reviewers 1 of 14 versions with completely different endings,” leave listeners all the more curious to see the film.

The Climax

🎉 Reception is huge, in good ways for most. The majority of the cast see a surge in popularity if they didn’t already from the hype. 

🎉 Teo bemoans his endless offerings for sarcastic pretty boy jobs, Leon makes enough to get picky about his roles (and pay Teo back), Jae somehow cons a studio into an action film starring Maple—and subsequently adopts every single one of her stunt doubles. 

🎉 Moth throws the agency away to start adapting anime and manga themselves. Elanor finally feels validated enough to bring one of her romantic screenplays to the big screen, starring her sister Kiara and a very enthusiastic Violet as the leading couple. 

🎉 Conan’s studio is overloaded with scripts, and Alice runs out of scented stickers that much quicker. They are severely backlogged send help.

🎉 One determined conspiracy theorist sets out to prove those missing 13 versions of the ending are real, based on minor cuts and inconsistencies purposefully left in the public release.

The End, Roll Credits

choose your own ending

Bad End 💔 - A Falling Star

💔 If you respond negatively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor during shoots and promo: he plays the waiting game, uses his connections and blackmail to make sure all your roles without his name attached don’t garner nearly as much attention as the ones where you’re co-stars.

💔 Your negotiating power quickly plummets as you fall out of demand and end up begging just for the non-speaking roles you once loathed.

💔 The careers of anyone you got close to on set fall apart much faster than yours, before they’re outright blacklisted in the industry.

💔 You begrudgingly call up your last option. He can’t do much for your friends, but their offer to help you make a comeback is always open.

Neutral End 💌 - Just One More Try

💌 If you respond indifferently to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: the drama leads to you getting more offers, though a handful are for playing opposite of [REDACTED], as the on-screen chemistry was too much for studios to ignore for cash grabs.

💌 Elanor has rid herself of the drama’s subsequent rights, despite positive reception, so a sequel sprouts up in the works at a different studio. One that doesn’t mind catering to the whims of their actors when it comes to script integrity.

💌 You arrive on the set to find that not just one, but all of your cast mates except for them were written to have much smaller parts in the sequel. In fact, you rarely find a scene in the revised script where [REDACTED] isn’t alongside you.

💌 Sadly the contract is air tight, just put up with it until it’s over… What’s this clause about further sequels?

Good End 💍 - Off Into the Sunset

💍 If you respond positively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: you’ll sadly announce at the post premiere press conference that acting was a one-and-done adventure for you. Retired effective immediately, no farewell interviews.

💍 You’re spotted around town for a few weeks in a mask with a tall, darkly dressed companion at your side before you disappear from the public eye and Corland Bay all together.

💍 A few of your friends at least have an idea of where you are, and they meet up with you whenever you're in a nearby city. None of them can recognize the man glued to your side, though. Not that he'd say anything to clue them in.

💍 After months of near inactivity, [REDACTED] mysteriously deletes their socials without a word, sparking confusion and outrage among hardcore fans still desperately hoping for a sequel.

[morallyinept]

BROADCASTING LIVE TONIGHT - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter Bravo hosts SNL and you're assigned as his personal make-up artist, which means you'll be getting up very close and very personal to him...

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 7.9k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/substance abuse/Dieter being an absolute menace.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: With all the SNL hype recently, how could I not? This man is a menace. Inspired by THAT blazer.

@wildemaven has created a fantastic mood board of Dieter hosting SNL, which has inspired some of this fic. Shoutout to @pedroshotwifey for drawing my attention to this mood board, which has resulted in me getting absolutely no sleep due to writing this. 🥴🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The commotion outside Studio 8H, at NBC's headquarters in the Comcast Building, has reached a fever pitch.

Crowds have gathered, for most of the day, some rocking up early to get in line, to catch a glimpse of notorious, bad boy-turned-Emmy nominee, Dieter Bravo, who is tonight hosting Saturday Night Live.

A move, which most critics speculate, is to start laying the foundations in the re-cementing of his fragile career. 

There have been sightings of him all over the Big Apple for the last two days, walking down Broadway sipping on green juice, hanging outside the dispensary on East 30th Street like a shifty pervert, and spotted rollicking in a café in Hell's Kitchen with, what is reported, as his current on-off partner, Ricky Santos.

Although, sources are yet to be confirmed from the turbulent press pictures and fan theories. Dieter himself snorts at this each time he reads that they're "getting serious." They mostly just hang, and suck each other off when high. Serious? Pffft.

Dieter's PR team have his personal life heavily locked up ever since he checked out of Wonderland, clean and fresh faced, some eight months ago. Dieter has mostly stayed out of the headlines and off of pap scoop websites for bawdy, offensive behaviour.

And he finds this new squeaky clean image he's been threatened with, boring, if not suffocating. His fingers are constantly itchy, both figuratively and literally. There's an unyielding yearning for some anarchy left swilling in his veins.

So he takes a crowbar to that lock and flips the birdie when it breaks open.

He's been confirmed staying at The Bowery on the Lower East Side, and paparazzi and the odd cluster of hardcore fans and autograph floggers, have accosted him each time he comes and goes.

He simply ignores them and doesn't sign their merch with his face plastered on, or takes selfies, no matter how much they try to invade his personal space like malignant cancer.

He makes no attempt to remain incognito either, simply appearing out in public in lazily dressed attire of stained grey sweatpants and crocs, or a floral kimono teamed with sliders and shorts. It's usually what he finds strewn over the floor in the aftermath of his hotel room. He's pretty sure this kimono isn't even his. But it fits nice.

Eyes hidden behind giant, dark sunglasses and hair an untamed mess, Dieter roams New York unperturbed and off leash. His dishevelled appearance sparks rumours that he may be back to his partying ways on the sly after he's papped coming out of a strip-club at 4AM.

And they would be right about that.

He masks the shakes well, the bloodshot eyes he keeps hidden behind the Ray Bans. He's only had about four hours sleep since he touched down in this feculent city.

God he loathes New York. The stench of hotdog vendors and trash piles uncollected for days, turns his stomach.

He throws up on the sidewalk as he stumbles back to The Bowery and sleeps until his agent is hammering on the door and dragging him off in a covert car towards the NBC building.

He wishes his head was thunking around under the wheels; his skull feels like it is already, as he slumps down on the leather upholstery and questions what the fuck he is doing here.

Tonight, his styling team have lined up a single breasted blazer from Homme Plissé Issey Miyake, with clashing pants from the same designer. The same soft corduroy ribs pleasantly against the pads of his fingers as he runs them back and forth over this thigh during the final fitting.

He looks in the mirror, turning this way and that. Sucks in his stomach and hacks loudly when he breathes out, startling everyone.

He runs his ringed fingers around his grey scruff and scratches under his chin as he takes himself in. Yeah, he can work with it. Dieter doesn't care much for blending in anyway.

It's a look that only Dieter Bravo can pull off with such style and garish aplomb. Even if the lurid yellow gives him a headache to look at its neon hue for too long. It physically makes him squint.

The sunglasses stay firmly on as Dieter wishes more than anything he could have a tab right now as he glances himself in the mirror.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You’ve prepared the dressing room as usual; the lights switched on around the mirror and the chair positioned in front of it ready.

An array of cosmetics and creams line the vanity and your make-up belt is loaded up with an arsenal of spare brushes, wipes and cotton pads ready to attach on set.

Spritzing mists, anti-shine sprays and all manners of skin-coloured bottles are on hand and ready to make Dieter Bravo look his best self.

You're mixing foundations together on the back of your hand, and chatting idly with the hair stylist you're tag-teamed with, when the door swings open, and an animated foofaraw can be heard barraging through it.

You look up to see two crew members stride in, flanked by another two burlier guys, all herding into the small dressing room and practically filling it to the brim with braying masculinity.

You notice how hot it's suddenly gotten in the room; the warm prickles felt at the back of your neck as you take him in.

Wardrobe has done a number on him; a weird, mis-matched ensemble with clashing colours, which strangely works. But the deep V on his chest revealing caramel tanned skin, that looks as though it's been waxed, is an intimidating thought that slowly swamps your brain in quicksand the longer you stare at it.

You've never really rated his work. You'd attempted to watch the Cliff Beasts saga, just like anyone without a functioning or sane mind, but gave up after enduring the first thirty minutes of the first film in the franchise, and then promptly cancelled your Netflix subscription in dire protest. They'll fucking make anything these days.

You'd heard through friends, and through working here on the show, that Dieter has been recently nominated for something, an Emmy, maybe even a Golden Globe, but for what exactly, you're not sure and don't really care either. You're just not that invested in Dieter Bravo.

Sure, he's a little attractive in a scummy sort of way the more you observe him right now; he has that cocaine chic about him as the tabloids confirm, but his reputation precedes him.

You don't need to be an avid fan of his to have heard about the debauchery of it. The guy is probably riddled with Hepatitis A through Z.

You notice his fingers tightly clutching onto his phone inside them, almost frantically. He taps his wily digits against the back of it, clacking those silver rings against the plastic. His face is swamped in a massive pair of sunglasses.

A lively melange of voices fills the dressing room. Various outfits are hung up for the live skits and monologues as other people pass in and out.

A busy hive of instructions are passed back and forth between the crew members and the men who accompany him - his security entourage you assume - about timings and cues.

They speak as though he isn't there at all sometimes, you note. Dieter this and Dieter that, as he stands gauchely in between the fracas engulfing him; glancing back and forth between them all before he turns away and taps listlessly on his iPhone.

You try in earnest not to stare, but it's a futile task. Drawn to him like driving slowly past a wreck on the interstate to get a better look at the carnage and dead bodies thrown through the windshield. You know you shouldn't, but you do; pulled to it like a magpie, ooh shiny.

He stares back at you; an unreadable face partially hidden, that seems as disinterested as he looks about being here.

You mentally chastise yourself for being a little starstruck. Eh, it happens. In this line of work you’re around them constantly, “stars.”

Dieter Bravo isn’t an exception, except his star is a little scuffed around the edges and has lost some of its polish through years of tarnishing.

The stylist sets him down in the chair and goes to work on taming the chocolatey grey fluff that sits on his crown like he’s had an abundance of dandelion seeds blown at him.

You’re introduced to him officially by one of the crew members after a few minutes of them talking shop. And this is Dieter Bravo reaches out for your hand, which seems tiny when engulfed inside of his own.

You’re mindful not to offer him the one covered in concealer swatches - it’s a bitch to wash out.

His hand is warm, almost abnormally; his palm seemingly just as clammy as yours as you shake it politely.

"Wow. How are you?" He greets, face unchanging and you can see your own features mirrored in his shades, as the room begins to quieten down and shrink in its size around you.

His brows raise over his Ray Bans at you. You smile as you regale him with the tantalising tale of how you're simply just fine, thanks.

After more talk is passed between the bodies, scripts waved under his nose which he tosses on the floor at his feet almost immediately, and cues and timings rehashed, the two crew members exit the room, flanked by the brutes in tow.

The door closes and seals the three of you inside with an awkward silence, which seems to birth and grow its full life cycle before eventually dying slowly with a choked gurgle as you step over it and crack on.

"May I?" You ask, handing out your palm for his sunglasses. He reluctantly takes them off, almost shoving them into your hand like a petulant child. He rubs manically at his face for a second or two.

The first thing you notice about Dieter’s face is those deep, purple trenches under his eyes, and you auto-reach for the concealers. The second thing is how puffy and tired his eyes are.

You can work with it, you have some cooling orbs that you hand to him from the small fridge in the dressing room, and instruct him to run them around his eyes gently.

You try not to look directly at him. It feels forbidden somehow. As though you’re in a museum gawking at a rare exhibit in wonderment and realise that's exactly how you must look to him because he smirks crookedly at you; rousing you from your thought process, which pretty much consists of a lone, dribbling chimp scratching its own butt idly.

You turn your back to Dieter as he makes himself comfy in the chair as his locks are tamed; pink hair slides are fixed into his hair in sections as he runs the orbs around his sockets.

He tosses his phone onto the sofa, and you glance at him in the mirror making no attempt to hide the fact that he is staring quite intently at your ass.

His head slowly cocks as his thought process drains out of his ear onto his shoulder in a wet schollop.

Bemused, you smirk as his eyes flash up to yours and he holds your gaze darkly in the mirror.

You wipe off the make-up from the back of your hand and turn to face him, throwing him your best, yet less than enthused, smile.

He’s staring straight back at you expectantly.

"Look this way for me, Dieter." You instruct, your voice cracking like a teenage boy who has just started to grow pubes. And a stark warning for him to stop gawking at your behind.

“Sure. Sure, honey.” He says, looking fully at your face.

You clear your throat, as you step towards him, treating him no differently to how you would any other celebrity sitting in front of you.

There had been bigger names sat in that chair - legends, those with long renowned titles of Hollywood royalty. The same spiel, the same routine; inspect their skin, ask about allergies, do their make-up and send them on their way on stage.

Touch them up during commercial break and/or if they were sweating under the stage lights. Take home a paycheck. Repeat the process, chronically exhausted, until you die. They say that the Hollywood industry is glamorous. You must've missed that fucking memo.

But yet, you’re sweating; feeling it simmer up under your armpits and down the middle of your cleavage inside your t-shirt. Your body betrays you as you get closer to him and you feel it zap in between your legs.

"Do you mind?" You ask as you raise your hands towards his face and he shakes his head, plopping the orbs in his lap.

“Go ahead. You have my consent to touch me,” he says.

You can see the stylist pinning sections of his hair as she gets to grips with trying to tame those unruly curls with knitted eyebrows and hands sticky of styling putty.

Placing your fingers lightly on the side of his face, you inspect his complexion over in the light and are forced to inhale the tonka bean and neroli wafts of his aftershave that attacks your nostrils with delicious, sinful notes.

There's an underlying tone of something else that bites on the back of your tongue, something metallic in it's flirty chemistry.

Dieter has an almost perfect canvas of unspoiled skin, despite his years and the crinkles nesting around his eyes. Some large, open pores are dotted over his aquiline nose with black roots and flaky, dried out nostrils. A few broken capillaries snake around in his sockets like tiny parasites.

His beard is patchy, smattered with grey whiskers that's groomed neatly, despite it's chaos. You start there, taming it with oil and a soft brush. Preparing the canvas before you paint life back into it.

"We're not going to need much, your skin is pretty good," you compliment.

“Must be the years of sobriety.” Dieter clucks, monotone.

The stylist snorts behind him and he smirks. At least someone got the joke.

"I like your scent," he says to you, inhaling and it’s like you’re back in gym class in high school and someone has thrown the ball and it's leather slap bounces right off your face. “Your perfume. Smells like oranges. I like oranges. Do you want an orange?”

“Urm-”

“Hey, sweetheart? Can you get them to get me an orange?” Dieter says, tilting his head back to the stylist. “Maybe four… and some water, please. Oh, and a Don Julio. No, fuck it. Just bring the bottle. Thank you. Your eyes are incredible.” He compliments her and you watch, amazed, as she instantly melts into a pile of goo on the floor.

He could have asked her for a blow job and you're pretty convinced she'd be on her knees right now giving it to him if he had.

“Sure,” the stylist heads towards the door and opens it as she turns every shade of pink.

You step back from him shaking your head with derision, taking the orbs, and turn to the dresser. Your fingers are still burning from touching his face.

"I'll do some concealer, some powder, maybe a little colour correction under your eyes." You reply all business-like.

"Whatever you think." Dieter replies casually; his voice grizzly, yet airy.

You pick out a few bottles of skin coloured liquids and mix a few together, matching his skin tone. He has a slight tan to his already golden face; a subtle shimmer that dances across his forehead and nose.

"You don't like me. I can sense it." He announces as few seconds later.

"I'm sorry?" You baulk.

"Like animals. Pheromones or some shit, they can smell it. I don't know. Predator. Prey. But you don't like me." Dieter rambles.

You shake your head again smirking into the palette, stunned, but equally impressed by his arrogant gall. "I don't know you."

"So get to know me." He challenges.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather just do your make-up." You reply a little more sour.

He rests his chin on his fist, crossing one leg over the other and studying you carefully.

"You're a professional." He yawns around his words. On purpose, you're not sure. You can see dark fillings in the back of his molars.

"I am." You assure, teeth clenching. It offends you that he thinks you'll cave so easily. Who does he think he is?

Your pussy tries to convince you that actually, you probably would as it pulses at his smirk. You clench that smack talk away and concentrate on the task at hand.

"That's cool. I like a challenge." Dieter retorts and you roll your eyes.

You offer him a few wipes to cleanse with. Once he’s done and his face glows a little pink from running them all over his skin, you wheel your stool forward and perch on it in front of him.

He reaches forward and pulls it closer with a yank under the lip between your legs.

He opens up his own legs so you can slot in between, and you try to look anywhere else aside from the obvious package nestled between them in banana slug yellow. Jesus.

"I like the way you smell." Dieter explains as your eyes question his gumption.

"Is this you flirting with me?" You query, your professionalism hanging on by a single finger as you bite back.

It's not the first time some sleazy actor or hack has tried their luck with you. Why is it always the sleazy ones?

"Is it working?" Dieter questions. He genuinely looks interested in your reply.

"No."

"Liar."

You scoff at his defined, roguish face and begin prepping it with a silky primer. His eyelids drop towards your lap, your centre, and his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks.

It’s hushed between you as you dab at the skin under his eyes delicately with the pad of your third finger; a tiny little bouncing notion as he looks upwards towards the ceiling at your instruction.

But those damned brown peepers keep wandering back to yours to pull you into sedition.

You run your fingers with the product over his cheeks and forehead. Smoothing your thumbs under his fuzzy chin; feeling the soft, silken scratch of his facial scruff under them. You glide across the bridge of his large, wide nose up to his T-zone and between his eyebrows.

You can feel the heat of his breath on your wrist as it passes directly across his face.

Dieter then throws a grenade over your fence as your brain conjures up despicable images of that breath felt on your cunt as he licks it.

You reach for some tissues and hand them to him, remembering to breathe. He tucks them inside the flaps over the lapels of his blazer at your suggestion as you reach for the concealer.

"Want me to just take it off? This blazer is over a thousand dollars." He offers, mixing innocence with practicality into a shaker and pouring you out a glass of beguilement, topped with extra cherries and a sugary rim. Delicious.

You lick your lips.

He follows your eyes down his clavicle, to the sun-kissed, smooth skin that the jacket exposes. To the nipple, that if you just twist your head, you're certain you'll see waving at you under the dark confines of the blue corduroy where it's lifted ever so as he sits.

Skin that you want to taste. You want to know what Dieter Bravo fucking tastes like, and the echo of that thought prods at your wanting with menace.

"I don't make a mess." You assure, feeling your mouth run dry. You lick around your teeth.

"I bet you do." He simmers.

"Just stop." You warn firmly. "This, what you're doing. It's not appropriate, and I'm not interested, okay?" Yeah. Best shut that shit down.

He lets out a small slip of a chuckle. Kind of like a subtle huh in restrained astonishment.

"What?" You question, as he continues to stare at you whilst you paint his skin. You're serious. Your mouth is pulled tight into a scowl.

“Sorry, sorry.” He says, dropping his eyes. He gets it; he overstepped the mark and retreats hastily back to safe territory, dick between his legs.

The stylist returns with a crew member who has a handful of fresh oranges, Fiji water and a bottle of tequila. Dieter necks back a mouthful of the tequila directly from the bottle in a deep gulp, much to your surprise, and reaches out for the fruit, peeling the waxy skin.

You hand him another tissue to collect the peel in. The zesty scent fills your nose and you feel the subtle mist of it on your face, tasting it when you lick your lips.

He offers out a segment that drips sticky over his fingers to you. You're Eve, he's the Serpent. It's a fucking orange instead of an apple, but it slaps all the same.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You deny it.

“Sweet enough, aren’t you, babe?” Dieter mutters, chewing as the juice bursts around his teeth and watches you keenly.

You catch the glance of the stylist who rolls her eyes at you smiling with some webbed pity.

You have to stand to reach him without your arms aching after some time, and as you stand up from the stool, you topple forward as the wheel throws you off balance.

He steadies you inside his large hands, either side of your waist and squeezes tightly to support your body weight before you head butt him. The orange is smooshed into your hip before it plops onto the floor.

"Don't fall for me" Dieter smirks, smiling as wide as his eyes are now.

You decide to heed his advice and squeeze away all those macabre thoughts of illicit wanting starting to brew.

You’re kinda on pause for a few, clumsy moments; him holding onto you and your face inches away from smacking into his.

"I'm so sorry." You stand upright and still feel the searing brand of his hands on your hips as he lets you go, orange now completely discarded on the floor in it's wet, pithy death in exchange for needless heroism.

"It's alright." He muses, smiling as you become more and more flustered. Oh, real smooth.

Dieter asks for another orange, and you give it to him, almost throwing it at him, and continue to prep his face without further incident.

The steam continues to billow out of your ears, however. Alongside the steady dripping, like a leaky faucet, of your cunt into your panties.

A while later, when you’re both finished up with him, and he's as preened and prepped as he's going to get without staying still, he asks to be left alone for some privacy to re-run through his lines.

You both leave the room, feeling grateful for the reprieve. The cool air in the corridor smacks you in the face and you welcome it.

His arrogance does amuse you, admittedly. And the flattery boosts you in equal measure. But to know you'd just be another notch on his seedy bedpost doesn't appeal, even if your pussy is trying to counter-argue otherwise right now.

You try to ignore the damp, throbbing bitch.

You head onto set for a short gathering with the team to talk logistics, scene movements and outfit combos.

You realise you need to stock the make-up caddy with a few essentials as you inspect it carefully, and head back down to the dressing room around twenty minutes later.

You knock on the dressing room door, but don’t hear anything. You knock again and when you don’t hear Dieter welcome you in, or tell you to fuck off, you push open the door gently.

The scent of oranges fills the air and there doesn’t appear to be any sign of him. You set to work on filling your make-up belt with some supplies, and reach for some bottles, when you hear it.

It’s indistinct at first, but you turn your head towards the bathroom where the door is slightly ajar.

“Fuck!” You hear a growl and freeze, heart thrumming in your ears.

You hear a deep, long sniff, some metallic tapping, or scraping, you can't be sure. Another sniff and then a heavy loaded cough that sounds like hacking up.

Your limbs are rendered useless as Dieter comes out of the bathroom wiping at his nose, and stops when he catches sight of you staring back at him.

There's some white powder dusted on his lapel, obviously stark in the blue at what it is, and his face is a little shinier now, despite the job you've done.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were in here-” you begin, but he shrugs.

You clutch at the bottles and your belt, and make your way towards the door. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't have seen this. You shouldn't be tempted.

But why is it kinda hot that you are?

"I don’t have to be on set for half an hour yet, right?” Dieter's eyes look you up and down.

“Yeah, I think so,” you confirm.

"I want to have sex with you." He states.

"Dieter," you sigh. You swallow. Your thighs clench and you feel it pulse in your panties.

"I know you want to have sex with me too. So shall we just cut the shit and skip the part where you act all indignant and offended by it, babe? Because I'd really like to get to the part where you're coming all over my cock." He slips the blazer off of his shoulders and tosses it on the stool brazenly.

Your eyes run the length of his thick neck, over the mountains of his broad shoulders that you want to mark and claw into as you cling onto him. Down the matching, inverted triad tattoos inked on each of his inner arms.

Wandering over the small, pink studs of his nipples and down to the smattering of dark curls beneath his belly button that disappear into that jaunty yellow waistband.

His tummy is a little paunchy; a small spread of middle age catching up with him, but it's actually doing something for you, despite yourself.

Clearly, you've underestimated this cocky fucker.

“Does that door lock?” He enquires, although his current state of undress clearly gives no fucks if it doesn't.

Your gaze drops to his cock and it's apparent in it's hardness, tenting almost. You notice a small wet patch that has appeared staining the yellow darker. Evidence of his obvious arousal for you, and you can only imagine the state of your own panties by how sodden they feel.

You nod, salivating. Fuck, this is really going to happen. Shit.

“Lock it." Dieter juts his chin towards you.

You swallow at his gall. And at your instant reaction to lock it quickly.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Dieter repeats. You watch as his hand grips his cock over his pants and he hisses, revealing his teeth.

You nod, feeling it flare all over your body as you reach for the lock behind you and twist it round. The click sounds like a shotgun being fired.

"Need to hear it." He coaxes. "Can't have you saying shit after..."

"I want to have sex with you, Dieter." You can already hear your cunt goading you. I told you so...

You confirm to him clearly your consent, which makes you respect him that bit more that he's asking for it, and like you've never wanted anything more in your life.

He nods. "Good.”

You both careen into the dresser; brushes rolling off the top and scattering onto the floor with little plinks and plonks.

He pushes his body weight onto yours, and you reach for him over those terrible yellow pants, feeling how unabashedly hard he is against you.

Feeling that he's not wearing any fucking underwear underneath them either.

The material is thinner than it looks and you can feel all the hard, swollen ridges of him; the fat bulb of his swollen head as you grope and squeeze lavishly.

His kisses become hungry, desperate and gasping as his tongue massages yours and you kiss him back harder. You can taste a faint descry of sweetly saccharine citrus around his teeth as you lick into his mouth.

It's a little sloppy, frantic. You nibble on his bottom lip as his hands claw at your ass prodding bruises into it, and he presses his cock into the middle of your legs and winds his hips upwards.

Dieter's hands are squeezing and kneading; feeling its curves and shape through your jeans. He shoves you up against the wall; running his hands up either side of your body.

It's almost as if he's afraid to let go of you, scared you'll fall out of his grip and you cling onto him just as feverishly.

You pepper kisses over his bare, toned chest as his fingers lift your top off over your head and he pulls down your bra straps, kissing along your shoulders. Trailing his hot, wet tongue down your collarbone and towards your cleavage. He occasionally bites at the skin and it makes you feral.

You gasp out as he pulls down the cup of your bra and takes your nipple inside his mouth. Your hands are running through his hair, twisting and mussing and looking down at him as he suckles on that hard, bud; those full lips of his suctioned around it tightly and pulling wildly.

"Fuck! Your hair," you gasp, giggling at the state of it.

He simply rubs his head all in your chest and tits, messing it up further and snickering as he does it. Dieter Bravo's jar of fucks is definetly empty.

You reach down to his pants, pushing them down his hips and dropping them to the floor where he steps out of the ghastly things, and his shoes; standing there completely naked.

You cup around his balls, plump and firm; squeezing and massaging gently as he pulls your jeans and panties down.

Feeling how thick and heavy he is inside your hands, he gasps around your nipple; moving up to your face to kiss you as your palm runs over the sticky tip of his head that makes him shudder and flinch.

His cock feels amazing, weighty and warm. Thick in it's continual swelling and with a lush, rosy head that matches the hue his lips have become from you chewing and sucking on them.

Dieter's big hands are on the side of your face as he nips at your lips hungrily. Slipping his tongue inside of your mouth so you can taste him some more.

He squeezes both your breasts together inside his giant hands as he kisses you, whining as you jerk him off. Little strained whimpers and shudders flow into your mouth.

"You like that, huh?" You tease watching him melt, pupils blown wide at you.

"Yeah." He places his hand over yours and jerks with you.

He smirks as he runs his other fingers down the underside of your arm lightly; causing you to squirm where it tickles and your skin erupts in goose pimples.

He mouths hungrily over your face. He can taste your hair strands flossing his teeth.

"Fuck, babe," he gasps looking at you both pumping his cock. His hips thrust into your mutual grip. Your wrist is wet from his sticky leakage.

He runs his lips down your chin and chest, stopping over your hard nipples again and sucking them; biting them and making you gasp out. He trails his tongue around your belly button, his cock slipping out of your grip as he settles on his knees.

"I want this pussy coming on my face." He murmurs up to you; his voice possessed by brazen lust. Dieter sinks his face, without hesitation, into your pussy lips and begins licking around your drenched folds voraciously.

Your hands are tugging tighter on his hair now, twisting around the roots as he licks all over your clit making your thighs spasm and jerk around his face.

"Mmm... yes," you moan out, throwing your head back into the hard wall. You see stars for a moment, but they don't dissipate; instead they flood under your eyelids in gold and fluorescent pinks.

He holds onto your hips as he licks and sucks. Arching your back and pulling your pelvis further into his face as he feasts on that buzzing nub sending zaps of electricity through your legs.

"Shit!" You mewl as he begins to intensify the movements of his tongue; looking up at you with those dark, beguiling eyes that could charm even Lucifer himself to walk off a cliff. The Devil? Pah!

He leads you up that hill, tugging you enthusiastically by the arm as you climb higher and higher. Your body tightening, curling inwardly as you feel it build and gather on the end of your clit.

And then it snaps back, flooding your legs with warmth and fanning that fire that has been simmering in your belly since he got all up and personal in your grill.

"Oh fuck, I'm coming!" You writhe on him and squeeze your fists together in his scalp. Closing your eyes and seeing multi-coloured glitter and sparkles behind them as those stars now implode.

After Dieter makes you come on his face, he picks you up, lifting you onto the dresser with an audibly strained groan.

"I'm just an actor and my back is fucking killing me," he whines as he plops you down and you smirk.

He streches, it clicks and your own back is pressed against the mirror. The products that you had previously arranged in neat lines are now tossed aside by the crush of your ass.

Dieter spreads your legs and grabs the back of your neck and presses his mouth against yours; his tongue finding its way around your gums again, and you can taste the tang of your pussy. A sticky, sweet syrup that coats his lips like gloss.

A heinous thought tempts you to send him out on stage like that.

His fingers from his other hand slide all over your slit; finding their way inside the moist, fleshy lips. You let out a deep gasp as he curls two of them inside you, making room for an eventual third, as you buck against them.

They swim deeper, until you can feel the warmth building deep in your core where he's found the magic spot and is stroking it, making you pant under him.

"That feel good, baby?" Dieter croons to you, smirking.

"Uh-huh." You breathe, nodding in wonderment at him.

It really does and you're kinda shocked, because from the moment he walked in, you couldn't imagine that almost an hour or so later, he'd have you foaming at the mouth like this.

You can say a lot about Dieter Bravo - and many do, singing like canaries for the right price - but Dieter is not a selfish lover as he pulls another orgasm out of you within minutes of your first.

And it won't be your last.

"I knew you'd make a mess..." he grins, as your cunt soaks over his digits buried to the hilt in you and stretching you wide.

His lips find your nipple; gently teasing it between his teeth and nipping on it gently until it's fully puckered once more. He sucks on it greedily whilst he drills his digits faster and faster inside your dripping hole.

Squelchy noises can be heard fapping all round the dressing room in their shrill lewdness.

"Oh fuck!"

"Make a mess all over my fingers again," he cajoles.

You whine and reach for his dick, resting on the edge of the vanity you're spread eagle on, and it's dripping onto it. A loud grunt escapes from his mouth as you rub him up and down tightly inside your grip whilst his fingers whorl deeper inside you.

"I wanna suck your cock," you moan to him desperately, as his fingers are making you shudder once more.

"After you come again, baby." He pants.

You grip onto his wrist, pulling his fingers into you as he fingerbangs you faster. He mouths on you, swallowing down those moans and shrieks as they rise in their tempo.

You explode for the third time, creaming all over them. Dieter immediately shoves them into his mouth to suck them clean.

You drop to your knees in front of him; taking his hard length inside your mouth willingly as you open wide for it. You savor his salt, swallow it down as it floods across your taste buds deliciously.

The view inside the mirror is his torso with your head bobbing up and down slowly, and it makes him go nuts to see it.

"Better than porn." He growls, looking down at you with his dick sliding into your mouth.

He tastes meaty, and his cock is smooth, fat with blood; filling your mouth as you suck and tease the head before taking him all the way in deep.

His hand is felt on the back of your head gently and it makes you tingle to feel him fuck your mouth. Controlling the depth and watching you in the mirror as you swallow him down.

Dieter cups and pulls on his balls whilst you take him to the back of your throat. He curses, sending ragged profanities into the air around you as he closes his eyes and licks his lips, enjoying the deep, hypnotic pull on his dick.

"You know, I never do this." You assure him with a drool as he pops out. You still can't believe this is happening, or how exactly it is that this has escalated between you both so fast.

You lather him up with your saliva, shiny, almost crinoline, and suck him back in.

"You look gorgeous when you do this," he smirks.

Dieter can't abnegate himself away from you anymore. He pulls you up on your feet and bends you over the vanity.

Your face is close to the mirror and he arches an eyebrow at you - seeking more consent. You nod at him, staring back at him, as he sinks his cock into your pussy from behind.

Spreading your ass cheeks so he can view that damned fine cunt that he's tasted and now craves more than the coke.

As you become connected, you stare at each other through the looking glass; your breath fogging against it, as though you can't believe he's inside you for a second or two, and neither can he, until he begins pumping in and out of you at a pace that intensifies as he goes with each stroke.

His cock barrages in, packing you out and filling you full of him. You push back, meeting every move as your fuck begins to mutate into relentless drilling.

His thighs slap against the meat of your ass, his breath pelts onto your back. His hands pull on your shoulders wrenching you onto him.

"Fuck Dieter!" You wail.

A knock at the door startles you both to instant stillness. Shit.

"Mr Bravo? Uhh, Dieter?" A voice calls from the other side of the door.

His hand clamps around your mouth as he continues to thrust.

"Yeah?" He calls, smirking down at you.

"Fifteen minutes until live. Are you ready?" The door handle rattles but it remains locked.

"I'll be there!" Dieter yells back as you bite on the thick skin of his thick middle finger as he fucks you harder, quicker.

"Fuck!" You cry out as you contract and spasm around him. "Oh God!"

"You like that? I feel good inside you?" Dieter asks around wheezed pants.

"Ah, fuck yes!" You groan, your breasts jiggling in the mirror as he ploughs into you.

He looks down at the sight of his dick slamming into your pussy; it becoming shiny with your slick soaking all over it as he pulls back each time. Your pert ass cheeks rippling and pressed up against his groin.

He manoeuvres your hips and rams into your harder, making you cry out loudly.

"Your pussy is so fucking tight." He groans out as he fucks you deep and hard; barraging into you and the vanity shaking and creaking with each thrust.

He grunts behind you like an animal possessed.

More products topple onto the floor. You notice one of your more expensive Mehron eyeshadow palettes broken with colorful dust flaked over the carpet.

Shit.

Reality pulls you back as you realise you're both cutting it fine. You glance him in the mirror behind you and Dieter is a sweaty mess - and he's due on set in literal minutes!

''Dieter..."

"Yeah. Say my name, baby." He puffs.

"No, Dieter. We have to stop. You need to be on set." You say pushing yourself up.

"They can wait." He kisses your shoulder as you rise flat against his chest. His arms slip around your waist, his fingers skimming your clit.

"It's live. It can't wait. Stop, come on." You coax. Although you really don't want to stop.

He grunts and pulls out, not before giving you two deep shunts. "Fuck," he whines. "How long we got?"

"Minutes. Get dressed, we need to fix you up."

The next few minutes are spent frantically trying to dress yourself whilst you simultaneously fix his face. Multi-tasking at it's clumsy finest.

He doesn't help of course, slipping his fingers into the front of your jeans and kissing at your face as you try to blot the shine from his.

"You're impossible!" You squirm away, giggling.

"You're delicious." Dieter croons. "What is that perfume?"

He tussles his hair; fluffy, sweat laden curls and you spritz it with some hairspray hoping it will hold, but he looks incredibly windswept.

Fully dressed, Dieter opens the door just as a crew member is about to knock and strides out.

You follow behind him, hoping they don't peek their head in the dressing room and witness the carnage in there. But the thought makes your buzz in all the right places.

Scurrying beside him to powder his face as he walks quickly following the crew member towards the screens and wires that are taped to the floor, you also wipe down his lapel, freeing him of the evidence of the coke as he grins crookedly at you.

"Break a leg." You say. He leaves you with a wink.

The familiar music theme rises up and the crowd roars into applause.

You watch as that fiend, Dieter Bravo, steps through and disappears from your sight. The screams and frantic clapping rises in its tempo, and you hear him begin to start his opening monologue.

You watch him on a monitor. He's confident, brash, breezy. He delivers his lines, steals his cues and has the audience laughing and eating out of the palm of his hand.

A far cry form the dishevelled, tried man he was when he slumped into the make-up chair earlier.

He weaves some kind of voodoo over them all; hot liquid charm and you're pretty certain you've fallen under that spell too.

The stylist finds you a few minutes later as the monitor illuminates your face and whispers to you. "What the hell happened to his hair?"

You simply shrug, feeling the heat burning your face.

They stop filming for commercial break and you reach into your make-up belt, stepping up towards the stage with the stylist in tow and approach him gingerly.

You dab at his face with a tissue blotting natural oils away that have formed on his forehead, and apply another light dusting of powder as he sips from the Fiji water thrust into his hand.

He doesn't look at you, pretends that what happened in the dressing room hasn’t happened, despite carrying a semi in his pants throughout most of the monologue.

That'll do the rounds tomorrow, no doubt. Fans cropping pictures of his crotch to post on their socials with the eggplant emoji.

Before he gives you a chance to lament in any disappointment, you feel his fingers brush the side of your hip ever so gently, every so clandestinely.

The set is full of bodies, the audience twittering away and hot lights are almost blinding you.

But that small slip of affection, of wanting, doesn't go unnoticed, and has you sold that Dieter Bravo hasn't had his fill of you yet.

The feeling is mutual as you smile dipping your brush in for more powder and tapping off the excess.

The stylist is called away and Dieter runs a hand through his hair ruining her handiwork once again in just one second. He sends you a heated smirk and stares you down as you dust his face.

"What are you smirking at?" You mutter covertly.

He leans forward discreetly, his lips barely moving. "I'm thinking about the fact that my fingers smell of your pussy right now...”

You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. It's hard, because those words just fucking killed you.

"I'm in the city for a few more days." He breathes out. "I'm staying at The Bowery. The Penthouse Terrace Suite. Fourteenth floor. Ask for Gio at the desk. We can hang out, finish what we started?" He raises his eyebrows in query.

"Maybe we will." You confirm.

"Good. Yes." Dieter smirks darkly, working you up all over again. "Amazing," he says, smiling with relief.

You grin back at him as you practically skip off the set; your face feeling heated and sweaty. Legs feeling like they could give way at any moment.

The music for the show starts up again and you watch as Dieter speaks into the camera like a natural once more.

You don't see Dieter Bravo again that night.

He’s whisked away to the after party as soon as the show wraps and you’re not important enough to be invited along.

You pack up your make-up case after tidying up the dressing room, and wheel it out to the trunk of your car in the lot, waving to the security guard as he lifts the barrier up.

You go home and ride your dildo to excess as you relive the encounter that stays with you all night.

The following day you make good on your word about visiting Dieter at The Bowery. You don’t leave his hotel suite for three days in total. Only coming up for air to snack and smoke blunts with him.

The sex is criminal; you should both be locked up it's so depraved what you do to one another. You lose count of the number of times he makes you come, and how many times you find your fingers slipping inside his ass.

Your friends message you incessantly about your whereabouts, some speculating you've been kidnapped. You dutifully inform them that you've actually been dicknapped instead, but can't say much about said dick in question. Your inner sadist revels in leaving them hanging.

No, Dieter Bravo is your filthy, little secret to keep. Like anyone would believe you anyway...

When you do eventually walk out of The Bowery, squinting into the sunlight with knots in your hair and bruises on your hips, you finally understand what it must feel like to have an addiction.

You know you'll be burned. That this tryst will shrink into the rear view and he’ll not give you a second thought when he's back in LA.

You don’t have expectations, least of all from Dieter Bravo, and he didn’t make you any promises.

He sent you on your way, inherently satisfied and pumped full of his come. Your life is waiting for you and so is his. You chalk it up to a wild experience, one you'll never forget, and one you'll relive on those horny nights alone.

You think that perhaps you'll acquaint yourself with his career after all, it'll come in handy whilst you get off. Some Dieter porn paused on your TV. Yeah.

But for now you leave The Bowery, remaining invisible, past the paparazzi, past the fans that wait for a glimpse of him when he’ll emerge later and revelling in the power of their ignorance. It's fucking bliss.

You carry on into your life accompanied with an aching hunger you won't be able to shake; it weighs heavy in your core, for a little while.

It leaves you lightheaded, giddy.

And you experience that same feeling again later, a month later in fact; the lightheadedness, the giddiness.

You experience it as you stare, eyes fixed like a laser - the heat and panic clouding your senses. The rising bile swimming up the back of your throat at the audacity of that prominent, blue line on the pregnancy test, staring you back in the face, taunting you.

Blue, just like that damned blazer.

Fuck.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' Dieter story of mine. Re-blogs & comments are greatly appreciated.🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you wanna be removed, it's cool.)

🖤

[stuckinapril]

How do I forgive myself?

My main thing about this is it’s very hard to move through life if you can’t forgive yourself—not only in terms of your relationship w yourself, but also in terms of your relationship w others. Whether you realize it or not, the way you treat yourself very much bleeds into the way you treat others. If you can’t forgive yourself, can’t let things you did go, don’t allow yourself the grace of being human, you won’t be able to forgive others, let things they did go, or allow them the grace of being human. That can become a very miserable existence if not addressed.

I was at my angriest, saddest, most miserable etc etc when I was hard on myself. It made me get hurt at every little thing someone did. Literally every single thing. I could not extend them the grace of fallibility, because I could never extend that to myself. If I was slightly hurt, it was very easy for me to get defensive & forget that the person I’m talking to is prone to mistakes. Forgiving yourself really does mean exercising your ability to forgive others more. Without that skill you’re just constantly resentful—both towards yourself and towards others. It’s not like I never get hurt now, I def do, but it’s so much easier for me to let it pass through me and move on w my life.

Finally I just kind of learned that not forgiving yourself is a waste of time. Hating yourself isn’t productive, even if it feels like it is in the moment. In actuality it’s just the path of least resistance. It’s easier to hate yourself than to admit you made a mistake and commit to doing better. I do think there’s a place for holding yourself accountable, but that can coexist w being self-compassionate and moving forward. It can coexist w reminding yourself that you’re human and that mistakes are an unavoidable part of life. I can’t remember a single time I gained something from locking myself up in a fortress of self-loathing tbh. Or an instance where I saw it benefit someone else. It just expended their time & energy unnecessarily.

Frame self-forgiveness in a way that encapsulates all facets of your life: your relationship w others, your relationship w your time and energy, and your relationship w yourself. It will help you see the big picture & move on faster if you think of self-forgiveness as an absolute need in how you navigate your life, rather than a choice you can live without.

[therealhousewifeofharrystyles]

Harry’s Home

Part III.

Read Part 1 Here!

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing/AU: Roommate!Harry // Roommate!Y/N

Word Count: ~ 4k words

⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Pining, Sexual Desire, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Fantasies of Rough Sex, Breeding Fantasies, Exhibitionism, Explicit Depictions of Masturbation(M&F), Dirty Talk, ~Slow Burn~

So, yeah. Harry and I have successfully become somewhat close. We’ve put up with each other’s shit for long enough and eventually bonded—or whatever the hell you call it when a pair of sex-starved adults live in close quarters and they decide to play nice so the walls don’t come down on them.

Even though it’s the time of year when I can see my breath and I have to wear socks to protect my chilly toes when I’m lounging around the house, when I’m around Harry…I might as well be a tea kettle on the verge of squealing in steaming agony. I guess you could say I’ve been in heat.

I’m catching myself spacing all the time, hypnotized by his comfortable routine. He grasps my attention like it’s second-nature to him, and I have no other choice but to relent—to surrender. How fucking pathetic is that? Like, get a grip, woman. 

But seriously, I can’t take it anymore. I turn powerless and my body betrays me, simply from the man meeting my eyes with his from across the room. For someone to hold this much control over another human being by just existing…not only is it completely unfair, but it feels otherworldly. It’s as though a connection has been birthed out of the rawest, most sinful form of lust, with its sole purpose to fuse a pair of unwed and horny humans. Thus latching itself onto the two of us, melding an incubus with a siren.

I guess it could just be some crazy-intense sexual tension, too. There’s no fun in that explanation, but whatever. The point is that I can’t fucking take it anymore.  Me being so mesmerized by him performing the most mundane of tasks—unscrewing a new jar of jam, rubbing the sleep out of his face as he stumbles out of his bedroom, sneaking little peeks at me from across the room and smirking to himself after he looks away. God. That smirk keeps me up at night…my hands groping myself and massaging my clit to lull myself to dreamland.

Right…so about that…

For the past few months, Harry’s been able to hear me fucking myself through the thin wall that separates our two bedrooms. The divider does absolutely nothing to silence me and my explicit acts of self-pleasure. These walls couldn’t muffle a mouse, let alone an ambitiously horny, and impressively vocal young woman who’s desperate to get her rocks off…hard. 

And I’m certain he can hear everything—every gasp, every whine, every slick plunge of my fingers—or a toy—as they’re used in a merciless attack on my own body in order to chase an unattainable high…It's loud. It’s filthy. 

It’s pornographic.

And yet Harry indulges in my songs. I know he does. The only way I’m able to get myself off is to picture him on the other side…to close my eyes and astral-project my way into his room and assume the role of the voyeur…as the exhibitionist. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I imagine my waves of ecstasy seeping through the walls to awaken his neglected cock in his tight briefs.

I think to myself, 

…I bet he’s wondering whether or not I'm messing with him...if I know he’s listening to me…and if, perhaps, I want him to listen…

If only I were just playing a sick game of tease…Such a possibility would be utterly humiliating for Harry. He loathes feeling like his control is in the hands of another. Said power landing in my hands? Oh…No, no, no. Lest we forget the towel incident? Don’t let the sensitive late-night talks, the apology hugs, or the sleepy cuddles fool you; a switch, Harry is not. Not that he’s told me or anything, but it’s a feeling. When he drags his eyes down to slowly assess me…there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’s in charge.

He has a limited threshold for teasing and babying, which is precisely why he shooed his own mother out the door after a mere 5 minutes of her jests. Harry spent his entire life as the baby. I sense he’s needed a release for quite some time…and it probably doesn’t help matters that my playful antics are sure-fire triggers for his dark dominance to take over. I think he’s struggled to find the right mate to unleash that part of himself with. At least completely, that is. And I hope I’ve been pressing just the right buttons to experience it all for myself. 

But yes, I’ve been fucking myself with lotsa gusto knowing he’s in close earshot of the action. Hopefully, he’s come to successfully make sense of some of my muffled ramblings beyond his wall as, “Yes, Daddy!” as well as the occasional gasp or moan of “Harry.” What? I like it…

Although I’d love to exacerbate the narrative that this has all just been a cruel game started by yours truly—a game that I’m winning, to be clear—I'm actually not messing with him. This had begun purely by accident, and now I'm just continuing to provide some adult entertainment for my, uh...housemate and…good friend. 

Before you scold me for being a perv, let me just finish explaining the situation. Because if Harry had a problem with something I did, he’d tell me. And he never complained about this. Never. 

Quite the opposite, actually.

The first time I did my private deeds with Harry eavesdropping in the next room, I'd initially felt horribly embarrassed. I hadn't realized how shameless I was, or how loud and desperate the noises were as they came out of me. Once I finally caught myself, it was like space and time had spun to a stop, and I was painfully aware of my raw indecency.

I wasn’t watching porn, reading erotica, or listening to naughty audio recordings. Nope. Only my lustful thoughts fueled the eagerness in my fingers as they played with my pussy. I’d also been blatantly inconsiderate of Harry and his right to privacy whilst they did. I felt dirty. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Pfft, I was hardly thinking of anything. It reminded me of the time just before we moved into this house…when I lurked on his social media pages for the images of his slick, half-naked body which burned themselves into my memory, all just to use him for my own personal, sick, sexual gratification.  

And there I was again—now cohabiting a space with the very inspiration for my filth and frustration—lying comfortably atop a spacious, girly pink towel to protect my bed linens from succumbing to my wetness. My knees were spread apart and my dripping cunt was on full display for my closed door across the room. If anyone walked in, they'd unknowingly be entering what many theme parks tend to call a “splash zone.” 

Luckily, Harry was in the living room watching some melodramatic video essay on YouTube…Or at least that’s where I’d left him before ending up in the not-so-innocent position atop my mattress.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that the house wasn’t empty until I heard my own whiny sighs combined with unmistakable slippery pussy-rubbing echoing throughout the room. My cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink once I’d realized the extent of my elevated volume. There was no way Harry couldn’t have heard all that. And I had no idea how long I’d been up to it, or for how long at that high of a frequency.

The click of a door closing nearby interrupted my nervous internal monologue—Harry’s door. He was mere meters away from my partially-nude body, but my private quarters kept me safe from any judging eyes. The wall our bedrooms shared stood as the only barricade between our two bodies. For a while, I dismissed my initial self-awareness and I slowly, and carefully, swirled my drenched fingertips over my clit. More of my liquid arousal coated my petite hand. For some reason, the idea of Harry walking in on me like that had me feeling hot. Realistically, that would’ve meant immediate, devastating humiliation. Did that mean I was into that? I’d say yes judging by the way I was pulsing around nothing whilst staring at my door, picturing the man himself standing there smirking at me…tilting his head and patronizing me. 

…Aw, would you look at tha’…Does that feel good, Sweet Bunny? 

“Mmhmm.” I found myself nodding with a sigh, my eyes relaxed and veiled. My mind refused to backtrack, and instead doubled-down. I probably should have stopped myself right there, but fuck, could self-sabotage feel good.

My brain directed me towards thinking about how pretty and sweet I was on the outside. My body, soft, and my features, so delicate, but so grabbable. Every part of me had an ample amount of plushness to squeeze. To manhandle. My tiny wrists and my elegant neck, the perfect size for a pair of big hands to wrap around. I bit my rosy lip on a whine, then brought my thumb up to rub and tease it before sucking on it. The sinful acts my mouth performed were a secret I kept with the few lucky men who’d experienced it for themselves. I wanted so badly to share that with Harry…I wanted to share all of myself with him. 

“Mmm…Harry.” I moaned aloud, releasing my wet thumb and sneaking it under my shirt, swiping the slick pad back and forth over my sensitive tit.

It was hard for me not to think about Harry whenever I touched myself. I thought about his fingers playing with my hair, him burying his face into my neck the times we cuddled…feeling his hard-on against my ass on the couch…the times when he’d hugged me…and catching his gaze drift down to my tits…I bet he’d thought I’d never notice, even after having done it multiple times in a single conversation. Hmm…was Harry Styles an ass man or a tit man? Or was he something else…? He certainly liked looking at my boobs…and I'm able to confirm that his body has a very positive reaction to pressing up against my butt…

Honestly, I didn’t even care what parts of the body Harry liked the most. All I cared about was how badly I wanted to feel him use mine. I wrapped my small hand around my throat and arched my back up off of the mattress, gasping as I mindlessly pushed two hooked fingers inside my tight opening, picturing a certain tall, curly-headed British man molesting me instead. The sound of my own moans enhanced my pleasure as I rode myself towards peak bliss. My modesty had become non-existent as my hands worked each sensitive spot between my legs and teased at my pebbled nipples. A part of me needed him to hear me that night. I was getting off on that taboo. But that’s all it was…my imagination. 

It was just a silly little fantasy. Harmless exhibitionism. I wasn’t actually being that loud…—but that’s when I suddenly heard more feedback beyond the wall. It’d been some time since I’d heard the door click shut. My personal distractions got in the way of keeping track of time. 

There was an urgent fumbling. A repetitive clinking. The sound resembled a bit of metal hitting other metal. But it was light. Small. Following that, I heard a rough yank and a soft plop as whatever the item was had dropped heavily onto the carpeted floor. An unmistakable hum of a zipper quickly came subsequent to the discarding of the first mystery item—but it was no longer a mystery to me as my sex-clouded mind pieced together what I was hearing. The hands nestled between my thighs slowed at the realization.

Well, Harry’s just changing into his pajamas for the night, right?

My audible x-rated activities bouncing off the walls for several minutes whilst my roommate innocently removed his pants next door…maybe I was overthinking this…I remembered calling out our "goodnight"'s to each other around 10 minutes before I slipped out of my panties and began to shamelessly pleasure myself. He was still in his business-y work clothes when I left him in the living room…and I knew I just heard his bedroom door click shut in the middle of my alone time. And at that point, Harry was right there. He was just trying to unwind, yet happened to be in the room adjacent to mine. It was probably too awkward for him to ask for me to quiet down. 

Poor guy…ugh. I was disgusted with myself. I felt I needed to end my “session” right there, and

I was mentally preparing a nice apology text to send him. There was no way in hell I'd bring this up in person to Harry the following day. Surely I’d be in tears before I could even form the right words. I didn’t even want to imagine the scenario of Harry, himself, mentioning it to my face. Every possible, horrible consequence of my selfishly lewd deeds played out in my mind. There I was, lying there with my knees bent up and spread wide open—my fingers frozen against where I'm most sensitive. The silence made the throbbing in my clit feel even more desperate. 

And then Harry flicked his white-noise machine on.

Oh, God…This was so embarrassing.

I wanted to sink into a black hole and never be seen, nor heard, ever again. The severity of the situation felt devastating to me. Was I truly so grotesque that the beautiful man I lived with had to tune me out with the highest setting of his old, rattly sleep machine?!

Hell, I was more than embarrassed, I was fucking humiliated. For real, this time. And it was all my fault.

I just wanted to disappear.

But just as I was readying myself to book a flight back home to move back in with my parents to spare myself from ever having to look Harry in the eye again…

I heard it. 

I heard him.

“…Mmmhh…”

Beyond the hum of the wimpy white noise, there was a raspy moan on the other side of the wall. I thought I was just imagining it, or that maybe it was Harry quietly retching in disgust, but then it happened again. 

No, yeah. It was definitely a moan.

I held my breath as I focused upon the sound of an abrupt curse followed by the distinctive sound of spitting. 

“...Ahhh, fuck—” 

*ptuh* 

The grunting and other lewd noises continued. I could only imagine Harry’s tightened fist, wet from his own drool, working diligently at his neglected cock.

“...Mm…h-hm…ugghhh…”

It seemed like Harry's white-noise machine had some impressive competition. My lips curved into a smirk and my embarrassment exponentially subsided.

His growls vibrated right through the layers of paint and drywall—sliding their way under my shirt, swirling around my perked nipples before bolting straight down to my fingertips, coaxing them to push deeper into my heat. Squeezing my thighs together and arching my back, I curled those digits and gasped out audibly. Feminine arousal leaked from my center and down the crease where my ass met my thighs. Everything was so slippery. I’d made a mess of myself within seconds. Not to mention, the pornographic squelch of my fingers echoed shamelessly beyond the slick walls of my cunt.

If Harry’s spit-covered palm was loud enough to hear over the white noise, then I knew the splashy reservoir between my legs was audible too.

Another series of grunts and huffs sounded beyond the wall behind me and the white noise machine was switched off. I retracted my fingers and slid them up and down my slit, teasing myself and picturing Harry rubbing the head of his dick along my entrance. My brow pinched hedonistic agony. Oh, God, did I want him inside me…I needed something…anything…

With my less-saturated hand, I reached over to open my bedside drawer and lifted the lower compartment to retrieve the silk satchel that encased my dildo. My sticky-slick fingers fumbled impatiently with the ties until the toy comically launched out of the bag and bounced itself smack down onto the inside of my splayed thigh. I could just picture Harry laughing at my lack of grace even though he was busy with his own deeds next door. The thought of Harry teasing me about the dildo made me blush a bit, and I smiled to myself, imagining his hand reaching out to brush my hair out of my face, his pupils dilating as he’d sit on his knees next to the bed and lean over me until his lips grazed my ear…

Be a good girl and show me what filthy things you do with this, Bunny…Show me where it goes…Show me how you fuck yourself…

I hadn’t realized I’d done it again. I’d gotten lost in that depraved little world of mine, and I whimpered aloud in response to the Imaginary Harry who was speaking in my fantasy, “Y-you want me to fuck my pussy for you, Daddy?” Maybe it was the Imaginary Harry again, but I could’ve sworn that I heard a silky British voice nearby react, “Goddd…dammit, Bun’…Ugh, fuuuck, yes. Fuck that sweet little pussy f’me, baby, holy shit…”

Laying back down, I brought the silicone cock up to my lips and sucked it into my mouth. I slowly bobbed my head on it and soaked it with my saliva after deepthroating it several times. The sloppy blowjob I gave to my dildo seemed to have been loud enough to be heard by Harry next door, as he voiced out, “Oh my god, Y/N…I wanna fuck that pretty mouth.”

I pulled it away from my tongue, a string of drool dripping from the tip, and rubbed the head of the toy against my sensitive clit whilst I responded, bringing me right back to where I needed to be. 

“Mmhh, but you can’t put a baby in me that way, Daddy.”

My own eyes widened and I gasped. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fucking said that.

“Shit! Ughh…Ahh…Ughhhh…Fuck you, Bunny…Almost made me…c-come…Christ—Ohhh, fuck me…”

With my free hand, I sucked on my index finger and let my eyes flutter closed as I pulled it out from my lips, trailing it down my neck, all the way to my breasts. Groping myself as best as I could with the rest of my hand, I used my forefinger to tease my nipple whilst the dildo swirled and swiped around my slickened slit. My breathing picked up quickly. The dildo had eventually disappeared inside my clenching hole. The only audible sounds I remember hearing were those of my own—my high-pitched gasps, the pornographic swishing and squelching of the dildo fucking my drenched cunt, the wet flicking noises of my fingers moving rapidly against my clit…I don’t even remember how loud Harry was at that point, I was too focused on my fantasy—my fantasy with him—to notice. I was so focused, in fact, that I had once again lost all sense of self-control and consciousness, succumbing to whatever had come naturally to me at the time and practically singing out my song of ecstasy for the whole goddamn neighborhood.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod…Harry, please. I need your cum…Oh, god, please come inside me. Fuck all your cum d-dee–oh g…–ah! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop!”

As I begged for my climax, Harry seemed to have been on the edge of his orgasm as well.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me, Y/N…You want me to fill you up? Be my little breeding bunny? God…You dirty girl…Fuuuck…oh fuck, I’m gonna come…”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy! I can take it! Please! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Aaahhh!”

I unraveled with a squeak followed by a series of breathless sobs, my hands, wrists, and arms working frantically and my eyes rolled back whilst the kaleidoscope of pleasure poured through my body. Immediately after my explosion, I collapsed like a ragdoll with the dildo slowly pushing out of me, and my fingers slipping around on my clit to prolong my high. As my breathing recovered, I listened to the tail-end of the orgasm taking place from Harry’s side of the wall.

“Holy shit…Fucking take all of it f’me, babe—ohhhh, yeah…uhh-uuggh…mmhh…hm…Damnit…’So much…I wish all this was inside you, Bunny…fucking hell…”

I’d slept like a rock once I finally passed out. I wasn’t even worried about what would come the next morning. Nah, I had the upper hand on this one for once. As a bratty submissive, I’d gotten used to being teased and controlled. What an interesting feeling to exist on the other side. God, it felt fucking fantastic. Unfortunately for Harry, he wasn’t as confident…or at least that was what I’d been able to interpret in the days following. Nights after the first one, I’d carry on fucking my cunt until I was physically too exhausted to move my pretty little hands anymore. I swear I’d heard Harry finish at least thrice in one night once. (Impressive, Styles.) As for myself…well, I usually lost count.

That first morning, I awoke with sore arms, a rogue dildo laying on the floor, my limbs tangled inside my sheets, yet a ridiculous smile was perma-glued onto my sleepy, orgasm-spent face. I tried my best to tone it down, as I didn’t want to prance around the house like I’d just risen from a deep sleep induced by a gazillion-and-one pulsating firecrackers of pleasure. Too obvious, you know? Had to act nonchalant. Unbothered. 

Who was I kidding—I was the most chalant person I knew. Harry would see right through that charade. But there honestly wasn’t much need for pretending on my part since Harry had actively avoided any and all eye contact with me anyway. I’d never seen the man be so meek. It was truly a sight. 

Things would eventually loosen up as the days progressed, especially if it was a work day which meant Harry had an excuse to be miles away from me for several hours. It was somewhat of a bummer because I thoroughly enjoyed this sampling of power I newly held over the man. I reveled in the way our typical roles would reverse the mornings after our little bedtime serenades. They weren’t a nightly occurrence, as I preferred to keep him on his toes; however, they’d happen often enough that I tended to daydream in the middle of my work meetings. I’d even begun to retreat to my bedroom an hour or so earlier in the evenings, giving Harry some lame excuse like tiredness or a headache. In reality, it was me signaling that I needed to get myself off sooner rather than later. Whenever I’d announce my departure, I could feel how much he’d been aching for it all day, too. Harry eventually utilized the same approach to speed up the fulfillment of his own needs. I’d changed up my tempo, my method of pleasure, the filth of my words, even my own positions whilst touching myself. It seemed like it had become almost like a routine for him to wait for me to fall into bed late in the evening. (Yet another one for me to be distracted by…) 

Nothing’s changed. I still imagine that he patiently lays atop his soft duvet with an anxious throb booming against his eardrums…That minutes will go by with him training his ear to follow each soft pad of my feet. And then I shut my door. I waste no time before diving my pretty fingers inside the waistband of my underwear and playing with my sensitive little petal—allowing all the filth to freely escape my lips. And every single time we do this, I’m in my room picturing him naked from the waist down, one hand eagerly pumping his dripping length whilst the other massages his balls and perineum. To this day, the waves of simultaneous pleasure are still trapped only by the few measly layers of drywall that stand in between us.

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

I know, I know…it’s been a while…but I’m back:-) and this isn’t the end of Harry’s Home—the final part is basically finished, but I wanted to post this chunk of it since I’d been kind of neglecting my account for months now. I hope y’all like it! Xoxo ~ Régan 💋

Tags: @daphnesutton @victoria-styles @pishhhh20989 @heyyyloverr @youdontcaredoyou @jerseygirlinca

[runningthroughthegarden]

you were never mine pt2

summary: a fake relationship with your enemy jack champion was an idea you absolutely loathed. as time went on your mind was changed. until it all came crashing down.

word count: 1.3k , (cutesy moments, angst) pt1 on my page!

over the next couple of days, things were rough to say the least. you tried your best to suppress your annoyance, but it always resurfaced a few moments later. jack wasn’t making matters any better. any time you were close to getting to a genuine moment one of you would say something to fuck it all up. 

-

“jack please stop acting like a baby!!” you yelled in annoyance. 

you were currently in your bedroom trying to get the curly headed boy to cooperate. 

“im not being a baby youre just being insufferable” he sighs flopping down on your bed. 

“you always act like this was my idea!! trust me i don’t want to do any of this just as much as you” 

sighing you sit across from him on the bed. you sit in silence for a few moments, both trying to calm down. 

“ok fine, what was your idea?” he questions, sitting back up. 

“and look who finally wants to listen” you say sarcastically.

“please just explain” 

“ok ok. i was thinking for our first appearance, we keep it simple. go out on a walk, stop for a snack, hold hands, stuff like that. that way we can be spotted and leave. and maybe finally spend some very much needed time away from each other” you finish. 

not wanting to admit its a good idea, jack begins to gather his things. 

“i’ll pick you up at 1 tomorrow, don’t take forever” jack says, making his way to your front door. rolling your eyes, you watch him leave. even after all the bickering, you both continue on with a slight smile on your faces. 

-

adding the finishing touches to your makeup you hear a knock on the door. you quickly get up, slipping on your shoes. you take one last look in the mirror, your light flower print dress complimenting your tanned skin. grabbing your purse, you finally make your way to the front door. opening it to reveal none other than jack champion. he stands in the doorway, taking in your appearance. 

“hellooo earth to jack, you can’t stare at me forever cmon lets go” you rush, walking over to his car. 

dumbfounded and embarrassed you caught him staring, he walks over to open the door for you. the car ride over is surprisingly silent, both caught up in a whirlwind of your own thoughts. finally arriving somewhere in malibu, jack parks the car. 

“you ready?” he looks over nervously. 

“let’s get this over with” you sigh. not wanting to admit how nervous you were. this moment would change everything, for a very long time. jack crosses over to your door, helping you out of the car. a smile quickly spreads across your face as you interlock your hand with his. 

and so the show begins. 

you lean into him as he places a kiss on the top of your head. you walk for a couple of minutes, talking about who knows what. out of the corner of your eye you see someone taking a few pictures. everything was going according to plan. you see an ice cream shop down the street and decide to stop there. as jack orders, you keep your eyes on him. allowing yourself to take in all his features. you didnt want to admit it, but man was he attractive. he quickly knocks you out of your trance. 

“thank you!! hey you wanna go sit outside” he asks, finishing up the transaction. 

“yeah lets go” you respond, hoping he didnt catch you staring. 

walking over to the open area, you find a table and begin eating. neither of you taking your eyes off each other, you continue in random conversation. this was the first time you had enjoyed each others company, no bickering, no yelling, no snarky looks. 

deciding you had been out for a good amount of time, jack interlocks your hands once again to walk back to the car. you soon feel his thumb tracing soft circles against your skin. a slight smile spreads across your face, but is quickly wiped away when you remember why youre here. this is just some pr plan, youre supposed to hate this boy. jack very quickly picks up on your silence. 

“hey, you okay” he asks, looking down at you and giving your hand a light squeeze.

“yeah, just ready to go home” you respond, smiling up at him. 

once jack dropped you off, you flopped onto your bed replaying every single moment in your head. you had no idea what you were feeling but you didnt like it. on the other hand, jack was starting to enjoy himself. he began to welcome the butterflies in his stomach. 

when you awoke in the morning, your phone was blowing up. thankfully, pictures had leaked and very quickly went viral. all of your friends were in shock but hyping you up for “bagging such a hottie”. smiling at the publicity you were getting, you knew everything was going to be okay. 

-

about 2 weeks had passed since your first appearance, and everything was going amazing. it definitely was not smooth what so ever, you and jack still had your bickering and annoyed moments. for the most part you learned to tolerate each other. maybe even started to like each other. 

you had another date planned for tonight but things very quickly went south. you had just gotten off the phone with your parents and it did not end well. they were tolerant of your career but never supportive. one thing lead to another and you were left arguing and crying on the phone. after a while you couldnt stand it any longer and hung up. you quickly wiped your tears trying to collect yourself. hearing a knock at the door you groan and slowly go up to answer it. standing there is jack, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand. unbeknownst to you, jack was planning something a little more special for tonight. 

“oh shit” you sigh, leaning against the door. you had completely forgotten about the date you had arranged. 

“you forgot” jack sighs, looking down at the ground. 

“yeah, something just came up” you make up a half assed excuse. 

“like what??” he asks in an angry tone

“geez jack why do you care so much? i think we can skip one stupid little date. the world doesnt revolve around this fake relationship weve created.” you explain. 

“yeah well the whole world doesnt revolve around you either” he whispers, bringing his eyes up back to you. in the dark lighting he couldnt see your red, bloodshot, and puffy eyes. 

“what?” you question, confused.

“nothing, its just funny that you think everything is gonna stop because something happened to you” 

“you don't get it jack” you scoff. 

“what don't i get? the fact that youre so self obsessed you cant see anything thats happening around you?” he questions 

“what are you talking about?!” you ask in pure confusion. 

“jesus y/n are you seriously this blind? all you care about is yourself. you only ever do something if it benefits you. i mean this whole stupid plan you only agreed to because it would boost your public image. this whole act never made any sense to me. you act so high and mighty but deep down its because you can’t handle people knowing the true you. and here i was thinking i was getting close to the real you. but it was just an act right? something for the cameras?  im done feeling this stupid.” he hands you the bouquet of flowers quickly turning back to his car. feeling tears dwell in your eyes you shut the door. 

you had gotten so close to something real. something that had flourished before your eyes. only for it to be torn down as quickly as it started.

a/n: me ruining every relationship asf

@txmxav @valenftcrush

[heartrender6]

most of the kuwei hate in this fandom is absolutely racially motivated and most of it is probably subconscious but i NEED to talk about this.

and not because i think people r thinking "i hate kuwei!! he's asian and i hate asians!!" tbh most anti asian racism on the internet goes way deeper than that.

basically, what i believe to be the most prominent type of racism against asians, especially on the internet, is stereotyping. specifically "uwu-ification." the east asian entertainment industry likes to paint asian people as cute, submissive and sweet because it markets disturbingly well to american audiences, and whether people mean to or not, they internalize it and it affects the way they think of asian people as a whole. This mostly happens to east and southeast asian women, but definitely a lot with men too, especially in more recent years with the whole yaoi culture thing (i fucking hated typing that) becoming more popular. simply put, it's fetishization.

so how does this relate to kuwei? well, when kuwei is introduced to us, and im not gonna dance around it— he is pretty stereotypically asian. he's shy, innocent, small, good at math/science and— you guessed it— no speaka engrish. leigh bardugo lays the perfect trap for fandom white girl weeaboos to gush over this guy. once i came across a modern au where kuwei's whole northern chinese-mongolian ass is a "shy japanese transfer student." i really wish i was making this up.

but then we find out that kuwei is actually a conniving little shit who is really quite terrible at science and spends all day making shitty drawings of his crush instead of doing math or wtv. The turning point where we are told this is the jesper kiss. This is the point where we find out kuwei is not the yaoi uwu baby we thought he was. and how does fuckin 2/3 of the fandom react?? hate. instant hate. If you search "i hate kuwei" on twitter there are tweets both defending and attacking him, but there is significantly more of the latter.

most of them claim to hate him for kissing jesper but like... jesper kissed him. He doesn't say anything because, in his own words, "we're all probably going to die anyway." does no one see how tragic that is?? he let his first (probably) kiss be taken by someone who he knew didn't even like him because he thought it would be the only one he'd ever get.

and yet the only thing people see is that he "got in the way" of wesper and he's evil. throughout the series kuwei is given no agency, and that's the point of his character. everyone on the planet treats him as a weapon or a bargaining chip. he gets tossed around like a rag doll and to white (or otherwise not asian) audiences, that makes him the perfect picture of a little asian cutie i almost vomited typing that holy shit. but the moments where he takes something for himself— insisting on going to ravka, kissing jesper back— that's what makes people hate him. and don't even get me started on the way people project their hatred onto the other crows, especially wylan. yall will act like wylan loathes kuwei with all his being. he doesn't!! wylan is not a hateful person and he always defends kuwei!! but nooo, kuwei sucks and he deserves it for daring to be a person instead of an idea.

and hey?? guess what?? kuwei was NEVER in the way of wesper. there was no love triangle. narratively speaking, there was never any threat that kuwei would end up with jesper instead of wylan. never ever. the kiss was literally only put there to create drama for wylan and jesper. we never even hear how kuwei feels about it. stop using that as an excuse to hate on kuwei when we can all see it's because you're subconsciously mad at an asian person not being nice.

also disliking kuwei does not automatically make you racist, im just saying a lot of hatred towards kuwei is rooted in racism.

tagging my fellow aapi moots (that i know of) because i wanna hear yalls thoughts on this! @hauntedacousticversiontv @dramaqueentruther

[reds-writings]

rust cohle headcanons pt. 2

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: some more rust thoughts for public consumption. bon appetit.

word count: 1.5k ish (she got a bit carried away oops)

warnings: lil nsfw but other than that not much (let me know if there's anything else! minors get lost!)

thinking about the fact that he didn’t really have access to television until he was 17 

you get a kick out of making any pop culture references that occurred before the year 1981 because chances are they’ll go right over his head 

it wouldn’t be surprising if most pop culture hubbub wasn’t in his realm of extensive knowledge given that he really only sets aside any free time he has for reading or contemplating whatever anarchic thoughts are running rampant in his head that day 

you don’t find yourself in his apartment all that often given that it doesn’t exactly hold the vibe of something straight out of a home & garden catalog 

he also feels something along the lines of self-consciousness when you’re exposed to the eerie emptiness of his space (the printed pictures and erratically scribbled notes/diagrams he has stuck up on his wall from active cases don’t help) 

it’s not something you necessarily judge him for, it just makes you feel a twinge of sadness to see that he only allows himself the bare minimum levels of ‘comfort’ just to get by 

as your relationship grows a bit more steady he finds himself at your place more than his own anyway (he tries to do most of his work at work as much as he can the longer he’s with you so things can be more effectively separated for the sake of his own consolation more than your own)

he doesn’t leave much of a trail behind himself but to the trained eye, signs of him had steadily built up over time in your home 

a cheesy ‘don’t mess with texas’ mug in your cabinet you nabbed for him as a joke from an antique store in town or an old crystal ashtray set out on the front porch railing for when he needed a smoke (one by the window in your bedroom too for whenever you felt benevolent enough to let him smoke on your windowsill late at night)

there was also the growing plethora of his daily attire manifesting alongside your own clothes in your closet and dressers (find yourself wearing any of his stuff and he’s POUNCIN’)

a few scattered men’s products in the bathroom (he’s a straight razor kind of guy cause he seems like a meticulous self-groomer in that way and he has some hair products that would have Marty in a tizzy) 

speaking of the straight razor, sometimes you’ll be the one to throw in the flag when he’s too busy to shave (not that any stubble on him is unsexy but the smoothly-shaven feel of his face remains superior for a number of reasons) 

you’ll have him sit his butt down so you can straddle him to get rid of the culprit of the growing frictional burns on your face, neck, and thighs. a sacrifice made for the greater good.

makes for some great foreplay nearly every time (lil freaks) 

there’s also an extra pack of american spirits you keep in one of your bedside drawers for whenever he runs out or forgets his own

he doesn’t ever make a big deal out of his birthday. meaning he does everything in his power to avoid acknowledging it and just goes about his day like normal. but ever since you got the date out of Marty you never let it go by without doing something to make the day special 

this isn’t to say you cross any major boundaries or throw any huge celebrations he’d absolutely loathe 

it meant small outings to dinner (or whatever that could get him out of the house for a bit if he wasn’t working) or little meaningful gifts waiting for him whenever you had the time to see each other if he happened to be on the job

you just wanted to imprint something about the day that didn’t leave him so passive or resentful that he lived to see another year in his life. that his existence didn’t have to mean much to anyone or himself but it absolutely meant something to you 

Rust awoke in the warmth of your bed to the sight of a dreary day taking place outside. The outline of your figure on the empty half of the bed struck him only slightly suspicious. You weren’t known for being an early riser in any sense of the phrase but the smell of food drifting upstairs gave him an inclination of why you weren’t in your usual curled-up spot beside him at this hour. 

Drifting his gaze slightly, the sight of a blue frosted cupcake on his side’s nightstand with a cigarette instead of a candle stuck in it as a crude joke had the corner of his mouth quirking faintly. One way or another, it was apparent you’d find a way to make the date of his birth as digestible for him as you could each year it passed. He remembered just how offended you’d gotten around the time you first got together and discovered his birthday was coming up soon while he’d had no intention of making you aware of it in the first place. Ever since then, you’d made it a sworn mission of yours to celebrate his birthday in some way shape, or form, always keeping it small with his limits in mind. 

Making his descent down the stairs of your old home, he could hear the growing sounds of Fleetwood Mac paired with your soft humming. Once he finally rounded the corner to come into view of the kitchen there stood the vision of your swaying figure, drowning in some old Budweiser shirt while flipping over pancakes at the stove. 

“Is that you, birthday boy?” The teasing call followed by a quick look over your shoulder had him jumping slightly out of his daze.

“You feedin’ just us or a small village out in the world somewhere?” He quipped as he took in the array of food you’d managed to prepare in the time you’d been awake. 

“I was restless and didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for so I just went ahead and made a lil’ bit of everything. Whatever we don’t scarf down I can take on over to Lou’s down the road,” Was your breezy answer before you paused to point the spatula at him, “she called yesterday sayin’ she had a small somethin’ for you so when we go you’re gonna accept whatever it is with a grin and grateful attitude.” 

“Lou’s one of the more tolerable people who happens to take residence in this miserable state.” 

“Yeah, but you still get that constipated look on your face whenever someone else tries doing somethin’ nice for you. Thus my warning.” The look you had was more cheeky than anything as you finished up your last set of pancakes and moved them over to a bigger plate alongside the rest of the food. 

“No presents this year?” He hummed as he watched you busy your way around the kitchen. 

“Geez! I’ve made you greedy over the years, haven’t I? I was hopin’ to go out into town for a bit if the weather ain’t too crazy. Any presents I’ve got for you, mister, are gonna wait til’ later. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” An amused huff left his nose. 

for your birthdays Marty’s the one to help Rust in planning the bigger stuff (should you want it) given that you had a bit more friends than he did who wanted nothing more than to celebrate you and have fun

you reassured him every year that you were fine with keeping it on the simple side and just spending the day with him while just chilling out (he did not listen)

he’s very much a gift giver in the sense that he’ll be out and see something random only to bring it back home and casually be like ‘thought you’d like this’ then leave it at that

you love your little collection of gifts and trinkets from the grump

even if most don’t see it in him, he’s the biggest giver you’ve ever met 

he doesn’t seek any praise or reward for the silently selfless acts he finds himself committing for you and he carries them out as if they were all completely normal (he has an underlying thing for praise in the sheets though, don’t let him lie. he’ll crumble within seconds at any soft utterings of how good he is or how much you need him) 

you get comfortable with ambushing him with random bursts of affection every now and then later down the line and he just sits there and takes it (mans enjoys it don’t let him lie about that either) 

you’re more outwardly flirty/touchy with him in general (of course taking into account whether or not he appears to be in the mood for any of that at the given moment)

saying things like ‘there’s my dashin’ cowboy!’ or ‘the ladies of louisiana are gonna try and send me packin’ now that i’ve got you locked down!’ just to see him caught off guard 

photos of him are few and far in between, let alone of you two together, but he does find himself taking more photos of just you (innocent and not so innocent) 

he just wants to memorize any and all details of you! sue him!

a/n: just you wait until i start pulling out the sad old man rust fics cause i'm obsessed with that era too. ponytail defender til i die !

[homunculus-argument]

I've learned to be neutral about other people being religious, but my own experience with it was definitely coloured by my issues with my dad. He was a proper Edgelord Atheist, loathing religions as a whole and christianity in particular, never hesitating to remark about how stupid and backwards or primitive it is. My mother didn't care either way, she only talks about god when she talks about gardening. So he was the only one in the house with any strong opinion about it. And yet, me and my sister were babtised, put into a christian daycare for a while and then put into christian religions classes at school.

I always loathed religion classes as a kid and didn't know why, I hated hearing about it and having to put up with it and always felt like the teacher is just insulting us by lying right at our faces, about something that surely nobody actually believes for real. My childhood best friend was put into the non-christian option despite of coming from the same kind of a vaguely culturally christian background as I did, and I envied her intensely for it. I asked repeatedly to get to go to the non-christian classes as well, and was told "no", because my mother didn't think that letting your kids do that was an option even though my friend's parents clearly had already done it.

I had a serious Edgelord Edgy Atheist phase in my teens, and was wrangled into going through confirmation anyway because Everyone Else's Kids Are Doing It Too. The aforementioned friend got to go through a non-religious version of the same thing, which I had not even known was an option, so I didn't think to ask for it. Being wrangled through jesus classes as a 15-year-old bag of spite who was only marginally self-aware enough to avoid physically wearing a fedora, I was not a pleasure to have in class.

My father was physically present in the house until I was 14, until my mother finally accepted that this man's presence might actually cause physical harm - his drunken attempts to cook almost caused a fire, and he drove drunk with me and my sister on board once - and he reluctantly agreed to be removed from the picture. His absence at home made no impact nor difference in our daily life, the man who sleeps in the spare room just wasn't sleeping in the spare room anymore.

We saw him frequently enough after that, he visited us for family events and joined us for outings. At some points I tried to bond with him, over mutual interests and passions, even tried to prompt him to join me on snide remarks about religions that he used to make all the time, but he would not. He refused to bond with his children even over mutually hating the same things. It slowly occurred to me over time that the reason why christianity had played any role in my life was because he had never, at any point at all, moved a finger to stop it. Harmless or not, he had no instinctive desire to move his children away from things he considered bad. He had hated it enough to make it known that he hates it, but genuinely just did not care enough to consider not letting him children grow up in an environment he loathed.

My father died when I was 17, and I never really mourned him - not out of hatred, but because his death had hardly even altered the empty absence that was his presence in my life. I had grown up with religious classes trying to tell me about a loving god, and I had not understood why I had hated it, why I felt betrayed and lied to. My relationship with the christian god I was taught to understand has been exactly the same as my relationship with my father.

Desperately shrieking into a void that is so vast that not even my own echo would answer, and knowing for certain that the dead silence I'm hearing in return is the complete, absolute absence of a loving Father.

[morganbritton132]

based on one of your latest tiktok saga posts:

I'm convinced that when people heard billy hargrove apparently had a crush on steve, a small but dedicated portion of eddie's followers started jokingly stanning billy. the cross section of conspiracy theorists / shitposters absolutely clowns all over eddie's comments with shit like "simping for the man who hit you with his car is king behaviour" and "wow, steve literally ran this guy over and he really just said thank you m'am. pathetic. I'm kissing him on the mouth btw."

I also like to imagine eddie would absolutely loathe this development

Oh my god, this is hilarious and very, very apt for internet culture. People were jokingly stanning Billy and then someone with an old Hawkins High yearbook posts a picture of him, and people realized he was hot then, game over. It’s the worst week of Eddie’s life and he once was on the run for murder, fought an interdimensional slime monster with daddy issues, and died in the same week.

I think Eddie absolutely adores fan art. His studio is lined with art that people have given him and that he’s bought from fans. He was even more over the moon when people started drawing art of him and Steve, but then. Then, these very talented jokesters in his comments are posting fan art of Steve with Billy.

Just imagine the amount of discourse Billy would create on the internet. It’d be worse than the discourse in the ST fandom, because Eddie has never had an opinion that he hasn’t shared. He’d let people know that he hates this. Billy was a bully who harassed him and his friends and liked shitty music.

This would egg people on more, I think, because that’s how the internet works. But Dustin, as president of the Steve Harrington fan club, would not let that slide. He posts a Tiktok like, “Uh, guys. You’re very talent artists and all, but uh. Billy Hargrove tried to kill Steve. He *picture of Steve after Hopper took him to the hospital* beat Steve up really bad and he wouldn’t have stopped if Max didn’t drug him. He ran me and my friends off the road once. And he was racist. He tried to fight Lucas.”

Max also posts. She talks about how hard it was after Billy died and how it nearly killed her, but she also talks about how he wasn’t a good brother, how afraid she was of him, and how he attacked Lucas and attacked Steve for sticking up for them. She doesn’t really want to see him on her FYP.

This leads to so much fighting between people who view Billy as their new white boy of the month and people who are like, why are you retraumatizing that girl in a wheelchair (I imagine post-season 4 Max does have mobility of her legs and walks with a limp or a cane, but sometimes still has to use a wheelchair). It’s just very annoying until the next big scandal happens and people stop talking about it.