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#whistling kite
thenoaidi · 3 months
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Whistling kite (Haliastur sphenurus)
📸 @imanaturephotos
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dougdimmadodo · 2 months
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Whistling Kite (Haliastur sphenurus)
Family: Hawk Family (Accipitridae)
IUCN Conservation Status: Least Concern
A distinctively-coloured hawk found in lightly-forested areas of New Guinea, New Caledonia and Australia, the Whistling Hawk is named for its high-pitched, melodious call that sounds somewhat like whistling. Living alone or in monogamous mating pairs (though on occasion small gathering of individuals are recorded,) members of this species are strictly carnivorous but are highly adaptable generalists when selecting prey; in addition to actively hunting insects and smaller birds in the air and snatching up small mammals on the ground, members of this species living near urban areas have been reported to learn where large roads within their range are located and regularly check them for carrion, and Australian populations of Whistling Kites are one of three species referred to as "fire hawks", in reference to their habit of dropping burning sticks found near fires onto areas covered by dry vegetation in order to deliberately start wildfires that force concealed prey to flee out into the open. Paired Whistling Hawks nest in tall trees and coincide their breeding with periods in which prey is abundant in order to maximise the supply of food available for their chicks, which are typically produced in pairs and which both parents work to feed and protect. Like many hawks young Whistling Kites fledge at a relatively young age (typically between 40-50 days of hatching) but remain in their parents' territory for over a month afterwards, continuing to be fed and protected by their parents until they are large enough to leave and seek out a mate of and territory of their own - after finding a partner, members of this species typically remain together for life.
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redrcs · 2 years
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Playing chasey
Great Herons chasing each other while a Whistling Kite looks on
On my travels
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droneshooter · 11 months
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Whistling Kite
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pochqmqri · 6 months
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Whistling kite at Billabong Sanctuary near Townsville, QLD, Australia
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southernimages · 9 months
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Houseboat stories…..After the Floods
Houseboat stories continued (May 2023)…..After the Floods Dear Reader: As I walk across the flood plain, which was inundated in last year’s winter rains, there is a definite lack of wildlife. Bushes, grasses and other ground covers have been decimated. Last time I visited this area there were: Butcherbirds, Mudlarks, parrots, honeyeaters, Western Grey Kangaroos as well as an abundance of…
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antiqueanimals · 2 years
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Eagles, Hawks and Falcons of the World. Volume 1. Illustration by John Cyril Harrison (1898-1985)
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in-maidjan · 10 months
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to celebrate the fact that i managed to prepare for the next dadnd session in a week while working and organising some other stuff - the mood of the leaders of orlais convening to talk about the very bad no good party at chateau de sorre:
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sabellabella · 5 months
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!!!!!!!!!
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forhope · 2 years
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   “  How  the  heck  does  Kite  even  whistle  like  that?  How  does  he  do  it  for  so  LONG??   “
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emlovessid · 2 months
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@jegulus-microfic january 16, bone, 280 words
It’s a Friday night, and instead of working up the guts to finally ask Remus out, Sirius is instead spending his night at the local hospital emergency room with James, who’s as high as a kite. It’s a vast improvement from the shaky, pale, close-to-passing-out James who he’d half-carried in here half an hour ago, and watching James make a fool of himself is a welcome distraction from the literal bone protruding from his arm.
“You must be James. I’m – wait, Sirius?”
Sirius’ head shoots up at the sound of his brother’s voice, standing at the end of James’ bed in his scrubs.
“Reg! I didn’t know you were working tonight,” Sirius says cheerfully.
“Dorcas is off sick, so I’m covering for—”
“Holy shit.”
The brothers both look over to find James staring at Regulus with what can only be described as stars in his eyes.
Sirius chuckles, “Sorry about him, he's had a bit too much of the green whistle.”
James’ eyes go wide and jaw drops open as he gasps, “Wait, Sirius. You know him?”
“Yeah, this is my brother, Reg! He’s a nurse here. Reg, James. James, Reg,” Sirius says, gesturing between them by way of introduction.
“This is your brother? Fucking hell, Pads. I thought you were a stunner but he is—” James seems to lose the ability to speak then, staring at Regulus with a goofy smile.
“Ah, the infamous James. Lovely to finally meet you,” Regulus laughs. “I just came by to let you know that they’ll be taking you back in about fifteen minutes, so hang tight.”
If Sirius didn’t know any better, he’d say that Regulus is blushing as he walks away.
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simonrillleyyysss · 4 months
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oh man I’m so off timing for your opened requests and I apologize dearly for that. but I have to write this SOMEWHERE or I will definitely forget it. can you write something like ghost x reader (fem or gn idm!!) and reader has just woken up from surgery and they’re like high as hell off of the anesthesia and they’re singing tunes and blabbering random things out? (like facts about anything really) and they’re being really loud while ghost tries his best to shush them as he’s trying not to burst out into laughter? oh and I don’t mind if you add the reader randomly crying in it. it’s much needed. tysm hun!<33
this is so cute 😭😭
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he would be so chill, sat at the side of the hospital bed with his phone in his hand, typing away while momentarily peeking up at you; watching u stir in ur sleep!! when you wake up?? he’s immediately whistling at you; listening to your giggles!!!
would be so confused, yet amused as you looked over at him with a dumb smile, your arms slowly outstretched towards him; high as a kite.
‘hheelooo kiittyy..!’
‘y’alright, sugar?’
‘heeey!’
you demanded, slurring and shaking your head; blinking a few times to process everything happening, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
‘iiicc..ivveeee ggott a boeyfrennd! your handsssommnbuttt…”
“yeah? i am your boyfriend, love.’
you’re so zoned out and confused, staring at the large man infront of you, giggling to yourself a few times, his hand intertwining with your own, humming.
would let you babble and rant about everything,turning on the tv so you could watch a disney movie—slurred lyrics coming from your mouth; humming n’ closing your eyes!!
‘let it gooo!’
‘babe, baby..rest.’
would watch as you broke into hysterical sobs; sniffling and whinging dramatically; head thrown back and wails coming from your throat; clinging onto him.
‘tuummyyy!’
would kiss ur tummy, before finally getting a nurse in to assist you <3
will always tease you for it!
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iveseenstrangerthings · 11 months
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more than friends - a steve harrington imagine
summary: a real fluffy imagine after writing angst for the past few, best friends turns to lovers. Reader is teased about their close relationship with Steve by a jocky asshole, so Steve decides to do something about his feelings. both are obviously pining for each other but just don’t know how to do something about it!!
word count: 3.3k
warnings: really cringe asshole male talk about female character (inappropriate sexual remarks) & swearing.
thanks @urfriendlywriter for the friends to lovers confession prompt!!! <3
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“Alrighty class, notes for the biological study are on the blackboard, you have the full hour to complete this. I expect everyone to have the practical experiment done, and their write up started by the bell. Am I clear with that?” Mrs Peters stands with her hands on top of her blooming belly, slightly leaning against the desk with her hip. 
The class grumble a response and Mrs Peters smiles, nodding. “I’ll float until my ankles hurt,” She starts, hinting to her swollen pregnancy ankles and gets a murmur of laughter in response, “Off you go!” 
The equipment is already lain out for you and your lab partner, Brad. He stands awfully close to you as you sort through the different brightly coloured flowers scattering your table. You have a feeling you’ll end up doing all the work, with Brad copying everything down in the last ten minutes. 
“Jheez.” Brad whistles under his breath as the class volume raises to the sound of students discussing their impending flower dissections. “Wonder who the lucky bastard is that gets a ride on her.” You turn to face him, your insides screaming with utter disgust, he motions his head to Mrs Peters and slides his eyebrows up and down. 
“You’re disgusting.” You say to the white peony that you’ve set out for your first dissection. Brad hears, and just laughs to you. He takes that as a joke, as a compliment, and it disgusts you even more. “Can you start to take the petals off those,” your eyes flit to the five other flowers laid out in a neat, colourful row, “and make notes on their type of pollination?” A tinge of annoyance already lacing your voice.
“Their type’ah what now?” He sits picking the petals off roughly, not following any of Mrs Peters prior instructions, and that fills you with rage. As someone who excels in school and wants to do well, your lab partner pairing feels like someone, somewhere, wants to torture you. You realise that it’s going to be easier, and less painful, if you just do it. Just crack on with the lab practical and let Brad sit there and sniff the pretty petals. “Can you get high on this stuff?” He says, his nose dotted with a tiny bit of pollen from where he dug it into the centre of the flower.
You widen your eyes and nod enthusiastically, “High as a kite.” You confirm, sarcastically, and his eyes glow back at you. Jesus...
Time passes and you’re in your element, investigating stigmas and anthers up close under the microscope, adding to your quick diagrams of each part with brief, but helpful, notes. Ones that Brad will no doubt copy from in due course. He’s sitting, like an impatient child, folding and tearing the petals he picked off earlier. The only time he’s made an effort so far is when Mrs Peters made her rounds and he came to stand by you and ‘make notes’ on your observations, only to sit back down again and scribble in the margin of his notebook when she slunk back away.
“Harrington shown you a good time yet, huh?” Brad’s voice breaks the silence between the two of you and your cheeks flush a deep red as you squint through the lens of the microscope. A thick glob of saliva forms under your tongue which you swiftly swallow back. “Come on, we’re in biology... can we not discuss things like that?” 
You lift your head from the lens and look at him. His face is expectant, expectant of your response, hoping for a bite back, and he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. Your cheeks are still firing up, your vision goes slightly blurry for a short while as white-hot anger burns up inside you. After glaring at him for some time, you return to your position at the microscope.
Before you could realise, he’s bumping your arm with his and leaning down to speak to you, not even the beautifully intricate flower beneath you is giving you any sanity. “If he’s too much of a pussy to do it, let me show you what a good time is really like.” He’s so close you can feel his breath warm your ear and send shivers down your spine, feeling like it’s hitting every vertebrate on the way down. 
“Steve and I are just friends.” The more uninterested you seem, the more likely he is to give up on his pursuit and just shut the fuck up. Or so you’re hoping. 
He scoffs, “Pfft.” His tongue creeps from his mouth and licks his bottom lip, “Friends with benefits? C’mon. I ain’t stupid.” He goes quiet then you feel a soft tickle forming down your spine, Brad’s finger. Then, his breath back in your ear, “Bet he doesn’t know your sweet spots.” 
You shoot back from Brad, holding your hands up, like you’ve been scolded with a hot iron, “Okay. That’s it.” You charge from your station down to the front where Mrs Peters sits, grading papers. “Mrs Peters.” You say, quietly now that you’re down here, not wanting anyone to hear your conversation. In your hands, your fingers tremble slightly with the adrenaline of the conversation you just had. “I would like to request a change of lab partner.” Your voice comes out strong and confident but your face paints a different picture. “Please.”
Mrs Peters looks behind you, at your now half empty desk, and to Brad who sits and moves stems and petals around the table into a phallic shape. He grabs the attention of the pair in front, who seem displeased at the childish distraction. She raises her brows in his direction, when he meets her glare, his cheeks flush a light pink, and he rearranges the flowers into the muddle they were before. 
“Say no more, sweet pea.” She says with an exasperated sigh, shuffling papers to pull out her seating plan. You look over as she pulls a pencil from her pot and pats her lip with the eraser. “Eleanor’s in need of a partner.” She says, tracing over the spare seat on her plan, “That sound good?” Mrs Peter’s kind eyes meet your own and she offers you a sincere smile. 
“That would be great.” Your heart leaps with relief. 
“Finish up there for today, you can move on Monday. He can stay with me.” As you make your way back to your desk, Mrs Peters calls out from hers. “Brad Norton.” The class falls silent, her usual sing-song voice has turned cold, stern. “I don’t recall asking you to make penises with your pretty little flowers. You can stay and do your lab work, tho-rough-ly,” she sounds out each syllable in the word, the veins in her neck protruding with distaste at her student, “with me in detention.” 
The classroom remains quiet as you find your seat and complete your notes. “Bitch.” Is muttered venomously from next to you and you’re unsure if it’s directed at you or Mrs Peters, but you’re past caring. 
                                                          ✦ ✦ ✦
On Friday nights, you and Steve like to walk from school to the diner which flickers welcomingly in the dark winter light as you approach. As usual, you take to your table which is located in the corner of the diner. It is cosy. You love coming here, especially with Steve. It’s a time that you can spend together, just the two of you, have a burger, have a milkshake, and just catch up on the week. You adore your Friday nights with Steve. 
Now, you’re leaning against the comfy backing of the squishy diner chair, the fabric crinkling awkwardly as you get yourself comfortable. You’ve both cleared your plates, smears of ketchup and dustings of salt lie in remnant of what was two full plates of burgers and fries. Gluttonously, as your stomach feels heavy with the greasy food that you adore, you continue to gulp your milkshake. 
“I heard Brad Norton got a detention today in bio.” Steve finishes dragging his last fry through a dreg of ketchup before placing it into his mouth, laughing at the new conversation topic. You simply roll your eyes and let the milkshake freeze your back teeth before swallowing. 
“He’s an asshole.” You retort, swirling your straw around in the thick, creamy drink. Your eyes stay fixed on the pink substance in your glass, watching the small particles of ice slowly melt the more you stir. “I’ve switched partners, finally. I asked Mrs Peters to move.” 
“Really?” 
You nod, your brows furrowing. “Uh, yeah. I don’t fancy sitting and getting creepy back strokes from him for the rest of the year.” 
Steve sits back against the seat, “He did what?” A surge of jealousy, and anger flits through him and you can see it flash across his eyes, a change so subtle you feel proud you noticed. He knows that would’ve made you uncomfortable and he knows where Brad usually goes on a Friday night, he runs over the possibility of going there and beating the shit out of him, but quickly decides that would be a terrible idea. “Is that what he got his detention for? Being a creep?” 
You laugh slightly, “Close.” You take another gulp of milkshake. “He was making dicks out of the flowers.” You realise you’re talking to your milkshake and not to Steve, he’s noticed too and realises there’s more to this story than you’re letting on. He knows you too well. 
“You sure that’s all he did?” He knows not to push things with you, but the feeling is bubbling up inside of him. 
You toy with the idea for a moment. Tell Steve, let Steve get angry and potentially make your favourite night of the week awkward? Or, don’t tell Steve, enjoy each other’s company and go from there? 
You’ve both been close to sharing your feelings with each other on multiple occasions, sat in this very booth. The diner must have an aura that allows you to become content with your feelings with one another, almost becoming more than friends. The diner is where you’ve shared feelings, ranted about shitty weeks, shitty dates; cried into milkshakes over the clear downfall of Hawkins. But it’s also where you’ve brushed hands as you reach for napkins, letting your fingertips linger a little longer than is necessary. It’s where you’ve held eye contact as you talk about things that interest you, the other listening with intent adoration. His eyes glisten as he listens to you discuss another biological theory that you love talking about with him, his lips curling as he listens intently and marvels at your passion and drive for science. You return the active listening as he discusses the trips to the Upside Down, watch little pieces of him break apart as he cracks open his memories of things he tries so hard to supress, but keep creeping back into his consciousness. 
So, with all that in mind, you decide to tell him. “He quizzed me on whether you show me a good time.” You blurt out, placing your milkshake down and folding your arms onto the table. “said he would show me a good time, said he knew my sweet spots. Basically, he spent the lesson trying to get into my pants.” 
His face is a picture of disgust, his eyebrows furrowing so deep you think they’ll knit together. “I promise you; he is one of a kind.” He holds his hands up in defence, “We are not all sex crazed lunatics who like making people feel uncomfortable.” His features soften and he looks over to you, taking in your features as he likes to here. They look softer in the glow of the luminous light that hangs above their window, the streetlights casting a yellow tinge into the corner where you sit tucked away. “I’m sorry he made you feel like that.” His voice is sincere.
You shake it off with a whip of a hand, “Shall we get out of here?” 
He nods, leaving the money on the table. “Come back to mine? We can watch a movie.” 
As you stand to straighten yourself up, you smile back at him warmly, nodding gently at his offer. 
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Warm waves of air circulate out of the heater placed by your feet as you sit in Steve’s basement on the couch, watching a new film Steve rented out. You haven’t really been paying attention, you’ve been more interested in gradually moving your limbs inch by inch closer to Steve’s, your breath hitching as you feel him doing the same. Soon enough, you’re sat with your arms pressed against one another and your leg is resting comfortably against his. 
“Can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said to you.” His voice sounds weird after not talking for so long, the only sound being the grumbling heater and the soundtrack of the film playing out in front of you.
You rub his arm gently, sighing, “Stop thinking about it Steve, he’s not worth it.” 
“No, I know.” He’s quiet for a while again, the flickers of vibrant colours on the screen lighting up his features and your eyes travel around them all. He feels your eyes on him and leans to pause the TV, the sudden cut of sound making the room feel too quiet. Your breathing slows, waiting for him to start the conversation again. Sheepishly, you slowly pull your hand from his arm, suddenly feeling awkward having left it there for so long. He turns his body so he’s facing you and you scoot back a touch, propping your arm up on the back of the couch and leaning your head against your palm.
“Penny for your thoughts?” You probe delicately, you can tell he has something whirlpooling in his mind. 
He shakes his head, smiling coyly. “Just thinking.” 
“About...” Your hands tumble over one another, hinting for him to go on. 
“You.” His bluntness makes your stomach squeeze tight, as if you’ve just dropped from one of those free-fall rides at the amusement park. His face remains unchanged, his eyes studying yours. “Thinking about you.” 
Slowly, you take a deep breath in. Unaware you were holding it in the first place. “Why me?” Annoyingly, your voice comes out as quiet as the hum of the heater, almost inaudible to someone who wasn’t trained in on the conversation. Suddenly the room feels warm, and you realise this could be the time to have the conversation you’ve been longing to have.
“’Cause I think about you all the time.”
You’d hoped all this time that he does just that.
And he does, he thinks of you when you aren’t there, when he’s lonely, when he feels sad, when he lies awake at night wishing he could turn over and feel the warmth of your skin against this. Wishing he could spend the night with you in a blur of heavy breathing, lustful kisses and soft moans. Wishing he could tell you how much you mean to him afterwards, holding you close whilst you both catch your breath and settle into the sheets in a dream-like state. He’s realising now how close he is to having all of this. To having you. If you want him, that is. 
“I know you feel what I feel.” His voice is low and his hand travels to rest just in between the two of you, like he wanted to commit to holding you but got scared half-way and changed his mind. 
A speckle of heat rests on your cheeks. “What is it that you feel?” Again, your voice is quiet, and you feel the pulse thick and fast, the heat rising up your neck from your chest. 
He clears his throat. “I know we both enjoy the time we spend together, as friends. But I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Silence settles over the pair of you, but you know that he’s not done yet, so you wait patiently for him to continue. “You make me feel so comfortable and you always know how to cheer me up, when to give me space, when to distract me from whatever’s going on...”
Hairs on the back of your neck prickle as the tingling sensation of adrenaline courses through your body. He continues, “I hate the fact that even assholes like Brad know there is something between us.” He sighs softly but carries on, “The fact that we haven’t even done as much as discussed how we feel, yet he’s happy to make degrading sexual comments to you about us.” 
You nod along in agreement. “I know.” Suddenly, your whole body feels drawn to him and you slide back along the couch, shuffling down into his side and placing your head in the crook of his neck, resting your arm over his stomach. This feels right, you think to yourself happily. “I love spending time with you, too. I have loved growing close to you these past few months and I-”
He lets his arm fall around your shoulders and he cuts you off, “Wait.” He insists as you feel his other hand come to rest gently against your neck, his thumb resting lightly against your jaw. “Look at me when you say it.” With his hand still resting on your neck, he gradually guides your face up so that it’s inches away from his own. His eyes travelling lazily over your features he’s grown to know so well before locking in with your own. 
Inside your chest, your heart is hammering wildly. Never have you been this close. Never this intimate. “I want to be with you, Steve.” You quietly admit, although it’s not much of a shocker. A smile forms on his lips, which have now moved ever so close to your own. Impatient and running on adrenaline, you close the gap between the pair of you and bring your lips together. His hand stays firmly on your neck, his fingertips gradually gripping the hair at the nape of your neck as your fist grasps his t-shirt as the kiss intensifies. 
The months of longing are finally coming to a head here and now as you are both desperate for each other. Not just in a sexual longing, but an emotional and physical intimacy longing, too. You can feel yourself getting lulled further into the kiss as his tongue searches for your own. 
After a few moments have passed, you both pull away gently, chests slightly heaving as you both work to catch some of your breath back. You rest your forehead against his and brush your nose past his, moving back to give him a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “What do you say then?” You can see the happiness radiating across his face, the creases by his eyes and the soft pink glow gives it all away. His thumb traces across your cheek, “You wanna give us a shot?” He says.
Nodding, you reflect the same happiness glow that Steven is portraying. “I wanna give us the best shot.” 
Satisfied, he takes his hand back from your face and you feel how hot your cheek has been under his touch. He holds you close to him as he reaches back down to play the movie. A couple minutes later, he clears his throat. “And, if ‘Brad’” He uses air-quotes around his name, “Or any of his asshole friends wanna make any comments to you again, I’ll drop those motherfuckers.” He point blank says as his eyes follow along with the scene playing out in the movie before you.
The sudden threat from Steve brings a laugh out from you and it fills the room. Your shoulders shake as your laugh intensifies; he gestures his hands towards the TV. “Hey, do you mind keeping it down? Trying to watch a movie here.” He tuts and shakes his head playfully before resting it on top of your own, tracing his fingertips over your arm so that tiny goosebumps raise on your skin. A couple of minutes later, you find your breathing rising and falling at the same time as Steve’s, your eyes fall softly closed as you’re lulled into a light sleep, cocooned under the blankets and Steve’s arms. 
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masonmtxo · 7 days
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Marley and Theo’s first time watching mase in a game at old Trafford and afterwards they come down onto the pitch and are so excited to see mase
Okay so I dont have the brain capacity for full fics at the moment but have another mini drabble! For the timeline of my fics Marley was born feb 2024 and Theo in 2027 so this is a little out of sync with that.
•••
You watched as your 3 year old daughter squirmed with excitement, pointing towards the pitch with little squeals of “daddy!” everytime Mason made contact with the ball. She was kited out in her first ever united kit, ‘Daddy’ and the number 7 printed across her back, a sight which you weren’t quite used to yet, a lump still rising in your throat when you thought back the turmoil of the past few months. You weren’t completely settled in Manchester yet, but you were on your way. The knowledge that Mason was finally content with his move, Marley was already making new friends with the other kids who’s dads played for united and Theo at only 6 months was non the wiser made it easier. You still hadn’t bought a family home, you desperately missed your friends and relatives down south, but as you watched your boyfriend do what he loved with his baby girl excitedly cheering him on, all your worries washed away in an instant.
“Only a few more minutes,” Anouska nudged you with a grin, “if they can hang on that long…”
The game had been nerve wracking, the teams constantly levelling within minutes of the other breaking ahead. United had finally gone one up, but it hadn’t stopped any of the home fans from sitting at the edge of their seats, the noise almost deafening. Marley and Reign were dancing around in front of your legs, neither of them entirely sure what was going on but the screams in the stadium had them bouncing on their toes, yelling for their respective dads.
When the whistle finally blew and cheers erupted from the stands, you finally felt like you could breathe again, swiftly taking your daughters hand in yours as you shuffled Theo comfortably onto your hip, following Anouska out the back of the box Mason and Luke shared and down onto the pitch where the boys were waiting. It was United’s first home win of the season, the atmosphere electric, the players all pumped with adrenaline as their families joined them pitch side.
The second Marley caught sight of Mason’s figure she was off, releasing her grip in your hand and darting towards him as quick as her little legs would take her.
“Daddy!”
He turned at the sound of her voice, face lighting up as she thundered towards him, crouching to the ground and bundling her into his arms. You smiled as you watched them interact, kisses being pressed to every inch of Marley’s face that Mason could reach as she held herself as close to him as she could get.
Theo babbled on your hip, drawing your attention away from them, “do you wanna see your daddy too huh?” You cooed, “c’mon then little man.”
The smile on Mason’s face made your heart clench, the relief of knowing he was finally happy after months of turmoil and stress was enough to make every other little problem in life seem insignificant. His eyes gravitated to yours, an arm reaching out to grab you as you approached and draw you both in to the other-side of his damp, sweaty chest. But none of you complained as you snuggled into him, words of praise and love being whispered among you, little tears springing in your eyes with contentment at your little family.
🩷🩷🩷
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schnarfer · 3 days
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Purple Haze: Dieter Bravo One Shot
1960's photographer Dieter Bravo x f!model reader
Part of the Dieter Brainrot Club Server Challenge
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Rating: Explicit 18+ minors dni
Word count: 5,000
Summary: That boy put a spell on you
Content: 1960’s London Dieter Bravo AU, heavy on the British slang, explicit alcohol and drug references, reader is a model but no physical descriptions, outfit descriptions, swearing, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint, smut; protected PIV, light bondage, reader is in control and Dieter is a subby puddle, pet names (angel, doll, darling), light dirty talk, playful slaps. Just a note we’re always very Fleabag coded here. Let me know if I missed anything.  
A/N: I did not expect the Dieter Brainrot Club challenge prompts to whisk me away to 1960’s London, but here we are! I’ve combined the two tropes Only One Bed with Forced Proximity, and look out for the ‘Oh I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs’ prompt. I took lots of inspiration from our chats in the Brainrot but I feel I should shoutout @freelancearsonist & @fhatbhabie for some specific *thoughts*.
Big love to the Brainrot team; clever, talented, brilliant and always hilarious Dieter Bravo (and Rahul Kohli) lovers. Special shout out to @sp00kymulderr & @chronically-ghosted for bringing us all together.
Please Join us in the Dieter Bravo Brainrot club
Kisses to my darlings @pascalssbabyy @luxurychristmaspudding & @toomanytookas for their wonderful support and encouragement, so much love to you. Dividers by the talented @saradika / @saradika-graphics All images for Pinterest and do not feature reader, just vibes.
PURPLE HAZE
London, 1967
You don’t say no to Vogue. Even when the photographer is famously difficult to work with. And has shagged three of your flatmates. They had all fallen equally, wildly, in love with him and were consequently left emotionally devastated as he continued to work his way, seemingly fairly indiscriminately, through London’s fashion set.
Dieter Bravo. The American actor, slash photographer, slash artist, made his name in the UK taking photos of his famous pals in the early sixties and now he was a firm favourite with the Vogue team. You couldn’t hazard a guess as to why. Definitely wasn’t the big brown eyes, golden skin and penchant for afternoon cocktails with the fashion director.
You’d never actually modelled for him before, but having mopped up the tears of Caroline, Olivia and Peter in your flat, you didn’t much care for him. His reputation, one of hedonism and shoots lasting until midnight because he was high as a kite and decided they HAD to be done only under moonlight and with everyone naked, very much preceded him.
Such a shame he was so good at taking photos. Infuriating of him.
You arrive straight from your appointment with the hairdresser Daniel Galvin, rocking a fresh cut and colour as prescribed by the Vogue beauty director, and pull up at the location in your beloved little Mini Cooper. You find Lucia, the Vogue fashion editor, with her long suffering assistant Patricia, standing outside the decrepit East London warehouse. They are both dressed head to toe in Mary Quant, with matching Paige boy haircuts. Achingly trendy. The lads strolling past give Lucia an appreciative whistle, but she studiously ignores them.
“Doll, I am so sorry but Cecil’s shooting our new gal Twiggy for the first time and it’s all turning into something of a do, so I thought it would be ok if Patricia and I dash over to Kensington for a bit. I’ll aim to get back here for the end of the day.” These are very much statements, not questions.
You can’t help the scowl that has taken over your face, Lucia is supposed to be your friend and she is very aware that you’re not Bravo’s biggest fan. This is absolutely Lucia to a T, brazen as anything and with skin as thick as a rhinoceros hide. Well, you had to be to survive at Vogue you suppose. She doesn’t flinch at your scrunched up brows.
“Super, super, knew I could rely on you and Dieter. You’re both such pros darling! I’ve hung up the outfits on the rail in order, accessories labelled next to the mirror and Dieter’s got the plan of which area to shoot each outfit in.” She lights a thin Parliament cigarette, looks you directly in the eyes and deadpans, “I trust you both implicitly….”
A nod of her head, almost a challenge, “Have fun.”
For fuck’s sake.
You shout out to them as Lucia snips away at Patricia to ‘get them a bloody cab’.
“Stylist? Make-up artist?”
“Oh no darling, you don’t need them, this is all about natural, natural, natural, we want bare skin! Just whack on the false lashes I’ve left you and you’ll be good to go. Top and bottom darling, top and bottom!”
You watch them disappear into a black cab, take a deep, steadying breath and walk into the warehouse. It’s huge, obviously used as some kind of furniture storage place, filled with random handsome, antique pieces.
Fuck, it’s actually really cool. Light streams in from the huge windows in the flat roof, catching the specks of dust that fill the air. You spend a few minutes wondering around, pondering if you could strap a bit of that Georgian looking dresser to the roof of your Mini… or if that delightful ancient trunk would be noticed if it went walkies. There’s even a giant Victorian taxidermy polar bear.
“Pretty groovy, huh?”
You almost jump out of your skin, Dieter Bravo has draped himself around the Polar bear’s neck and is giving you a very studied gaze, Ray Ban Wayfarers perched on the end of his nose as he peers over them.
Your mouth falls open in shock and he pushes the sunglasses to the top of his head, taking the opportunity to snap a picture of you quickly with the camera hanging around his neck.
“Jesus Christ! You scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry about that, I was enjoying watching you creeping about the place like a cat burglar in your sexy black mini dress. You’ve got great face doll; I’m looking forward to working with you today.”
Oh no, he’s going to be appallingly charming, isn’t he?
Dieter’s every inch the louche Vogue photographer, dressed in merino wool black polo with black velvet dinner jacket and navy tailored pinstripe trousers, then pointed, patent leather boots. He has a purple, psychedelic Pucci print women’s silk scarf threaded through his belt loops in place of the usual leather belt.
His rich brown hair is longish and thick, fluffy almost curls adding an air of chaos, complimenting the patchy beard that’s just the right side of scruffy. It’s unusual, most of the fashion boys you know are still rocking a clean-shaven, mod look, but it suits his defined features, softens him. You try not to be too admiring of him, firstly in case he can tell and secondly, because you’re well aware he’s the kind of man that needs to be kept at arm’s length or you might just accidentally trip and fall into those heavenly eyes, like so many before you.
Dieter Bravo is a walking cautionary tale.
“Thanks…. Can you point me to where Lucia set up the clothes rack?”
Dieter chats away as you look through the clothes. You get the impression he’s not a man comfortable with silence, so you let him fill it. He talks about the bands he’s worked with, the designers who send him clothes and you can tell he’s watching your reactions, waiting for a flicker of excitement so he can be reassured just how tremendously cool he is. For that very reason you give him absolutely nothing.
You’re a model, you can make your expression go completely neutral if needs be. You let your eyes sort of deaden, mouth set in a firm, but not harsh, line. Feeding this man’s already giant ego is not on your agenda for today. If you can get through it without smacking him around the head for being so sure of himself, it will be one of your greatest achievements.
He watches you intently as you expertly apply the false lashes, two sets for the top row and another for the bottom. Natural my arse. Does look cool though, you’ll give Lucia that. You find yourself giving a little pout into the mirror and Dieter snaps another picture quickly.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You know how to work your angles baby.”
You gift him a half smile and still it’s more than he deserves. You whip back straight into business mode.
“I’m going to use that poor excuse for a bathroom as a makeshift changing room. Where shall we do the first shots?”
“Our benign dictator wants the first outfit to be down by the chintzy 50’s sofas on the left hand side. See you down there? Unless…” He tilts his head, gives you a Cheshire Cat grin, “You wanted some help?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Man, I love the way you English girls swear. Drives me wild.” The grin is still there, never faltering; he lets his eyes flick up and down you, as if that was going to the magic key that unlocks your knickers.
“Off you fuck then.”
He sighs. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything to drink in here.”
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You’re artfully positioned across one of the sofas; you’ve both decided this tiny pink flower print one clashes with the Biba mini dress perfectly, so you get to work showing the way the dress falls just above what would be deemed appropriate. Your favourite type of fashion.
Dieter has found a bottle of gin in a section up the precarious stairs which is currently being used as a rough and ready artist’s studio. He’s inexplicably pulled out two bottles of ginger ale from his kit bag, so he’s made you a gin & ginger ale. It’s actually quite yummy
“So… Are you going to cheer up any time soon? I heard you were fun?” He’s jumping deftly from ancient chair to broken sideboard, trying to get the best shot.
“I heard you like to collect models and assistants like they’re going out of fashion?”
“Oh shit, I haven’t shagged you already have I?” There is genuine panic in his eyes, and you can’t help but let out a musical laugh.
“Trust me Dieter,” you stare directly into the lens of the camera, “You wouldn’t have forgotten.”
He likes that, gives you a wolfish chuckle.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about angel. Give me more of that energy please! Fuck me, that was a good shot.”
You tip your head back and laugh, you don’t want to, but his enthusiasm is infectious, and the gin is helping to improve the mood considerably.
“I’ve got an idea.” He steps onto the sofa, takes your hand, so much more gently that you would have guessed, leads you over a ratty looking pouf to the bare, unmade, iron framed bed next to the sofa
“Dieter!” You let go of his hand immediately. You hate to admit it, but something in the warmth of his fingers against yours, the softness with which he held onto you, it has already sent a heat to your cheeks and a feeling in your belly you don’t care to acknowledge.
“Not yet baby…” He smirks at you, the light in those mischievous eyes shining bright. “I was thinking you could jump for me first. Show me those pins in action.”
You purse your lips, give him a hard stare.
“Fine…. But I promise you that will be the most action this bed will see today.”
You can tell Dieter’s happy with the shots, he keeps raining praises on you as you bounce on the bed and you find your smiles aren’t fake model smiles any longer.
Bollocks, you’re actually enjoying his company.
“Oh, these are going to be far out angel. You wanna get into the next fit, we’re up in the studio bit for this one and I’ll make us another gin.”
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You’re in the most fabulous Thea Porter deep green, velvet military style jacket (and very little else), when Dieter appears in the studio with another round of g&g. You’ve got bare thighs, with tiny satin shorts hidden by the length of the jacket and then knee-high socks pulled up tight. It’s no exaggeration to say the man almost trips over his feet.
“Shit, you look divine angel. Velvet is your thing.”
“Oh it’s all Thea, she’s a genius. I tried to steal one of Jimi’s jackets of hers, but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Jimi….”
“Oh, you know, the big one. Hendrix. We were seeing each other for a little bit.” You shrug your shoulders, well aware of the effect this little nugget often has on men.
It’s not the usual jealously that pours out of Dieter, it’s pure adulation, he’s almost blushing, a roundness to his cheeks that’s particularly endearing.
“He’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in real life. That voice, oh, when he talks! I just melted. I could barely string a sentence together when I met him. All too brief, unfortunately.” Dieter’s genuine smile is causing an exquisite single dimple to appear and it’s making you come over all unnecessary. You look away.
“Yes, I was a bit the same, but he’s a pussycat really, such a sweetie. I could listen to him play guitar forever.” You smile at Dieter and you know it has real softness behind it, he returns it in kind, angelic crinkles appearing around those teasing, dark brown eyes. You decide to bend, just a little, “I’ll introduce you properly if I ever get the chance.”
“Well, now I’m in love with you.”
You cackle, a proper guttural laugh, and Dieter clicks away on the shutter, delighted to catch your genuine mirth on film and at the way he can see just a sliver of your boob and hint of a nipple exposed as the velvet jacket hangs open. Tantalisingly close. You gaze up at him through all those lashes, let you mouth fall open so there’s a hint a teeth and tongue. A smidge of excitement spiralling up your spine.
“Fucking magnificent angel.”
You hear an unreasonably loud clanking noise coming from the front of the warehouse and you both frown. Dieter doesn’t miss snapping a picture of your confused face, before going to investigate.
When he doesn’t reappear five minutes later, you reverentially remove the Thea Porter Jacket, pop it on a hanger and pull on the long, crocheted jumper dress that is supposed to be for the next shot. The big gaps in the material don’t do much to protect your modesty to be honest.
You call down to Dieter as you descend the rickety stairs and into the vast space of the warehouse below.
“Dieter, is everything ok?”
He actually looks a bit sweaty, pushing at the imposing metal door and meeting with absolute resistance. There’s a clanking sound that you can’t help for think sounds like a padlock.
“Erm… I don’t want to alarm you… but we appear to be locked in? Someone’s slid that giant bolt over the front of the door.”
“Fuck.”
“Indeed.”
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Lucia, as you suspected, does not make it back from Kensington.  
There’s no phone in the building, it’s getting increasingly dark and you are growing impatient. You’ve worked your way through most of the outfits, but it doesn’t feel quite so fun any longer. You’ve consumed all of the gin, so you’re both a bit squiffy, but it’s made you somewhat taciturn and Dieter a bit grumpy.
Luckily Dieter packed some sausage rolls in his seemingly bottomless kit bag, so you both sit and eat them in silence.
Dieter lets out a long sigh, “Fuck it, I’ve got some hash with me, if that would help pass the time?”
“Oh, thank god!” You huff out dramatically.
He fishes out a little tin from the charmed kit bag and joins you again on the slightly wonky chaise lounge you’re sat on. You watch as he expertly skins up, warming the hash with a lighter and crumbling it in with the tobacco.
“A mate of Keith’s brought this back from Morocco for me, it’s super mellow, slightly trippy.” He gives you a big grin, “Bit like me.”
You roll your eyes. The drink has loosened your tongue.
“Dieter I don’t think I’d describe you as mellow? Chaotic maybe? A fucking nightmare perhaps?”
He looks so utterly devastated, like a kicked puppy, that you just have to soothe him. You can feel the shift in your behaviour and you’re not sure there’s anything you can do to stop it. Boy certainly has a bit of magic about him.  
“But that’s what makes you so astonishing, isn’t it darling? Why everyone adores your photos so much? Your flamboyance and energy are always there but you also allow your subjects to shine. You can always feel the emotion in them darling.”
“You really think so?”
Is he, is he actually desperate for your praise?
Is the Dieter Bravo, literally infamous for his bravado and untouchable ego, in need of you effectively telling him he’s pretty and stroking his hair? Those eyes, they’re so beseeching, so soft and looking at you so eagerly, it’s making you feel uniquely powerful. You could make this man putty in your hands if you wish. And maybe you do.
“Of course, darling.” He keens at the praise and you marvel at what you now hold in the palm of your hands.
You watch him as he lights the spliff, there’s something magnetic about the way this man smokes, cheekbones more prominent as he inhales, strong profile just fucking delicious, soft brown eyes dipped down as he gazes at the brief flames that ignite the tip before turning to ash. You find you’ve let your finger trace along the contour of his jaw and his eyes meet yours, as he exhales a thick plume of smoke with those pouty lips.
“I’m sorry angel, I think this is all my fault.” His hand reaches out to hold into your face as well, you mirror each other, leaning into the other’s warmth and delicate touch. You both let your fingertips rest against the other’s chin, thumbs rubbing tiny circles.
“Dieter as much as I’d like to blame you, I don’t see how someone locking us in here is your fault?”
His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and you dart your tongue out to lick at it, slowly, feeling the wetness seep into Dieter’s skin and watching the way it makes a lopsided smile curl up onto his face.
He passes you the joint and you try with all your might to ignore the jolt of electricity as your fingers graze, as if you’re not already almost sucking at his skin. His hand falls from your face and you turn away from him, letting your own hand drop down to your shoulder, running your fingers against the silken material there instead.
“The thing is… I’ve fancied you rotten since I saw you in that Harper’s editorial. The one on the beach with the shells… I’ve got it up in my studio. I specifically requested you when Lucia suggested this shoot. So, it’s entirely my fault you’re stuck here with me.” He has the grace to look a little bit sheepish.
“I’d love to take that as a compliment, but it appears to me that you fancy everyone rotten?”
He laughs, but immediately looks sincere again, “Well, yes that’s true, I love all beautiful things; man, woman, inanimate object… but you really got under my skin angel. I’ve been trying to wangle a shoot with you for months. Couldn’t believe my luck when this was finally confirmed.”
It’s fun to toy with him. You take a long drag of the joint, beckon him forward and tap on his lips so he opens them, shotgunning the smoke into his mouth. You pull back, satisfied with the look of intense pleasure on his face, as he tries not to choke. Dieter seems to like it when you’re in control.
“I’m not here to be part of your collection of beautiful things Dieter.” You rest backwards on your outstretched arms, let the hash seep into you and soften out your edges.
“You’d be my most prized piece angel, my Mona Lisa.
You snort a laugh, take another long drag of the joint before you pass it back to him. You disappear into a plume of thick smoke as you exhale and Dieter stands quickly, joint hanging out of his mouth, so he can capture the moment on film.
“Shit angel, that was hot.” You don’t miss his not so subtle rearranging of his trousers, the thick outline straining against the tightness of the material, showing you just how hot he found it.
You smoke together until you reach the roach, slowly sinking into each other’s laps as you become more stoned. Bliss.
Dieter suddenly sits up straight and blurts out, “Angel, I’m getting some divine inspiration! I’ve got an idea for the last shot… The dress, it kind of looks like a painter’s smock? Let’s go get you messy.”
He takes your hands once again and pulls you gently up, you’re both a bit fluffy round the corners, a giggle on the tip of your tongue as you take the lead and slip your fingers through his. He slides the smock off the rail as you trail past with light feet and a dreamlike, hash haze clouding both your vision in the best way.
There’s an area with paint splattered dust sheets that Dieter had set up with lights and you place yourself in the middle of it, letting your focus fall entirely on Dieter as he fiddles with the switches and gets it exactly how he wants.
You fear he’s simply not paying you enough attention.
So, you whistle at him, his reaction slightly slowed by the dope, but he pings back into life instantly as you pull off the dress you’re wearing, wiggle out of your knickers and jut your chin in the air.
“Do you need any more inspiration?”
You think you might have broken him. He’s shaking his head slowly, walking towards you and clicking away on his camera as he does, barely breathing as he edges closer.
“Baby I am going to have quite the private collection after tonight.” He drops to his knees, presses his nose against your belly and kisses at the flesh there, as if he simply must have you in his mouth right now.
Your card your hands through that luscious hair, but pull him back, so those puppy dog eyes are staring reverently up at you.
“Hold tight darling, let’s get this final shot done.”
He sighs, reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a wrap and taps a little coke onto the bullseye tattoo between his thumb and forefinger, before holding it up to your nose.
“Just a little something to keep us awake for our final flourish angel.”
He knocks a little onto the softness of your breast and as he inhales, his teeth purposefully scrape your nipple, sending a current of energy running through you, as both the coke and Dieter invade your system. You fleck your fingers against him to try and ground yourself.
You’re enjoying being naked and the effect it’s having on Dieter, so it’s with reluctance that you pull on the smock and Dieter sets to work covering you both in great daubs of paint, kissing at your exposed skin before painting it with his fingers. Fuck, it feels heavenly, a shiver of desire at each touch, making you feel fizzy.  
You’re a beautiful mess by the time he takes the final shots.
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You’re back at the one bed in the whole warehouse, Dieter has laid down a pretty paisley print Victorian eiderdown on the mattress. A tangle of limbs as you kiss furiously, hands in each other’s hair and hot, naked, paint flecked bodies pressed together.
“Do you need me to…”
“No, no, I’m on the pill darling. It’s very liberating.”
So as to demonstrate what a modern, liberated woman you are, you push Dieter back down against the eiderdown, hooking your thigh over his deliciously soft belly that’s dappled with hair and climbing on top of him. Nestling his hard cock against your sex, moving in such tiny increments that it’s almost nothing, but sends a tingle of anticipation and want through you both.
“You’re just a bit of a messy slut, aren’t you Dieter?”
The groan he lets out is obscene, you tilt your head and find a smirk has settled on your lips. You bite down against your pout, let your thumb and forefinger give his nipple a rough pinch, before leaning your whole body against his and whispering softly into the shell of his ear, “But you’re going to be a good boy for me, aren’t you darling?”
“Yes, yes, please… please…” He whimpers and it is doing something unholy to you, there’s a fire raging in your core and you have to fight with every ounce of your willpower to not lift your hips and fuck him to oblivion, right this second.
“Please, what?”
“Please do whatever you want with me baby.”
“Good boy. Let me use you, I want to come against your cock.”
You reward him by holding his cock against your soaking folds, coating him in your slick, pressing him just the right side of firm so you can move up and down and enjoy the friction. He’s so hard, it feels divine, a pulsingpleasure warming your skin as you slowly move against him. It’s too much for poor Dieter, his hands are clutching at you, hips beginning to buck as he chases more.
You stop immediately, “No, no, Dieter, I didn’t tell you that you could move, did I?” You give him a short ‘tsk’, a light tap on his balls that makes him whine, as you lean back and unthread the silk scarf from the trousers in a heap by his ankles. “I’m going to need to help you be good, aren’t I darling?”
“Fuck yes, yes please.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he practically begs you. Fucking enchanting.
Your thighs are tight around him still as you lean up over him, breasts rubbing against his open mouth, knotting his hands to the iron frame of the bed.
“Not an inch unless I tell you to Dieter.” You slide back down, hold your pussy just a little above his groin, take his cock back in your hand and rub his now throbbing head against yourself.
“Making me feel so fucking good darling, such a good boy. You know you need to make me come before I fuck you, you’re just too big otherwise aren’t you?”
It’s a whelp that leaves his lips, “Fuck! Careful angel, I’ll come if you keep talking like that and… shit… I need you to fuck me, please?”
You let him ramble, he’s becoming incoherent but as you slide his cock against your clit, your slick slippery and hot, you tip closer to oblivion and you watch him powerless beneath you, biting at his lips, twisting at your silken shackles. The velvet of his cock perfect as you pump him against you, no better feeling. Except maybe, maybe, how hard you can feel him trying not to rip him arms free and slam you onto the bed.
“Wish I could take a picture of your face right now angel, never going to forget how pretty you look using me.”
You look into his eyes as you feel your orgasm rising in your belly, warmth flooding you and making your fingers tingle. Your mouth goes slack and you call out his name like a prayer, your cunt gushing over his cock. He moans in absolute ecstasy.
Still pulsing, you lower yourself slowly onto him and he hisses with the sensation. You still, your face now just a breath away from his, “Would you like me to fuck your pretty cock Dieter?”
“Yes, yes, fuck it feels so good. So tight angel, I don’t know how I can last.”
“There’s a word missing darling?”
You give him a warning with a clench of your pussy, the feeling of him so hard and desperate inside you making you feel wildly powerful.
“Please, angel, please.”
You nip at his bottom lip, palms flat against his hard chest and continue to roll your hips at a pace that makes him groan with delight.
As you feel your orgasm begin to build once more, you take pity on Dieter, pull him into a deep kiss.
Just a gentle tug at the scarf and it comes undone; “You can touch me now.”
He’s all over you all at once, hands at your face, slapping at your arse, fingers at your clit, seemingly at the same time. A wave of Dieter that’s crashing against you with teeth, lips and want. You fuck him harder, squeezing his cock and rocking your hips feverishly, your legs are trembling; your release almost drowns you,
“Come with me Dieter darling.”
At your command, he spills into you with a groan, gripping onto your hips and pulling you hard against him, fucking up into you one last time. You let him stay there for a few moments, before you collapse down next to him, both panting but outrageously happy.
Dieter rolls over, kisses you again and again, now free to do what he wants, he needs to devour you whole.
“Fuck me angel, that was good… I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’m now dreadfully in love with you.”
You fall asleep together, naked, entwined, wrapped in the eiderdown.
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You are absolutely fucking ravenous when you wake up in the morning. Dieter pulls out a couple of Kit Kats from his bag, which you guzzle with tepid water from the dripping tap in the bathroom as a chaser.
The front door is still padlocked shut.
“I have an idea.”
You groan, you’re now fully versed in how Dieter’s plans go and quite frankly, you’re a little bit sore after last night’s exploits.
“Not that kind of plan. Well, actually, yes, I do have some thoughts along those lines, but this is more immediate, not die of starvation in an East London warehouse type of plan.”
“Fine. Hit me.”
“There’s a skylight in the studio which I think we’ll be able to reach, the roof is flat… maybe we can shimmy along and drop down onto the next building. I think I remember seeing it’s lower and there was some kind of fire escape.”
“So… we’re going to climb over the roof, dressed almost entirely in black and covered in paint?”
He nods at you eagerly, “Fuck’s sake Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested.”
“Oh, I’ve always like the idea of you in handcuffs.”
“You know that’s not how we work darling.”
So, that’s how you and Dieter end up clambering up onto the roof and haphazardly climbing down onto the next building. He has a messenger bag slung over his shoulders, full of his most prized possession; rolls and rolls of film - all of you. The majority of which Vogue is never going to see.
The expletives flowing out of both of you is bordering on the indecent, and more often than not, it’s Dieter grabbing at your hand in a squeaking panic as you teeter dangerously near the edge. Finally, after what feels like an hour, you lower yourself onto the fire escape next door and can see your route back down to earth.
With your feet back on solid ground, Dieter envelopes you in a survivors hug.
You know you really, really fucking shouldn’t, but you risk a kiss on the lips of the deviant who told you he loved you.
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Tagging in some Dieter fans: @katareyoudrilling @magpiepillsjunior @morallyinept @mothandpidgeon @gwendibleywrites @survivingandenduring @ghotifishreads @rulexofxnines @readingiskeepingmegoing @amyispxnk @theywhowriteandknowthings @rosellarecommends @lowlights
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southernimages · 2 years
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Port Elliot to Goolwa…A Wildlife Drive
Port Elliot to Goolwa…A Wildlife Drive
Scrub and dunes between Coorong National Park and Goolwa Beach Dear Reader: A lone Silver Gull is perched on the parking sign next to the Flying Fish Café on Port Elliot’s picturesque Horseshoe Bay. Two hours should be more than enough for a fish and chips lunch while watching a few brave souls taking a dip in the chilly winter waters. Parking restrictions…seagulls only Across the bay, a…
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