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sleepinthrumyalarms · 9 months

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— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous – Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips – the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wlw smut

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homeslices · 1 year

Text

Don’t Wanna Think

A/N: Y’all please gimme requests for The Last of Us. It’s the only thing going through my head rn and I don’t have anything better to do with my spring break.

Summary: Ellie helps you forget about exams coming up. No better way then fucking you stupid.

Pairings: College!Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Warnings: Smut

You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.

The only sounds in the room were your loud moans and the pornograhic slurping coming from in between your legs.

The only thought going through your mind was Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

Apparently you were voicing your singular thought because when you glanced down at your girlfriend, who was making herself at home in between your legs, she had a smug look in her eye.

When you made eye contact with her, she gave a particularly hard suck to your swollen clit making your eyes roll to the back of your head once again.

Her vigorous movement soon slowed to a stop and you could only whine at her lack of attention.

Rubbing your inner thigh, she speaks up.

“C’mon pretty girl, look at me.”

Using the remainder of your strength, you lift your head up begrudgingly.

Ellie looked pleased, almost even more pleased then she did when you asked her earlier to fuck you dumb.

Exams for her and your college classes are coming up in a few weeks and you have been stressed out of your mind. You’ve been pulling all-nighters for the past three days in a row, only to have your girlfriend find you passed out on your table.

You needed to get your mind off the entire thing, Ellie’s been telling you that every time she finds you face first on open textbooks every morning, and what better way to do that then having your very hot girlfriend make you cum so many times you can’t think anymore.

In fact, your exact words to her were, “Please El, don’t wanna think, just make me feel good.”

Ellie was more than happy to oblige.

See your eyes, with pupils blow wide, finally look at her again, she moves her hand on your thigh to your soaked cunt to part your folds.

“Attagirl.”

Ellie jumps right back into where she was before, licking and sucking your clit to her heart’s content, but unexpectedly, she plunges two of her fingers in your sopping wet hole.

Your back arches as you let out a particularly desperate cry and clench around her fingers as she quickly starts a fast pace speed.

All of a sudden her fingers make contact with that spongy spot inside you, one that you can never reach, but Ellie always can. You let out a squeal, coming again for the third time tonight, all over her hand.

Slowing her fingers, making sure you ride out your high in the fullest, Ellie presses a few light kisses to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Think you’re ready for my strap, pretty girl?” She questions as she puts her fingers, which were covered in your cum, in her mouth.

Nodding your head enthusiastically, you open your legs wider for her. She just hums at your eagerness and leans over to place a messy kiss on your lips, parting them while doing so so you could taste yourself on her.

Ellie’s purple strap was already attached, so as she passionately, yet messily made out with you in your half fucked out state, she gently rubs her silicone cock up and down your slit.

“I need words pretty girl.”

You suck in a sudden breath as the tip brushes against your sensitive clit.

“Yes, yes, m’ready.” You choke out.

Ellie just looks at you amused, as she slowly inches the large cock into your weeping cunt, giving you a chance to adjust to the size.

You whine at the stretch and bring your hands up to Ellie’s biceps, which were caging in your withering figure.

Finally bottoming out, she gives you a few seconds to fully get accustomed, but after you buck your hips up trying to get some sort of pleasure, she doesn’t give you any more grace.

Ellie begins a quick pace, similar to the one her fingers previously had, and you start to cry out to her once again.

The silicone kept hitting that one spot in you with every snap of Ellie’s hips, and your vision soon became hazy with pleasure. Your eyes become unfocused as the base of the strap grinds against your clit with every thrust.

Soon any coherent thought leaves your head so that the only thing coming out of your mouth besides whines and moans, is incoherent babbling.

Ellie was very much amused at your fucked out state, as well as pleased with herself for making your wish come true.

“Such a good girl for me.” She says as she kisses and sucks your neck, marking you as hers. “Look at you making a mess all over my cock.”

The base of the strap at this point is drenched with your slick and Ellie’s hand soon reaches down in space connecting the both of you together and starts rubbing quick circles around your clit, all the while speeding up her thrusts.

You let out one last sob as the coil in your stomach soon snaps. White pleasure floods your vision as you soak the sheets beneath the both of you.

You feel euphoric, like you're floating. Not a single thought travels through your mind as you ride the high, feeling more relaxed than you have in weeks.

Slowly, but surely, you came back down to reality only to find Ellie looking right at you while cupping your face.

“Hey pretty girl, you back?”

You let a shaky “mhm” only for Ellie to sit the both of you up and hand you a glass of water.

It was only then you noticed the change of sheets and the oversized band tee and boxers, belonging to your girlfriend, that you now wore.

You gulp down the water that was handed to you and soon, lay back down together in the same position you were previously.

“Feel better?” Ellie asks in a gentle tone.

“Much better,” you breathe out. “Thank you Els.”

“Anytime pretty girl. Seriously, anytime.”

You let out a light laugh at that.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just do what you do to destress and smoke a joint to get high.”

With a mischievous glint in her eye, your girlfriend plants an idea in both of your minds.

“Why not do both?”

#ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #tlou x you #tlou smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie smut

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ambassadorarlert · 1 year

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3:15 AM

genre: fluff, domestic bliss warnings: emetophobia (baby vomit lol) word count: 1k a/n: prompt list. i've been seeing a lot of dadmin stuff and had to chime in. this totally isnt a self indulgent. not at all.

The only reason you had gotten out of bed was because you could hear the desperate wailing of an upset infant down the hall, and Armin was nowhere in sight. Your instincts pulled you to follow and investigate. You peeped through the crack of the nursery door, watching and listening to Armin pace across the floor and shushing desperately.

Armin was clearly struggling. You decided not to watch anymore, and opened the door. Armin jumped and quickly turned around when he heard the squeaky floorboard under your foot.

“What are you doing! You’re not supposed t-to be out of bed!” Armin gasped at the sight of you standing up.

You were taken aback by his appearance too. His eyes were red and swollen, as well as his cheeks that were tear stained. The baby girl, so little and so frail in his giant hands and strong arms, was just as crimson in the face as her father was. Her shrill cries echoed off of the walls, you almost covered your ears.

“Are you crying?” You asked. Armin blinked his eyelids rapidly. He looked between you and the baby, unsure of where to begin in describing the situation.

“I-” He stammered.

Only three days had passed since your little girl had been born, and Armin was still learning how to handle and care for a new baby. So far, he felt like he had been doing a good job. He changed every diaper, made sure her bottle was not too hot or cold, and always made sure to support her neck. Armin had even made her smile a few times when he used his pinky to tickle her nose.

Perhaps he thought that to himself too soon, as tonight she was quite unhappy. She toyed with Armin and the bottle. She’d sucked for a moment or two, then spit it back out. Maybe she just wasn’t that hungry, and she didn’t want to mindlessly naw on a pacifier either. Her pants were also clean. Armin sang, hummed, spoke to her sweetly. He asked her what the matter was as if she would outright tell him. No amount of rocking, swaying, or bouncing could satisfy her which made Armin’s anxieties spiral.

What if she was in pain? What if she had an itch she couldn’t scratch? What if there was nothing he could do? Or, worse, what if he was somehow the problem? The tears of defeat began to pour, he couldn’t hold them back if he tried. Intrusive and destructive thoughts fogged his vision. Was he really so useless that he couldn’t even make his own child happy? Armin wasn’t sure if it was just him, or if the baby's cries were getting louder. His elbows were growing sore from holding her for two hours straight. His temples were pounding like drums, and he was quite exhausted. This night would be his fourth all-nighter in a row.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong! She won’t s-stop crying, I’ve done ev-everything!” Armin hiccupped as he explained. His lips quivered and more salty tears raced down his cheeks.

“Let me take her.” You offered.

You met Armin in the middle, reaching out your arms to take the baby from him. The only relief he felt was stretching out his arms. A dark cloud of fatherhood rained on his shoulders. Once you had the baby comfortable, the crying eased but not by much. Armin went in to explain all the things he had done to try and sooth her as he helped you sit in the rocking chair in the corner. From what you understood, he had done everything right.

“Sometimes babies just cry.” You said simply. Armin’s frown deepened.

“Just… because?” He wondered.

You nodded. Armin found that hard to believe. He couldn’t imagine his precious little girl crying just because she felt like it. There had to be a reason, and there had to be something he could do. Armin twiddled with his fingers. He watched as you rocked back and forth, baby on your shoulder and patting her backside with your palm.

After a dozen or so pats, she let out a burp that could have come from a grown person. You both made shocked and unexpected faces at each other. You could feel her little frame deflate slightly against your shoulder. Silence suddenly fell, it made Armin’s ears ring. Bricks had been lifted from his chest. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. Before Armin could even ask, and you knew he would, you passed the baby back to him. He looked at you as if you had performed a miracle.

“You’re amazing.” He breathed, taking her back.

Just as Armin was bringing her to his chest, she spit up right onto his shirt. The soiled shirt did not bother him. How could he be mad anyway, she was just too cute now that she had expelled her discomfort. You clapped a hand to your lips to stop yourself from blatantly laughing out loud. Armin chuckled awkwardly.

“I believe she just puked half her body weight onto me.” Armin half-joked. The redness in his face had faded to a flush pink, and his eyes had cleared.

You stood up, taking the soiled baby from his arms again.

“I’ll handle this. You go change. Then, try and get some sleep.”

“I’ll be back in just a second.” Armin softly promised.

He put a kiss to your forehead gently, and then to the baby twice as much. You snorted as he stripped his shirt off before he could completely leave the room. You looked down at your daughter in your arms. Her eyes were starting to roll back, sleep finally calling to her. She had your hair color, lips and chin. However, her nose, eyes, and eyebrows were Armin’s. A perfectly split image of you both. You gave each of her little fists a kiss, as well as the bottoms of her wrinkly feet.

“You’re going to drive him mad, aren’t you?”

thank you. reblogs and feedback are appreciated! arlertwitch © 2023. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost any works by arlertwitch on any other platforms. violators will be prosecuted in accordance within the law.

#my writing #armin arlert #armin fluff #armin x reader #armin x you #armin x y/n #armin headcanons #armin x gn #armin x fem reader

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only-angel-28 · 8 months

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1999, part one

ok. this is my very first fic and the first time ive done any creative writing that isnt for a gcse english writing exam. this is part one of a mini series called "1999" (inspired by beabadoobee's song). im literally making it up as i go😍🙏.

please lmk what you think: should i scrap it or keep going? anything i should change?

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

warnings: none!

1999, part two

1999, part three

1999, part four

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Summer had always been a time Belly, Steven and I had looked forward to. Sure Christmas and Easter were beautiful and memorable, but there was something about spending our summer at Cousins Beach. We'd been doing it ever since we can remember. For a whole three months, the Conklins and the Fishers did everything together. It was like while the rest of our year was shit, summer was always there to turn it around. We watched fireworks together, surfed, barbequed, and pulled all-nighters out in the backyard in tents pretending we were far away from our parents in some other country when in reality they were only a few feet away drinking wine and talking. We spent every waking hour together for those three months. And now that we’re all older, we party together.

After Belly and I turned sixteen we started seeing the boys in a different light. It was like they were the same boys we’ve known all our lives but somehow different.

Steven would make fun of us for what seemed like years on the car ride to Cousins whenever he heard us giggling and whispering about how Belly and Jeremiah were destined to be since he posted a reel with her favourite song (he can't even remember her favourite colour for the life of him). But whenever she’d ask me about Conrad I’d shake my head and blush trying to convince her I didn’t like him like that.

Conrad was…complicated. He was gorgeous and tall and perfect and way out of my league. Hell, he probably saw me as a sister to him and nothing more. I had seen him go through girls year after next and had slowly started to lose hope of there being an ‘us’ anyway.

My thoughts get interrupted by yet another loud sigh by Steven. I swear if I don't end up strangling him by the time we get there…

“I’m boredddd”, Steven sighs.

“Steven that's your tenth consecutive ‘I’m bored’ in a row, can’t you think of anything else to say?” Belly all but yells at him.

He lets out another sigh before I wack the side of his head from the backseat.

“Hey!” he yells out trying to get me back from the passenger seat while Belly laughs and starts recording the moment on her phone.

“Alright, kids can we dial down on the domestic abuse, please? I’d like to go at least a few hours before having to swallow another paracetamol from your headaches.”, Mom says obviously getting fed up with us.

Instead of arguing back I try and shut Steven up by asking him questions.

“So Stevie,” I start, giggling as he annoyingly groans at the nickname Belly, Taylor and I made up for him, “what are you…most excited for this summer?” I ask making up the question off the top of my head.

Steven thinks for a minute before answering, “Surfing for sure.” He nods.

“Drinking wine with Susannah.”, says Mom smiling at the thought of her best friend.

“Fourth of July.”, says Belly.

“You sure you’re not most excited to see Jere?” I nudge her with my elbow as she squeals and looks away.

“What about you honey, what are you most excited for?” Mom asks, looking at me through her rearview mirror.

“The bonfire.” I say, smiling.

I’ve always loved the bonfire. Everything about it, it's always such a vibe. The kegs, the fire, the songs, the smores. It's always been my favourite part of the summer.

Until this summer, when I brought my boyfriend to Cousins.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

“You guys ready for the bonfire, should we go down?” Conrad asks as he enters the living room. I look up at him from my position with Belly on the couch. God, I’d forgotten how pretty he was.

Conrad comes behind the couch and wraps his arms around my neck giving me a slight hug before pulling away, “I missed you.” he says looking down at me.

Before I can reply Steven speaks up, “Aw Connie, no worries man I’m here now,” he says smiling enthusiastically as he pulls Conrad towards the door by his shoulders while everyone laughs at his misunderstanding.

Conrad looks at me expectantly and takes out a small box from his pocket.

“Let's go, man,” Steven says to Conrad before pulling on him again, “I wanna show you this really cool trick I learned the other day…” He drones on as Conrad’s eyebrows furrow and he looks back at me, “Aren’t you coming?” he asks pointing at me questioningly.

I give him a sad smile before responding, “I’ll join you guys later, I’m gonna wait here for Dean he should be here soon.”

Just when I thought they couldn’t, Conrad’s eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“Who’s Dean?”

“Oh didn’t we tell you?,” Belly responds, “Y/n has a boyfriend.”

Conrad and Jeremiah’s faces were a sight to see. Eyes wide, mouths agape and eyebrows straight up, staring at me as if I had told them I got my eyeballs tattooed.

“Okay, you don't have to be that surprised…ouch.” I wince.

Conrad and Jeremiah straighten up and Jeremiah looks at me and smiles before saying, “No, no that’s…uhm that’s great Y/n.” He looks at Conrad halfway through his sentence as Conrad looks down at his feet and puts the box he was holding, in his pocket before turning to Steven and talking to him about setting the keg up for the bonfire and walking out the door without sparing a glance to me.

“That was weird.” I say to Belly as she leans in to give me a hug,

“Totally. What’s his deal?” she responds.

“Beats me.” I shrug before yelling “Have fun! Use protection!” out behind her and Jeremiah before Belly turns her head around and flips me off which just makes me and Jeremiah laugh harder.

I sigh and turn the tv on. With Mom, Susanna and everyone going out, I was the only one left to wait for Dean. I wonder how long he’ll be, I can’t wait to go to the bonfire. Luckily I got a text from him just as I decided on watching Gilmore Girls.

'hey, i'll be there in five :)'

whew that’s part one done! here’s part two!!

1999, part two

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #fanfic #fics #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #jeremiah fisher #steven #steven conklin #belly #belly conklin #team conrad

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destourtereaux · 1 year

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his #1 best friend - james f. potter x fem!reader (part 2)

read part one first!! summary: after a month of dating james, you come to discover some bizarre flutterings within your heart. the problem is, you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same way… wc: 2.1k taglist: follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs!

prompts (from @novelbear): “sad…i have a blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with.” “don’t say that, i love every minute spent with you”

a/n: it’s been so long since i've written anything! praise the winter holidays for allowing my creative juices to flow again :) also… i tried some angst in this one! it’s not great, but it’s my first time, and it was pretty fun to write. i hope you enjoy!

It had been a week since you made the unnerving discovery of your developing feelings toward your best friend. You repressed them as best you could…but it’s as they say: the heart wants what the heart wants. It was just bad luck that yours wanted James Potter, while his wanted Lily Evans.

Now, everytime the Gryffindor paid for a date, it was no longer a moment of happiness; instead, it served as more of a reminder that this was simply a deal between the two of you – nothing of substance. Worse, you knew Lily was slowly taking more of an interest in James, a fact he eagerly reported on every mealtime, a reminder of the ticking countdown on your ‘relationship’. Although you knew that whatever you two had was foundationally fake, you couldn’t help but dread the day you would have to say goodbye for good.

The next month was a big month for Gryffindor. The first official Quidditch Cup matches were about to begin, following the months of recreational play. The game was Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, and James had been spending every waking minute with his team on the pitch. You, on the other hand, were preparing for some grueling midterm exams. The Quidditch athletes might have gotten them postponed, but you weren’t as lucky… So, while James was coaching and running drills, you were practically breathing DADA, Charms, Transfiguration and whatnot. This led to a lot of all-nighters for both of you, and only a brief, exhausted conversation before you both drifted off into sleep.

******

On the day of the big game, James was hyped. No matter how nervous he may have been on the days preceding the match, he only ever felt excitement on the day of. After one of his famous pep talks to the team, they were off.

A few moments later, James scored his first goal, welcomed by thunderous applause from the red and gold crowds in the stadium. But his mind was on one person and one person only. As he flew past the stands, his eyes searched for you instinctively, sifting through the hundreds of spectators. In fact, the action was so automatic that he never stopped to process how just a month ago, it would’ve been Lily he was looking for.

Much to James’ disappointment, you weren’t in your usual row, where he’d grown accustomed to you screaming with the crowd and smiling at him with unbridled joy. He glanced around in concern – just where were you? You usually never missed a match…

He stored a mental reminder to look for you immediately after the game, and rejoined his team.

******

You didn’t mean to miss the game. It’s just that you had been studying so hard lately, skipping meals and losing sleep in order to keep your grades up. One moment you were reading over the Potions textbook and the next, you were fast asleep, cheek pressed onto the page.

This was how James found you. Instead of joining in the festivities in the Common Room, he found himself pulling away and heading up the girls staircases. He pushed open your dorm door, hoping you were alright, and found you curled in your chair, hair strewn over the pages of your book, wearing his Quidditch jersey.

And just like that, his concern and disappointment melted away, leaving behind a warm feeling in his chest. ‘You look good in my jersey’, he thought, before covering you with a blanket and turning off the lights.

******

You woke up an hour later. You rubbed your eyes, drowsy for a second. Then, realization hit as you caught sight of the time… “Shit. I missed the game.”

Your first thought was of James, and you practically ran out of your room in a rush to find him and apologize. You hurried up the boys’ side, passing by the celebrations without a second thought. Shoving open James’ door, you find him asleep on his bed, a peaceful expression of happiness on his face.

‘I guess he must not have noticed that I was away,’ you thought, with a pang of sadness in your heart. You mumbled a quick ‘Nox’ and turned away, heading back out so as to not disturb the exhausted Gryffindor, but you’re stopped by the sound of his voice.

“Aw, leaving so soon, Y/N/N? That’s sad – I have this blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with…” he pouts.

Your heart leaps, and you roll your eyes at him, “you’re so cheesy, Potter.” But you climb in beside him regardless, revelling in the heat radiating off of him. “You’re like an oven – how are you this warm?”

“Maybe it’s so I can keep you close,” James jokes, still half asleep, “we all know you’re basically cold-blooded.”

You scoff, “wow, and I was going to apologize for missing the big game.”

“Y/N? Apologizing? Now that, I’ve got to see,” James laughs, and dodges the slap you try to land on his arm – curse those Quidditch reflexes. “Oh come on, Y/N/N, I’m kidding! I missed you at the game today. Seriously.”

You wince, “I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep. I was prepared for it too!” pointing at your attire.

The boy smiles, looking at the jersey you’re donning, and kisses your forehead. “I know. You look stunning, honest. It definitely threw me off to see your spot empty though. You’re my good luck charm, you know.”

Your heart jumps at these words, betraying your brain’s messages to stop believing in this - whatever this was. Your cheeks bloom with red, and you’re glad the dark of the room hides their flush. “Yeah yeah, save the lines. We all know that’s your ‘Lily flower’” you poke with a forced laugh, ignoring the pang in your chest.

To your surprise, James doesn’t join in. Instead, he pauses, as though confused, before offering up a slow smile. “Ah, but she’s not here right now, is she? Y/N, you are the only girl for me. Swear on Godric.”

You laugh awkwardly. He’s joking, you know he is. The whole of Hogwarts knows of James’ undying love for Evans, it’s like a part of him. So why is he acting as though you even hold a candle to Lily’s flame? Screw it, you think. You might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts. And so, your smile is genuine as you drift off to sleep in the Gryffindor’s warm embrace.

Hours later, Sirius and Remus head up after the party to find the two of you, fast asleep in James’ room. They sigh simultaneously, wondering why the hell you’re both so blind.

******

You were able to make it to the next game! Midterms were basically over, save History of Magic, but you already knew that was a lost cause. And so, you headed to the pitch along with the rest of the school, clamouring and cheering for Gryffindor.

You were the first face James noticed when he looked over at the crowd before the whistle. You smiled at him, and your eyes crinkled at the corners. James beamed back, so lost in thought of you that he almost got in the way of a pass between his chasers.

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of fear, but thankfully, he recovers, and the bastard even has the audacity to wink at you before flying away. What an idiot, you think, as you let out the breath you’d been holding.

******

Gryffindor won again, beating Ravenclaw, albeit narrowly. James stumbled off his broom, tackled by his team members as they formed a huge heap of cheers and joy.

As soon as he could extricate himself, he pushed himself up to find you smiling at him, a bouquet clutched in your hands.

“For you! I read somewhere that guys never receive flowers, and I found that so sad. So, here you go. Congrats on another match well played, Potter.”

James is glad his cheeks are still red from the game because it helps conceal the blush spreading like rapidfire across his face. He takes the bouquet with one hand, then pulls you into his side with the other, landing a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, Y/L/N. This means a lot,” he whispers into your hair, amidst the whistles from his teammates.

******

Back in the Gryffindor common room, music is blasting, and everyone is in high spirits. As you climb in through the portrait hole, James asks if you’d like some punch, and heads over to get some for the both of you. You’re left with Remy and Sirius on the couch, both of them looking at you with knowing smirks.

“What?” you prompt.

“What do you mean, what?” Sirius responds, “You like James. It’s rather obvious.”

Your cheeks immediately redden, and you deny it at all costs. “As if. In case you forgot, we’re fake dating. Emphasis on fake!”

Remus chimes in at this, “In the beginning, sure, but anyone with vision can tell that it’s not an act anymore. Do you know how many pranks James has blown off to spend time with you?”

You laugh at this, “maybe James is just growing up, you guys.”

“Prongs? It’ll be another 10 years before that happens,” Sirius quips, but stops as he follows your line of sight.

There, near the punch table, is your date, talking to a certain redhead. Scratch that. He was never yours. You knew this would eventually happen, so why does it still hurt like so?

Turning away so Sirius and Rem don’t see the tears welling up, you excuse yourself immediately, ignoring their protests. Running out of the common room, you curl up on a window sill looking out at the darkening sky as the tears come rolling down.

******

It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally hear a familiar voice. The very voice you could recognize anywhere and yet wish it were not here.

“Y/N! What is going on? I came back with the punch and you were gone. Sirius and Rem are giving me the cold shoulder too?”

You quickly wipe away the tear tracks off your face, hoping you don’t look too devastated. “Did Lily finally ask you out? Is the deal done?” you smile weakly, committed to the very end.

“What are you talking abou–” James starts, but you cut him off.

“I’m happy for you, Jamie, I really am. But it hurts right now. So I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone for a day or so. I’ll get over it,” you force out, knowing the last part is a lie.

James opens his mouth again, but you lift a hand.

“I know it was stupid of me, I mean we made a contract, for Godric’s sake! How did I still manage to mess up? I went into this knowing that every date we went on, every moment we shared would be fake. Fillers for until you could repeat those same activities with Evans. So why do I still feel so bad?” you choke out, before the tears in your throat silence you.

James winces, and pulls you into his chest, stroking your back.

“If you would just let me finish, Y/L/N! You’re so stubborn, honestly. First of all, don’t say that. I love every minute spent with you. You’re kind and brave and so incredibly funny. Don’t ever think like that again. Seriously,” he starts, “and second, I was going to say that Evans never asked me out. In fact, she was congratulating me on how good you and I were together.”

You pull away and meet his eyes, stunned. “I- what? I’m so sorry James. I guess it just didn’t work ou–”

Now it's James’ turn to interrupt. “No, Y/N/N, you still don’t get it, do you? It’s not Lily for me anymore, it’s you. She was right, you make me better. I just never realized until now.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. James Potter, the golden boy, liked you back. Your face breaks out into the first genuine grin in hours, and you finally let yourself believe it.

Seeing this, James laughs, and steals a kiss on your cheek. “Now that you’re happy and all, how about we talk about your little spiel just now?” he prompts, waggling his eyebrows.

You elbow him, ignoring his protests, “how about no. I think we should pretend this never happened.”

“Not gonna be that easy, Y/L/N. Weren’t you just crying over me? James teases. “Hey! Wait up!” he cries out, hurrying to catch up as you hop off the ledge and walk away.

As you near the portrait hole, he finally reaches you again, and swings an arm around you.

“So… does this mean I can kiss you now?”

“James!”

******

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#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagines #james potter imagine #james potter oneshots #james potter oneshot #james potter smut #james potter x fem!reader #marauders x reader #marauders era #james potter #marauders oneshots

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bbgthoma · 1 year

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— DAY 30 ; SLEEP DEPRIVED genshin impact x gn!reader

ft. thoma, albedo, xiao, diluc ragnvindr

cw. breastfeeding, breast touching, blowjob, handjob, hickeys

a/n. if thoma doesn’t show up in my bed tonight i might just cry

KINK/FLUFFTOBER

❥ thoma had just gotten back home after spending his entire day cleaning up the kamisato estate, completely exhausted. on the opposite, you were completely awake, you couldn’t close your eyes. thoma grumbled something as he laid down beside you. “what’d you say?” you asked. “i said good night” he said on a tired tone.

“oh, but i can’t fall asleep” you said as he opened his eyes to look at you. he sighed about to say something, but before he could finish his sentence, you sat up on his hips. his eyes widened as you placed your hands on his tits. “i wanna play with you instead” you whined. you left the man flustered and speechless.

“can i?” you asked as he groaned. “i’m very sleepy right now…” he grumbled. “please” you said but the man refused. “pretty please thoma, i’m begging you” you begged. he sighed saying "fine" and you quickly started playing with his nipples. he lets out a gasp as you lean over to lick them.

he lets out a gentle moan as you squeeze one whole licking the other. you rub your knee against his dick as he moans "(y/n) please" which makes you chuckle. "you're so sensitive thoma" you tease as the man looks away annoyed.

❥ albedo has been working on an experiment lately and he even pulled an all nighters for it. he was now exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes opened. he was laying on the couch in the living room with his head thrown back. you stared at the man leaning over the wall quietly.

oh that he looked attractive like this. “i know you’re staring” albedo said making you flinch. “got a problem with that?” you asked as you walked up to him sitting on his lap. “nope, not really” he replied as you chuckle. “that’s what i thought” you replied as you got down to sit down on the floor.

“want a head?” you asked. “do whatever you want” he replied as you smirked unzipping his pants. you pulled down his boxer and started sucking him off. he laid his head back running his fingers trough your hair. he started playing with it as he lets out little groans. “that’s, just like that, don’t stop, i’m close” he moans on heavy breathe.

❥ xiao was more than tired. he pulled an all nighter two days on a row. but the second he saw you, he opened his eyes wide acting as if he was fully awake. knowing that you missed him and was gonna act super energetic about it. “XIAOOO” you said as you ran over to him to hug him.

“(y/n)…” he replied as he patted your back. “are you okay?!” you asked as he nodded. he sat down on your bed tired and made you sit up on his lap. you smiled and stared into his eyes. you pressed your lips against his. he kissed back as you ran your hands down to his cock. he gasped as you ran your hand under his boxer to grab his dick.

“(y/n)” he groaned on a heavy breathe. “mhm?” you hummed as you watched him biting his lower lip. “don’t do this to me” he begged as you smirked. “i just want to please you xiao” you whispered as you leaned in for another kiss. you started playing with his dick.

❥ diluc came home late exhausted after spending an hour trying to kick out venti and kaeya out of the tavern. he was just complaining about tiring they are as you started getting tired of his complaints, so you pressed your lips against his to keep him shut.

his eyes widened at your sudden action, but he still kissed you back. you pushed him on the couch. you aimed for his neck this time as he runs his hands on your thighs squeezing them. “if you think that my complaints are annoying you should just say it, not behave this way” the red haired mumbles.

“shh, i didn’t ask for you to tell me how to do stuff” you reply as you keep on with the neck kissing. “how rude” he replied, but you decided to ignore his comment and keep kissing. you bit his neck making him hiss as you move away from his neck to kiss him on the lips once again.

you rub your knee against his cock which makes him groan in your mouth. you place your hands on his cheeks to kiss him more passionately. you slide your tongue in mouth and wrap it around his.

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anxiousnerdwritings · 2 years

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Any concept for the batboys with Bruce's sibling S/O? Like, how would they be with their uncle/aunt? I like to think of Bruce's sibling S/O as being the more outwardly loving of the two :)

Most definitely! It’s that outward affection and love that opens the batfamily up to their obsession to begin with. It would depend on when exactly the darling is introduced into the family though.

If the darling is adopted by Bruce before he adopts Dick then he would have grown up with them. They would have been the one to really comfort and console him after his parent’s deaths, holding him while he cried and just overall being there for him when Bruce wasn’t. I imagine the darling would have been the one to really be a part of Dick’s life living at the manor. Like, I have the thought of the darling being the one to help Dick with his homework or being the one to show up at school functions either alongside Bruce or by themself. Even packing him little lunches or snacks, both for school and when he grows up and starts working at the police department.

Honestly, no matter when the darling comes into Dick’s life he would be the most accepting of them right off the bat, especially seeing how invested Bruce is with them and overall how genuine and loving they are.

Jason would cling to the darling if they had been around before he came to the manor. He’d really take to the affection and care they directed towards him. He would show off as much as possible just to earn their praise. Any moment he could get with the darling would be monumental to him. They would be the one he would go to to vent or just for reassurance when he needed it. He’d really crave for them cheering him on for even the smallest thing, it’d mean a lot to him. Anything Bruce didn’t give Jason, he’d seek out in the darling. They would be the first one he thinks of when he gets resurrected, fearing they had forgotten him or that they had replaced him too. It would take everything in him not to go and run to them right away not only for comfort from everything he’s been through, from Joker’s torture to dying to being brought back to life, but also for validation and reassurance that everything was going to be okay and that he was still their ‘Little Jay-Bird’. And that he always would be.

If the darling came after he had already been resurrected and went through everything with Joker then he would be wary of them, especially because of just how important they were to Bruce. It would take him some time to come around to it but I could see him really taking to them eventually. He would hold them to the same regards as he does Alfred. When he finally came to accept that the darling was genuine in their love and affection for not only the family but just in general, Jason would hold such a soft spot for them. There’s no doubt that Jason is touch starved and when the darling greets him with a hug or ruffles his hair whenever they get the chance he can’t help the warmth that bubbles in his chest. He can’t even pretend to act like he doesn’t like it either. It would be a process for him but eventually he’ll come around to them and then he’ll be one of their most overprotective guard dogs, even towards Bruce.

I feel like if the darling was there when Tim came along that they would of course welcome him with open arms but they would still probably be dealing with the loss of Jason. So, they would either give him even more attention and care because they’re compensating for what they can’t direct towards Jason anymore or they would feel like Bruce was using Tim to fill a void. Either way, they would still give Tim affection and love no matter what it would just depend on how much they’d give. Tim would most likely be drawn to the darling because of their nature and just how genuinely they care about him, a complete stranger to them. He would really appreciate them checking in on him, especially when he’s pulling a third all-nighter in a row cause he’s so focused on the case at hand. He would be even more touched if the darling went out of there way to try and stay up with him so that he wouldn’t be alone. That would really mean something to him, even if more times then not they end up falling asleep. It’s the thought that counts after all. I also totally imagine that Tim could easily fall asleep either on the darling or with them nearby, like their presence alone is soothing and comforting to him that he feels he can relax and unwind with them.

By the time Damian comes around the darling would probably already be involved with the family. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Talia or Ra’s mentioned the darling during Damian’s growing up when they would discuss Bruce so he’d probably already be aware of them. It would be something else if Talia and or Ra’s held the darling in some kind of high regard so when Damian does finally meet them he already feels a connection/attachment to them just from what he’s been told. In this case he would be an overprotective guard dog right off the bat.

It would really surprise Damian to be treated so openly affectionate. Like, his father doesn’t even ruffle is hair nearly as much or with the same amount of warmth as the darling does. Nor has Damian been given so many hugs in the span of a day. He would really melt into the affection whenever given it. It would get to a point where he expects a certain amount of affection on the daily and when he doesn’t get it he’ll either sulk or he’ll think he’s done something to warrant the deduction in his daily allowance of affection and love. Also, you have no idea how much Damian has come to love those little sticky note messages in his lunches for school or patrol cause of course the darling left him one once and ever since he’s been hooked on them. He absolutely adores them and keeps every single little one he’s ever gotten from them. (All of the Batfamily does the same cause no doubt the darling writes them little messages in their little batlunches or something too, even Alfred.) Damian can’t start his day without having a little sticky note from his aunt/uncle, even if it’s a stupid little doodle that you can’t tell what it is.

Damian would definitely cling to the darling because of how they love and treat him and he is totally a little brat about keeping their attention and time for himself. And he doesn’t like to share, more times then not fighting the others for who’s turn is it to have the darling’s attention. Even bickering with Bruce about it when Bruce tries to come in and spend time with his (adoptive) sibling.

Overall, all the batboys would become very attached to their aunt/uncle, especially due to their open affection and care for the boys. As much as the boys would fight over their aunt’s/uncle’s time and attention they would always come together to protect and take care of them no matter what. It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch for the family to refer to the darling as the glue that keeps them all together, cause that is exactly what they are to them. They would hold an extremely important role amongst the Batfamily members and because of that god forbid if anything we’re to happen to them.

#anxious answers #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere dc #yandere dc concept #yandere concept

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faeleur · 10 months

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part iii! thank you for all your support so far and hopefully you’re enjoying the series! stay tuned for the final part :)

part i. part ii. part iv. masterlist

leviathan x idol!reader: part iii

everything had changed within a few weeks.

during breakfast, you were less talkative and cheerful than usual, but that was overshadowed by levi’s incessant rambling about — you guessed it — the upcoming galaxea concert. asmodeus surprisingly took interest and kept him entertained enough to the point where your quiet demeanor was barely noticeable, easily being written off as tiredness.

throughout the school day, you paid no mind to your professors despite your upcoming exams and final projects as you zoned out, worrying about what you’d have to sacrifice and how you’d possibly make the devildom concerts work without risking your friendship with levi :(

and at dinner, despite beel’s best efforts, you barely touched any food at all and were the first to leave the table, usually saying something along the lines of “need to study.”

your hang-outs with levi slowly stopped as you began to spend every weekday isolated, either practicing in your studio or pulling all-nighters to make up for what you missed in class. levi was sad, of course, but he knew how seriously you took your grades, so he left you be… but he was starting to have his doubts.

it wasn’t so bad at first, but one day, when you didn’t show up to eat at all, the boys just about had it.

“okay, what‘s happening? where the hell are they? this is ridiculous,” mammon said, his eyebrows raising slightly in disbelief.

satan brought his hand to rest on his chin as he thought for a moment. “did anything happen recently to make them withdraw? mammon’s right, for once—“

“hey!”

“—this is unprecedented.”

mammon leaned his chair back, crossing his arms. “i’ll have ya know, i’m a certified y/n behavior expert. usually—”

“no, you’re not. that’s me. who do you think you are?” levi grumbled from across the table.

“oh, then why don’t you—“

“i don’t know! i’m just as surprised as you are!”

“okay, okay, let’s calm down a bit everyone,” asmo exclaimed. “i’m sure it’s just stress from the upcoming exams, and we all know y/n takes their grades very seriously. plus, with the semester break coming up, they may be thinking about going back home for a few weeks, and i can imagine that’d take awhile to plan out, as well.”

levi paled. you? leaving?

i mean, it made perfect sense… earth was definitely more pleasant than the devildom, and it was your home. but…

levi had started to hope that you now considered the devildom your home, too :(

however, if that was the case, levi had just the thing, and he cleared his throat as he excused himself from the table. “i’m gonna go talk to them,” he called as he went to go find you.

as levi’s footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the house of lamentation, he allowed his thoughts to wander, feeling slightly giddy.

while he missed your presence, maybe it was for the better that you had distanced yourself… since he knew he would’ve spoiled his surprise otherwise.

a month had passed since he found out about the surprise galaxea tour, and putting his otaku powers to use, all his sleepless nights had paid off when he managed to get two VIP tickets to the final day of their tour — D2 of their devildom concerts. these tickets included sound check, front row barricade, and backstage… no, he wasn’t going to think about how much they cost. this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and if these weren’t reason enough to make you stay or come back early for break, he didn’t know what was.

that, and it was going to be the perfect moment to tell you about his feelings for you. as one of the first things you bonded over, he was sure of it— he was going to make sure it all was perfect, the whole thing.

quickly reaching your bedroom door, he knocked on it gently, his voice soft as he called your name. “y/n? i know you haven’t been feeling the best lately, so i have a little something for you…”

he waited a few moments, but received no response. he tried again.

“y/n? you okay in there?”

silence.

his eyebrows furrowed as he sighed, turning away. if you weren’t in your room, where were you?

he trudged back to his room, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tried to figure out any possible explanation for your behavior. what if you didn’t like the tickets? he knew it was silly, but now that the idea was in his head he was starting to feel anxious…

his head started to pound, but it was then levi realized that it wasn’t from a headache, but rather from the room to his left… your studio. even with the door shut, he could immediately recognize the song that was playing, and the floor shook every so slightly from the bass.

usually you didn’t let anyone in while you were practicing, but he was your best friend (and had given him exceptions on multiple occasions) and he had a good reason to interrupt. you’d understand, he knew you would.

levi quickly input the four-digit code and felt the tension in the door disappear, quickly swinging it open and entering the room to see you dancing to vega’s solo from galaxea’s latest album… which didn’t have an official choreography yet. were you creating your own? perfect. it was like the stars were aligning.

“y/n, you’re never gonna believe this, but…”

upon realizing his entry, you froze in place and stared at his reflection in the mirror in front of you.

the lyrics of your song echoed throughout the room, a stark contrast to the sweet melody: baby, life is painful sometimes, but your love doesn’t even come close

your breath hitched as you quickly turned to face him, cheeks flushed from the physical activity and from the fact that he caught you.

he grinned, eyes shining as he pulled out his phone to show you the tickets, walking closer… until he noticed the tablet on the ground, recording you.

or… was it a call?

sure enough, the face of a smiling young man, your choreographer, appeared on screen, but he stopped when he noticed the intruder.

“ummm… y/n, who’s that?”

it wasn’t a secret who galaxea’s choreographer was, and you didn’t want to give levi enough time to recognize him. you had to come up with an excuse to make him leave, quick!

“levi… this is my boyfriend.”

that was literally the worst excuse you could’ve made.

you wanted to throw yourself off a cliff for that one

you’d apologize to your choreographer later, as you could hear him snickering in the background, but the important part was that levi actually believed it…

and he did.

in the background, your voice sang: baby, your words are like a knife, why do the best things hurt the most?

levi’s world felt as if it had shattered, raining around him and cutting his skin as it pooled by his feet.

he had to come up with a reply so he could get out of there.

“oh… cool. i’mgonnaleaveyoubenowi’msorrygoodbye,” was what slipped past his lips as he bolted for the door, gone as quickly as he had came.

the minute the door shut you were sinking to the floor, your head in your hands as you let out a groan.

your choreographer erupted into laughter, the audio occasionally breaking here and there.

“i’m sorry, boyfriend? that was the best you could think of?”

“don’t.”

“okay, okay, fine. but you should know i already texted the others about this so come saturday, you will not be living this down.”

there was a brief moment of silence, then:

“you need to be more careful. look, i’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but i’ve worked with a lot of people, and unfortunately, i’ve seen some of them get hurt by who they trusted the most, especially regarding…” he gestured vaguely, “… this.”

you nodded, biting your lip.

“i’ll cut practice short since he’s your friend and i know you wanna go after him, so… from the top. one last time.”

your song restarted, and as you twirled to the rhythm, levi was doing a dance of his own.

“boyfriend ???” he screeched as he mashed the buttons on his controller, mouth open in shock.

“henry, can you believe this? i bet that’s what they were doing every saturday…”

he blanked.

“wait, no, not doing that guy— well, maybe— no, i meant, hanging out with— whatever! what difference does it make?”

he huffed as his body tensed, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“no, i’m not upset. i’m reacting reasonably, don’t you think?”

henry stared at him, deadpan, and levi rolled his eyes.

“shut up.”

his character on screen got knocked over by a series of blows, and he growled in frustration.

“i just don’t know why they never told me.”

his fingers flurried across the buttons, eyes locked on to the screen as his character resumed the fight, and after a few minutes of quiet, he muttered, “i’m so stupid.”

louder, “of course they’d choose that guy over me.”

louder still, “why would i be worthy of them? have you seen me?”

and when his character emerged victorious, the level complete, he shouted, “okay, fine, i’m upset, are you happy?”

and when he turned to face henry, his friend only looked at him sadly as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, splashing onto his thumb and the plastic of his controller. he didn’t even realize he’d been crying.

“i’m so pathetic, aren’t i? i’m a coward. i never had the guts to actually ask them out and look what happened,” he laughed dryly.

“yeah, maybe i overreacted a little, but i was just… hoping…” his voice broke.

“fuck,” he sobbed before trying to turn it into a laugh. “maybe it’s better this way. they’re human. of course they’d have a human boyfriend. since when has the whole human-demon thing ever…”

and then he thought of your pact, his mark resting on the back of your neck…

and as his eyes flared up in envy, his body trembling, he knew one thing:

vega was right. love hurts.

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write-and-buried · 2 years

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Celestial Navigation

Chapter 7 - Third Quarter

(gif by the majestic @nicolethered)

Summary; it took you so long to see it. Warnings; UNBELIEVABLY TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT. TOXIC INTERNET CULTURE. miraculously, there is no smut in this chapter. I'm gearing up for a big one in the next. Authors Note welcome to the penultimate chapter. only one more after this! and thank you again for all the love on this story, I truly cannot express how thankful I am for each and every one of you.

Series Masterlist \\ Main Masterlist

[prev] - [next]

It’s almost winter. The morning sky threatens rain, or possibly snow, the stores now twinkling red and green as they threaten Christmas and the unending passage of time. Your alarm wakes you cold, cuddled beneath heavy blankets, warm hands wrapped around you, Dieter’s breath tickling your neck.

Sometimes you find him painting, up before the sunrise, or up still, a paint brush behind his ear as he smudges ink on canvas, charcoal between his fingers as he keeps his steps light so as to not wake you. It pulls him from dreams, dragging heavy fingers to stretched linen, to bleary eyes and a blurry vision, usually just taking shape as you wake up.

You have set your alarm early, knowing the time it takes to extract yourself from his embrace is infinite, that he would keep you pinned beneath an adoring gaze for eternity if he could. His hands follow you as you wake, stretching with your skin as you yawn, feel him press a kiss between your collarbones.

“Ten more minutes” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to get up” you reply, turning in his embrace to kiss his jaw, brushing your cheek against the stubble as he slides his hands to grab your ass.

“Already up” he grins, grinding his pelvis into you with a nip to your lower lip.

It’s worth the extra hour.

The café is busy enough that you can slip in unnoticed. The crowd still sleep rough and mostly silent as the ambient noise settles your skin. It’s Molly that notices you first, nodding to Owen as she grabs a muffin, seeing you lingering in the bead arched doorway.

You mouth a quiet thank you as she passes you a large black coffee and the still warm muffin, allowing you to slip out the front door. The lack of groaning from the rusted bell makes your eyebrow twitch. You wonder where the pieces ended up, Dieter too busy grabbing at you to notice where it landed.

You bow your head against the cold, joining the tide of others on their way to work. People in athletic wear and headphones weaving in and out of the slow-moving throng. People in suits, with scarves to protect against the cold, phones pressed to their ear with coffee in hand, you seem to absorb into the mass, letting the flow take you.

You’re early to the office, only three other interns glued to their desks, their eyes barely glancing to you as they type one handed, the other bringing scalding hot coffee to their lips, their eyes rimmed and bloodshot, evidence of an all-nighter. You begin triaging your inbox, sorting them into priority groups, reminders popping and being ignored. You click through them, adding the most important to your journal as you go, the week filling quickly.

You have deadlines and meetings, piling on top of one another, the highest priority marked with a red star. You laugh when you look at your week, a red sea staring back at you. You can’t remember the last time you had something that was low priority. Dieter’s voice floats into your subconscious ‘If they’re all high priority, then none of them are”

The alert for an in-person meeting rouses you from your thoughts, pinging across the screen and directing you to a conference room three floors up. Your nose wrinkles at the elevator, everything smelling sterile, too clean, too white, the mirrored interior showing off the slight bags under your eyes.

Your boss sits in the middle of the row. Her boss sits beside her, bored and thumbing through his phone. Two other people you don’t recognise are talking quietly as your boss gestures to a seat across from them. You’re reminded of your final interview for this job, the nervous energy flooding back into you as though a forgotten dam had failed.

“Have a seat” your boss says, her tone clipped as she opens a file in front of her.

“This is Emma, she’s from HR to take minutes for this meeting, ensure everyone is on the same page. And Elton, he’s from the legal department. You know Mr. Taylor of course”

The man barely looks at you, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement. You barely recognise him without the ruddy cheeks, his hand squeezing his wife’s hip as he leans in conspiratorially to talk to Dieter. You were invited to his house in the Hamptons.

“I’m sure you know why we’re here” your boss says, spreading her hands wide across the papers in front of her.

“No, I’m not actually”

“This is a copy of the employment contract you signed when you started working with us” your boss says, sliding a photocopy across the desk towards you, your initials in a stamped box on the side. Scanning the document, you remember your enthusiasm, sitting in an office just like this, scribbling as fast as you could as you itched to get started.

“Okay” you say, your eyes not focusing on the paper in front of you.

“This is the media clause.” Elton from legal says. “It discusses how we expect our employees to behave if they’re ever in the public eye. Representing the company, upholding the values we embody, those kinds of thing”

You don’t answer, waiting for the rest of the sentence.

“This is you, yes?” your boss slides a photograph across the table. Dieter wrapping his arm around your waist as he pulls you into the café the night before. The image is taken from Twitter, blurry around the edges, the caption blacked out.

“And if it is?” you ask, raising your chin slightly.

Your boss nods, as Emma from HR scribbles something on the pad in front of her.

“Now, your association with people outside working hours is none of our concern. However, given the significant media attention attached to this person, we’ve been forced to take a closer look at your performance over the last few weeks.”

“When looking at your performance within the confines of these values, we’ve noticed a significant shift in your work output.” Your boss says. There’s a false ring of kindness to it, a softness that rings like hollow tin. You watch her arrange her face into something resembling a smile.

“We’re worried about you, dear” she says, half choking on the last word. “We think it might be best for you to take some time off and regroup, come back to us focused”

“I am focused.” You reply “I haven’t missed a deadline, my work has been turned in ahead of schedule, with no mistakes”

“Well, that’s not quite true is it” she replies, the smile turning icy as she pulls another document from the stack. It’s the mistake from weeks ago, the one that sent you to Dieter’s apartment, to Universal Horror Monsters and weed brownies. To the first time he hooked his pinkie into yours.

“That was rectified to your satisfaction” you say, your voice beginning to tremble as your eyes fill with tears.

“There’s no need to get emotional” Mr Taylor says, looking up from his phone for the first time. “This is just an informal chat”

“With HR & Legal and my immediate superiors” You spit.

“Let’s take a breath. We love your work, and we want you to succeed in this company. We’re very conscious of burnout and we want you to be at your full potential, and we think the best way for you to get back on track is to take some time away. Let’s say a week? Fully paid of course, this isn’t a punishment”

“Yes it is” you whisper, sneaking the words under your breath as you force the tears back.

“Honestly, we want what’s best for all involved. And given your declining output, and your recent lack of engagement in our little family here, we think this is the best step, so we don’t have to escalate these issues further” Emma from HR says, smiling at you with the same false kindness.

“Fine” you say, standing from the conference table, and turning to leave. You don’t hear their parting words, just the echoing falsehood of their kindness.

Dieter’s phone goes straight to voicemail. It got lost in the fray last night, probably kicked under the bed with its battery spilling loose. A quick scroll of Twitter still has him as the villain of the day, thousand-word articles disparaging him as a more photos of Owen and Molly splash across your feed. They’re in a frenzy over him, the speculation on the mystery woman he dragged inside the café reaching fever pitch.

“What GAP sale bin did he drag her out of?” “Some fangirl probably” “First swipe on tinder” “Best he could do on short notice probably” “Look at the way he’s grabbing her. It’s clearly abusive” “From a psych major, its clear he’s a narcissist.” “Did you see his *eggplant* tho?!” “Not worth it for that ego – you’re in danger girl!”

Nobody cares if you cry in the corner of a Starbucks. They ignore you as easily as they misspell your name, leaving you to sit and dry your eyes with napkins until the morning rush clears. You can hear people, mums with strollers wider than SUVs, gossiping about the nude images. There’s a rumour of a whisper of a sex tape. They roll their eyes as they open their phones to search for it.

You manage to trap the scream in your chest, drowning it with croissant on coffee on coffee until the shop clears, the tables wiped by college students making minimum wage and kind enough to not glance your way. You pull your journal from your bag, looking through the week you’ve just lost, striking through deadlines that no longer matter, as if they ever did.

In the corner you see a scribbled out heart. A blotted memory of Josh and the life you were supposed to have by now. It’s almost December, you were supposed to have a joint chequing account, a photo in reds and greens splashed across Instagram. You haven’t updated social media in weeks. This weekend was supposed to see you having sex three times. You think it might have been his birthday. You can’t even remember the colour of his eyes.

You stuff an extra twenty in the tip jar before you leave, offering the barista a weak smile as she thanks you, tells you to come back soon in that same tinny sincerity, pennies down a well, hollow and insignificant. You try Dieter again, get voicemail again.

The rust makes a beautiful sunset. Mixed with clear Elmer’s glue he spends the morning scraping the broken bell clean until it shines. His phone is lost somewhere, probably buried at the bottom of his laundry basket with last nights sheets. He scribbles on a notepad, a reminder to call the man who runs the pawn shop three blocks over. He smelts metal in his spare time, and Dieter can’t wait to see what he does with this.

The sunset in his vision splashes over his apartment. It’s the golden light of all the places you’ve touched. The way it lays across your forehead, weaves between your fingers. The mix of colour when it hits your skin. You’re in all his work now. The abstract splash of colour on linen the way your laugh makes him feel, the bitten peach the shape of your teeth.

He checks the project in his closet. A few more days of drying before he can finish it. He lays it carefully back in place, his fingers careful on the twine, hope blooming in his chest as he imagines what it will look like finished. He’s always waiting for the finish.

The sound of boots on the stairwell makes him turn. Nobody has figured out the stairwell yet, everyone assuming it leads to the back storage, not a sneaky entrance to his apartment, the door hidden behind beads and stacks of mismatched ceramic, the merry hum of an industrial dishwasher.

“Where is your fucking phone?” Molly yells, half kicking the door in as she storms into his apartment. He shrugs, looking at her wild eyes. She looks tired, the same tiredness that engulfed him until the moment you were back in his arms. The clock on the wall says you should be back here in six hours. Seven if you have a deadline.

“Laundry, probably” he replies, grabbing her shoulder as she goes to walk past him. “What happened?”

“There’s all this crap online. About you…”

“And?” he asks, rolling his eyes at the churning machine. It will die down eventually, Molly hasn’t seen this before, has never experienced the ferocity of media. He and Eric used to hide in alleyways away from them, after the first time they were photographed drunk… after the first time the were photographed at range, a naked woman on his lap…

“And her”

He’d never seen the world in black and white. Never imagined it could drain so completely of colour, every brushstroke of existence cracking and falling from his life’s canvas as it settles around him, ash filling his mouth as it falls like rain, whiting out his vision.

Molly’s stronger than he thought, shoving him backwards away from the door the minute he takes a step towards it.

“You can’t. Find your phone…”

“Fuck the phone Mols, move!”

“Wait! Just… D, hold on. You have to wait for just a second, ok? Look at me” She broadens her stance, blocking his path.

“I have to…” he starts.

“I know, trust me, I know. Owen agrees. Pack a bag. Find a hat of some kind and wait, can you give me an hour? Just one hour. Find your phone and charge it. And wait.”

She backs out of his apartment with her hands raised, some parody of a hostage negotiation as she retreats down the stairs. Dieter has never been good at waiting. He shoves clothes at random in a backpack, the shirt he likes you best in, a rolled canvas with a finished painting, three sticks of charcoal and a sketchbook, the dead hunk of plastic that is his phone. He finds a woollen beanie, crams it onto his head as he paces, shoving a mason jar of weed and a bottle of Makers into the backpack for good measure.

He makes lists in his head, checking the items off one by one. He washes his hands, he brushes his teeth. He touches the spot on his pillow where you woke this morning, he traces your palm print on the door to the balcony. He searches for a phone charger, he can’t find it.

Silence falls downstairs. The constant angry hum, the background noise of angry wasps dying within the hour. The lights are off downstairs, the café completely empty. He doesn’t lock the door behind him.

He makes a list as he walks. Of all the reasons he chose this city. You, the anonymity, you, the way nobody blinks an eye at a man in a woollen knit cap and sunglasses, mismatched crocs and a patchwork crocheted jumper walking down the street, you. He buys three muffins from a cart on the sidewalk, pays with a hundred and doesn’t ask for change.

He knows where you live, has had the address stored right next to your birthday, his parents wedding anniversary, right beside the memory of his first kiss. All the shiny pieces he keeps like a crow, the parts he picks and chooses to remember, the ones that feel the most important.

Your apartment block is the same as the surrounding. They fit together like Legos, the only individuality a splash of colour on the window. The stairwell has wallpaper, it’s yellowed and peeling at the edges. He can smell cooking, trash and the barest hint of happiness as he climbs the stairs. There is no banister, just concrete to cushion the fall.

The knock is loud. Your landlord sometimes wants the rent early, if she’s going on vacation and wants to line her pockets a little more, extra spending money for penny slots in Atlantic City, another packet of Marlborough Lights.

“It’s not the first!” You shout, unwilling to move from the couch, your throat raw and hoarse as you grab for another tissue, wish for a heavier blanket.

The knock comes again, harder this time. It shakes a leaf from your dead plant, you watch it spin gracefully to the floor. When they knock again, undeterred by your silence, you finally heave yourself from the couch, cursing under your breath as you blow your nose.

Dieter’s eyes are frantic as he grabs you, the door half open as he pulls you to him, lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist, mumbling apologies into your neck as you squeak in surprise. He slams the door behind him, shrugging a heavy backpack off his shoulders as you shake in his arms. He knows the way to your couch without looking, falling back on it without letting you go, wrapping his arms around your back, squeezing your neck as you breathe him in. Paint and blueberries, a hint of weed.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, pulling back to cup your cheek. “I can call Eric, he’ll call his team, I can set up an interview with someone properly. I’ll tell them whatever you want, that we’re just friends, you were comforting me. You can be my financial advisor, and I can apologise for being too handsy, give them something else to fight over?”

You shake your head, confused.

“I reckon I could get Oprah out of retirement for it. If they want, I’ll do some reunion thing for Rebel of Owls, let them poke and prod me onto a red carpet and wrap the story up. How do you want this to go?”

“What are you talking about?” You press your hand over his mouth, stifling his rambling. His hands are frantic on your skin, squeezing your hips, running up and down your spine, as though he’s forgotten the shape of you in the last six hours, as though he didn’t run soapy water over your thighs this morning, as if he didn’t map every curve with his mouth before you said goodbye.

“Molly told me” he said, taking a shaking breath as you pull your hand free. “About all the shit they’re saying about you online. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I didn’t mean to…”

You press your hand over his mouth again. His brow furrows as you feel tears well in the back of your eyes. A sob escapes your throat before you bury your face in his neck, the rush of gratitude to overwhelming to hold back. He holds you as you cry, and you remember the almost clumsy hug he gave you the first time, as though his hands didn’t know what to do with your body, as if you were made of glass and precious stones.

“I’m so sorry” he says quietly.

“They’re going to fire me” you say, hiccupping into his neck. You feel him stiffen, the way his body goes rigid under yours.

“I’ll move back to LA” he replies.

“Why would you do that?” You lean back on his lap, see that his eyes are also sparkling, tears gathering in the corners.

“So, you can properly cut ties then. It’s some morality clause, right? Eric got kicked off a few projects for being busted with coke or molly. Was bad for the studio, bad for their image. As though they hadn’t built it off his name to begin with”

“Why would you think that’s what I want?” You ask, watching his features.

“You love that job. I know how important it is to you. And you’ve got such high ambitions for it. I can’t tie myself to you like concrete shoes. It’s not fair. We attended one party together, you can reasonably say you didn’t know who I was. I’ll back it.”

“I don’t want to lie about you too” you say quietly.

He shakes his head, grunting in disapproval when you place your hand over his mouth again, cutting off his speech.

“Everyone has lied about you. Twisted you into some kind of monster. I’ve been watching it happen, the way they took five photos of you and made you into something I know you’re not. I won’t add to it Dieter, don’t ask me to. I won’t pour gas on that fire, no matter what”

You have to say it first. It’s the only rule he’s managed to not break. He pours it into a kiss instead, grabbing both your hands and pressing them to his chest, feeling the way you twist your fingers in his clothing, knowing you’re really grabbing something else. Knowing its yours for the taking.

“I have a week off work” you say, letting him dry your tears with his sleeve. “There’s a spreadsheet on my laptop of all the ones we haven’t watched yet”

“Is there a good Thai place near here?” he asks, breathing properly for the first time as you smile.

Derek Brown’s Present Revealed.

Molly Orbison is a no nonsense kind of girl. With beads clicking at the end of her braids we all came to attention when she stood on the counter of the No Name coffee shop and proclaimed she couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re missing the real story” was all she said, climbing down and leaving the store, her co-worker, Owen grimacing in her wake.

We followed out of curiosity, the merry band of paparazzi and reporters, scrounging and hopeful for a sound bite or a picture of the elusive recluse. Hidden from the media at least. The stories that circulated around his new alias were salacious and never ending. Top trending on Twitter three days running, beating out political infighting, a not-so-shocking loss for the Celtics, and the death of a celebrity.

We meet her in a small bar three blocks from the store. She clearly knows the bartender, a whiskey sour in her hand without a word exchanged. She pulled a file from nowhere, smacking Owen’s hand as he tried to stop her. We crowded around it, financial statements for the little coffee shop, which is aptly named No Name.

You could feel the excitement in the room, we were about to uncover something meaty and real. No more gossip on the number of sexual partners, no more second hand rumours of drugs or orgies or homosexual encounters. This was embezzlement, this was money laundering, this was something tangible and printable that wasn’t a rumour. Instead we stood confused, looking at the salaries for the listed employees.

Derek Brown - $1.

“Dig into that, you fucking vultures” was all Molly said before she turned her back on us, starting a conversation with the bartender, asking if he’d gotten around to clearing out his apartment yet.

So we did. Using the investigative chops, I’ll admit most of us had forgotten, we started digging. Dieter (as he’s been known for more than a decade) takes an annual salary of $1 from the No Name business. The rest of his income is royalties and interest, a comfortable existence. He owns the building outright, the purchase made through a legal subsidiary out of nowhere. He’s a landlord, owning a smattering of apartment buildings throughout the continental United States.

When we called, the tenants gushed about their management.

“They forgave a year’s rent during COVID. All the residents. Nobody asked, we just got a letter one day, saying no rent for a year. Haven’t heard a thing since.”

Then there’s the employees. Owen and Molly are full time, paid well above minimum wage, plus tips. Below them are dozens of names, some listed for months, others just weeks, some have been on the books for more than a two years.

They were reluctant to talk to us at first, peeking warily through door frames as we explained we were reporters. But they all worked for Dieter in some capacity. All of them had been homeless. Some were employed as night time security, others as waste management, others as cleaners.

“He asked me to watch the shop at night. Bang on the door if I thought he was gonna get robbed” Mr Richard Appleby says, sitting in the living room of his new apartment. “I thought he was a little weird, but I was sleeping in the alleyway behind his shop, so who am I to judge?”

He was shocked when Dieter gave him a paycheck the next day. And then another, the week after that, again, well above minimum wage.

“He could have just given me money. I didn’t understand why he was doing it at first. I tried to give em back. He refused, just told me to keep up the good work. I bought food, clothes. First time in winter I didn’t have socks with holes in em. Opened a bank account, deposited the cheques. And then suddenly, I had stable employment. Once you’ve got that… well its easier to get more”

The stories are the same, one after another until you find the dozen or more people he’s indirectly helped into stable housing. When you find the art supplies and art donated to public schools anonymously, the overordering of stock that’s donated to food banks.

When we return to the No Name café in the days following, Molly and Owen are rightly smug. They’re more than happy to talk to us, rub it in a little as we sheepishly post our findings.

“He’s not here. He won’t be for a while” Owen says. “And by the time he is you all will have cleared out to pick at another carcass”

“You only looked for the worst in him” Molly continued. “He’s only ever looked for the best in others. He finds it too, his girl, she’s helping me get my student loans forgiven. No other reason than she’s a good person too. And you all liked and retweeted bullshit about his ‘mystery woman’ calling her a whore. Did that feel good? Get enough clicks?”

It’s a brutal assessment, but not an untrue one. In looking through the press coverage we can all see the signs, the spiral of viciousness we all fell into, the ease with which we speculated in his absence, how we took his silence for deceit. How we used those tenants of cancellation, which can be such pillars for holding our leaders accountable, as a weapon to tear someone to shreds.

“Dieter deserves to be left alone. He’s left you all alone, give him that same respect.”

She’s right. With our sincerest apologies, we close this chapter on Derek Brown. Leaving him as a titan of the past. And as for the private life of Dieter Bravo? Well, that’s really none of our business.

HuffPo

Dieter’s round bed never made sense. Until you slept with him in yours. He spreads out like creeping ivy, limbs dangling free beneath sheets and blankets that won’t stay tucked in. He chases you throughout the night, pulling you both into the middle, tangling your limbs into a knot you have no desire to untie. He snores. Just a little, just enough to tickle in between your shoulder blades as you scroll through Twitter.

“I knew it.” “Cancel culture is out of control” “I knew he was a good person all along” “See, that must be the girlfriend, look at how he’s touching her, he must love her a lot” “You all should be ashamed of yourselves, thinking this was news”

You roll your eyes. The 180 on Dieter has been swift enough to make your head swim. Owen and Molly texted you a selfie, 2am drunk at a bar flipping off the camera with a smile. Their photos in the article made them look like gods, surrounded by a tornado of chaos, the only pillars of calm.

It took three days to undo it. Three days of sitting in your apartment with Dieter, arguing the merits of Baby Jane over Human Bondage, throwing pad Thai at each other when you didn’t agree. He bought a painting with him, the first one with your thumb print. It ties the room together in a way you didn’t think was possible, the stars seeming to glitter from the rolled canvas.

Your phone vibrates in your hand. Its easier to extract yourself from his embrace on a square bed, the edges more easily found. You’re wearing his favourite shirt, and you shut the door behind you as you creep down the hallway, pressing the start button on your ancient coffee pot. Your living room looks lived in. The plant in the corner a little less brown. There are empty takeout containers on your coffee table, Dieters pants on the floor, landing there when you decided against making it to the bedroom.

Your bosses voice sounds harsh in the morning. Like sandpaper on your skin as you half listen to her greeting, searching for your favourite mug in the cupboard. You hum acknowledgement that you’re listening as you wait for the coffee to finish brewing, the scent of the beans ground beans Owen dropped off yesterday filling your living room.

“As I was saying, you have been missed this week. I just wanted to touch base with you, see how you’re feeling now that…”

“Now that the tide has turned on my partner? He’s not the internets pariah anymore?” You ask, holding your phone between your shoulder as you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You hear Dieter stir, somehow always drawn to the sound of your voice as you watch him emerge from your bedroom. His face is drawn in an imitation scowl as he walks towards you, naked and uncaring, to wrap his arm around your waist, bury his face in your neck. You feel his fingers creep up the hemline of your shirt and jump away, suppressing a smile at his mock whine.

Your boss is still talking, halfway through an explanation of corporate values as you watch Dieter, the way he squares his shoulders, preparing to lift you onto the cleared counter space. You let out a laugh when he does exactly that, humming happily as he stands between your spread thighs. Your underwear long destroyed in the days since he turned up on your doorstep.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.” You reply, feeling Dieter’s palms on your thighs. “I’m not. And honestly, after this year with working for the company, I’m not sure why I ever did.”

Dieter stills, looking up at you with a furrowed brow. You place a hand over his mouth and continue.

“I appreciate the opportunities given to me by your company, but in using this time to reflect as suggested, I’ve decided that your companies values no longer align with my own. I won’t be returning to the office at the end of the week. You didn’t allow personal items at our desks so there wont be anything for me to collect. I’ll have my key card couriered there by the end of business Friday.”

You hear her splutter on the phone, the sharp breath to retain composure.

“Also, my sexual deviant boyfriend is pretty sure Mr Taylor has a sex dungeon. You might want to look into that if you’re so concerned with company values”

You feel Dieters laugh through your fingers, he doesn’t wait for you to move your hand before he kisses you, that same dizzy consuming feeling making you feel as though galaxies are forming in your skin, fizzing and bursting into existence, monumental in their very presence.

“You sure?” he asks, pressing his lips to your jaw.

“Very” you reply, sinking into his embrace.

Molly calls him two days later. Having finally found a phone charger he answers on the second ring. He puts it on speaker as she explains that while they’re still busy, the press has moved on, some new scandal gripping their attention, a reason to circle someone else like piranhas scenting blood.

“So, get your ass back here”

“Miss you too Mols” he says

“I don’t miss you, but bring Lou, I’ve got questions about this form”

You laugh, agreeing as Dieter shoves his clothing back into the backpack, watching as you pack your journal into your bag, neatly distributing makeup and clean underwear throughout the compartments.

He’s holding your plant when you emerge from the bedroom, keys in hand. Hoisting the thing onto his hip he holds the door open for you as you leave. You get looks as you walk towards the café. Some recognising Dieter, others just staring at the guy with mismatched crocs and dead plant.

It smells like coming home. Fresh coffee and sugared blueberries and Owen yelps at your arrival, abandoning the machine to wrap an arm around your neck in greeting. Molly doesn’t move from the counter, her leg swinging in a lazy pendulum as she throws you a smile and a subtle wink in greeting.

The sign makes you laugh. Emblazoned in bold font above her head is a crude sign

If you ask about Dieter, we will spit in your coffee

“The smiley face was my idea. Makes it more customer friendly” Molly says, reaching out with a stack of receipts to hand to you. “These are for you”

“What are they?” You ask, looking through the names and phone numbers scrawled in sharpie on the back.

“People looking for help with student loans, I think? I told them I’d give them to you, didn’t say what you’d do with them though – figured you’d be pretty busy with the end of the year and the final decision on your internship”

“About that…” you start, before Dieter grabs you around the waist.

“Want you all to myself just a little longer Loulou” he whispers, biting down on your neck. You notice a few eyes skitter towards you, the tables in the café with a few turned heads. Nobody says anything.

“Molly has them well trained” Owen says, rolling his eyes as he returns to steaming milk. “You should go upstairs – that plant looks like it needs all the help it can get”

Dieter nods agreement, pulling you towards the beaded curtain as you wave a quick goodbye to Molly, your eyes on the slips of paper in your hands. There’s lots of them, names and numbers. A few have quick descriptions of why they’re looking for you. Student loans, medical debt, payday loans. You tuck them inside your bag, sliding them inside the pocket of your journal while you look at the plant on Dieter’s hip.

“I don’t know why you insisted on bringing that thing Dieter, it’s dead”

He scoffs, hitching the plant higher in his grip.

“Nothing is ever that permanent Bette.”

He must have left the TV running the day he came to your apartment. It’s blaring through the walls as you climb the stairwell, some infomercial for a kitchen gadget echoing out into the hallway. It’s not until you hear the thump of heavy footfalls that you still, turning to Dieter for his reaction.

His eyes roll as he reaches for your hand, giving it a quick squeeze. He hooks his pinkie through yours and meets your eye.

“Sorry in advance” he mutters, before leading you through the door.

“Brownies are in the oven, I ordered pizza because I couldn’t wait, where the fuck have you been?!”

There’s not much you can do but stand in stunned silence as Eric Webster, one of the most famous faces in the world, gently lifts your dead plant from Dieter’s grip before wrapping him in a crushing hug.

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