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bibescribe · 5 months ago

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golden girl

wagner moura x reader

✨️ smut

- se eu ganhar eu transo com você no saguão do hotel. - você disse pegando o homem de surpresa, wagner te olhou com os olhos arregalados se preparando pra te perguntar quando você bebeu se passou a noite inteira ao lado dele, só pra te encarar bem e perceber que estava mais sóbria do que nunca.

estava bêbada e extasiada de alegria, afinal não era todo dia que uma série brasileira era indicada a um emmy, A Cidade da Fúria era uma série de humor negro, que ironizava tudo e todos, o projeto começou com um curta que contava com o orçamento de uma coxinha e um guaravita, feito pelas mãos e mentes audaciosas e ansiosas de estudantes recém formados em audiovisual, apesar dos recursos escassos contavam com um trunfo, um certo ator ouviu falar do projeto e quis fazer parte, se tornando um guia e mentor, wagner também usou seus contatos para empurrar um contrato em vocês, transformando o curta em uma minissérie em uma plataforma de streaming, e assim, 1 ano e meio depois você estava em um vestido preto que pagaria seu aluguel por alguns meses e brincos de diamante emprestados por alguma joalheria famosa sentada ao lado do seu produtor e agora amigo, indicada a melhor atriz em série de comédia.

a noite parecia um sonho selvagem, rostos famosos te reconheciam, pessoas que você admirava te abordavam e elogiavam seu trabalho, era facilmente o melhor dia da sua vida.

wagner estava acostumado a ter seu trabalho conhecido, mas sua diversão da noite era te observar, com os olhinhos brilhantes, parecendo que bebia cada momento como se fosse a última bebida que consumiria na vida, seu cheiro, seu vestido, seu sorriso, o troféu era uma sucata perto do que você valia.

wagner já tinha certa experiência com premiações mas sempre sentia um frio na barriga com a possibilidade de vencer e ter que ir até o palco discursar, ainda mais em um idioma que não o materno, essa era a mesma ansiedade que você sentia, queria ganhar, queria perder, queria subir e fazer um discurso engraçado, queria subir e fazer as pessoas chorarem, queria não tropeçar no vestido. seus pensamentos te consumiram a ponto de te deixarem quase inerte durante a cerimônia, até ouvir as palavras “melhor atriz de comédia”. o telão mostrava seu nome e algumas cenas que tinha participado, não era hora de ser modesta, você era boa, seus amigos eram bons, a obra de vocês era excelente, você queria e merecia ganhar.

seu nome foi chamado e você sentiu um formigamento por todo o corpo, se levantou em choque ouvindo os gritos e aplausos de seus amigos, tamanho choque a impediu de perceber que segurava a mão do baiano ao seu lado como se fosse uma âncora, também não percebeu quando se levantou e o levou consigo.

wagner não queria arrancar sua mão da dele, era quentinha e se encaixava bem, mas também não tinha certeza se você queria que ele fosse com você ao palco ou se só estava sendo levada pela emoção, de qualquer jeito se levantou e seguiu atrás de você, quando subiram no palco ele se manteve a uma distância respeitosa para não te distrair ou chamar atenção.

- eu quero agradecer minha família, que sempre apoiou meus sonhos e cultivou meu amor pela arte, meus amigos e equipe, que agora também são parte da minha família, e meu produtor wagner, que eu acabei arrastando comigo pro palco sem querer, você é o fio vermelho dessa operação, sem você nada aconteceria, eu te amo, muito obrigada. - enquanto saia do palco, wagner te conduzia com uma mão nas costas, as três palavras martelando na cabeça, “eu te amo”.

...

- eu tô com uma dorzinha de cabeça chata acho que não vou pra essa after party não, vocês se divirtam jovens. - wagner dizia enquanto conferia a placa do uber que já havia chamado na pressa de ir embora, desde seu discurso o homem estava distante, pensando e analisando seu ‘eu te amo’, será que foi uma frase dita no calor do momento?

- ai eu vou com você, senão vou ter que lidar com esses meninos bêbados no fim da noite. - você disse, estava segurando uma caixa dada pela academia para os atores levarem o troféu pra casa, o homem engoliu em seco, não ia conseguir segurar a língua, ia falar do episódio do ‘eu te amo’ não queria estragar a amizade, mas também queria saber se tinha uma chance real com você, o mais velho seguiu na frente em um silêncio pouco característico que você não percebeu por ainda estar extasiada com sua vitória. vocês se manteram em silêncio a viagem toda, você em sua alegria, wagner em suas dúvidas, desceram do uber e seguiram, estavam no mesmo hotel, entraram no elevador juntos onde finalmente você quebrou o gelo do mais velho.

- tá quietinho, tá se sentindo tão mal assim? - você perguntou carinhosa colocando uma mão no ombro do homem.

- aquele eu te amo no palco foi eu te amo de amigo ou eu te amo… você sabe. - o mais velho cuspiu de repente te pegando desprevenida.

- wagner… - você estava tímida, mas ao mesmo tempo se sentiu ousada, você era uma emmy winner porra. - o meu eu te amo pode ser o que você quiser que seja.

o mais velho colocou uma das mãos na sua cintura e te puxou para um beijo forte e desesperado, dentes e línguas se batendo um querendo dominar o outro, o elevador de repente se abriu e vocês perceberam que estavam no seu andar, um abaixo do de wagner, você pegou a mão do mais velho, como fez quando o conduziu pro palco da premiação e o levou até seu quarto, abrindo, a porta com o cartão, praticamente jogou a caixa com o troféu no chão e empurrou wagner na cama, apoiando seu joelho na mesma, estava inebriada de alegria, rindo à toa, o mais velho pensou que era a mulher mais linda do mundo, vocês tinham troféus agora, mas pra ele estar na sua presença era o maior troféu, era como se você fosse uma deusa que desceu à terra pra se divertir e o escolheu como brinquedo, um mero humano fascinado pela sua presença, encheu o rosto do mais velho de beijos, só parando para rir dele coberto de batom vermelho, o homem sorriu e trocou as posições, ficando por cima de ti

- você merece o mundo hoje. - os dentes do moreno foram direto pro seu pescoço, puxando levemente a carne fina, você tentou passar suas mãos pelo cabelo dele, mas o mais velho as prendeu em cima da sua cabeça.

- guinho… - gemeu manhosa, queria senti-lo também, wagner negou com a cabeça sorrindo.

- hoje você só vai receber amor, princesa, esse é seu prêmio. - agora prendendo seus braços com uma mão, desceu a boca até seus seios, mordiscando e chupando levemente, sorria ao te ouvir arfar, pensar que aqueles sons eram graças a ele só aumentavam o volume em sua calça, o mais velho desceu mais chegando até seu meio.

wagner se sentia um homem morrendo de sede vendo um oasis, por uns milésimos considerou se não estava sonhando ou se não tinha bebido demais, não, aquilo era real, você era real, e era divina, sentiu seu cheiro por cima da calcinha fina, estava inebriado, se não estava bêbado antes agora estava, não se segurou e deu um beijo molhado como se estivesse beijando uma amante que não via há muito tempo e que agora voltava aos seus braços, sua respiração ficou presa na garganta e se segurava para não soltar um grito, sentia lágrimas nos olhos e não conseguia mantê-los abertos, apesar de não querer perder um minuto do espetáculo que era moura entre suas pernas.

- wagner, vai direto ao ponto, por favor. - pediu com a voz embargada, o mais velho pareceu acordar de um transe, sua calcinha já encharcada e o pano fino parecendo extremamente frágil, o moreno rasgou a peça e a jogou pro lado, não seria necessária por muito tempo.

a timidez não teve vez nessa hora, moura beijava, lambia e mordiscava, parecia ter esperado por esse momento por toda sua vida, te bebia. em certo momento começou a te foder com a língua, enquanto massageava seu clitóris, você não conseguia mais se manter de olhos abertos e inconscientemente fechava as pernas prendendo o uruguaio entre suas pernas, ele não ligava, a partir daquele dia o meio das suas coxas era o lugar favorito dele.

não demorou até que você alcançasse seu orgasmo, um gritinho saindo da sua boca, suas mãos saíram rapidamente dos cabelos do mais velho até sua boca, não queria que os grandes figurões de hollywood soubessem que você estava fodendo seu produtor, parecia clichê demais, além disso, não sabia exatamente o que seria com wagner, o que seria de vocês depois dessa noite, mas sabia que não conseguiria mais viver sem a boca e as mãos do homem, qualquer futuro amante viveria na sombra do que o baiano fazia com você, ele era o único.

- agora eu também preciso de alívio, você vai me ajudar gatinha? não precisa fazer muito esforço. - wagner disse enquanto se posicionava atrás de você e levantava sua perna, de repente, o mais velho parou.

- o que houve? - você perguntou, por 1 segundo se questionando se ele tinha se arrependido da pequena aventura de vocês.

- você tá muito quente, meu amor, deixa eu te esfriar. - o homem foi até a caixa que você deixou perto das suas malas, a abriu, e tirou algo de dentro, seu troféu de melhor atriz, a mistura de cobre, níquel, prata e ouro que marcava seu sucesso, seu ápice até então.

wagner levou o troféu até a cama e voltou à posição anterior, como se estivessem de conchinha, levantou sua perna e te penetrou lentamente, tinha consciência de seu tamanho, parceiras antiga faziam comentários, tinha uma certa fama na universidade.

- perfeito pra você minha linda, se encaixa tão bem. - você não conseguia responder, se sentia cheia, completa, não era o tipo de pessoa que dizia ‘eu te amo’ no calor do sexo, mas teve vontade de repetir as 3 palavras pro mais velho.

de repente você sente um frio na sua barriga, um frio literal, queimando sua pele quente e suada, era o troféu que tinha ganhado, moura passou a parte de cima do troféu pelo seu corpo, passando no vão entre os seios até o pescoço, enquanto estocava, finalmente levou-o até seu ponto, usou seu troféu para massagear seu clitóris, os detalhes em relevo auxiliavam na tarefa de te dar prazer, sendo fodida pelo homem mais belo do mundo, após ganhar um prêmio, sendo fodida COM este prêmio, se sentiu no topo do mundo, sentiu que poderia fazer o que quisesse.

- minha garota de ouro, sempre que você olhar pra esse troféu vai se lembrar de mim. - o mais velho dizia enquanto metia em você e seguia os movimentos com o troféu

de repente, o homem ficou mais rápido, e os movimentos no seu ponto mais fortes, era claro que estava caçando seu orgasmo e o dele também, queria que chegassem lá juntos, não demorou, wagner gemeu alto e abafou o seu mini grito, você se sentiu leve, seus braços e pernas formigavam, sua mente estava enevoada.

ele se retirou de dentro de você e te ajeitou na cama, você respirava fundo de olhos semi abertos, conseguia ver a silhueta do rapaz se ajustando e repousando sua cabeça no peito dele

- você é uma estrela, a minha estrela - foi tudo que ouviu por cima das batidas do seu próprio coração.

#wagner moura x reader #wagner moura #wagner moura x you #Spotify

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

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scream queen

6.6k / pairing: ghostface!joel miller x f!reader

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summary: A stalker outside your window at night forces you to beg for your life in more ways than one. You do what it takes because you're a survivor. And you kind of like the mask on. A/N: please heed these warnings, as they can be triggering for some individuals. No one is forcing you to read this, and if it sounds unappealing, please keep scrolling. This is far different from what I usually post, but I’m feeling spooky and have rewatched the entire Scream franchise in 72 hours. Indented chat means ghostface’s voice changer is on. Thank you to Emmie @hyzer34 for the FREAKING AMAZING ghostface!joel edits!

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), horror, dark ghostface!joel, dubious consent (dubcon via manipulation/guilt/survival), reader has a boyfriend (what a drag) so I guess cheating/infidelity, swearing, taunting/stalker behavior, masked anonymous individual, strip show to save a life, male masturbation, threat of violence/death, begging for life, manhandling, spanking, rough oral (face fucking)(m!receiving), pet names, praise kink, degradation kink, clit smacking (?), life-threatening knifeplay, unprotected sex (p in v), the mask stays on ladies, plot twist ending? very barely edited heads-up

You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh. You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him. “Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him. “Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties. “Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more. The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame. “I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.”

It was a quiet fall evening. You sat on your boyfriend’s couch, ankles crossed along the extent of the cushions as you leafed through what was available on different streaming services. You wanted something spooky for Halloween but not something that would over-excite your imagination while alone. You’re wearing the same thing he left you in, red panties and an oversized black tee you had snagged from his closet.

You figure your boyfriend should be home soon, so you start a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You sit up on the counter and kick your feet gently against the cabinets as you watch the time tick down, listening to each pop as it slowly rattles up its pace.

Your phone’s ring catches your attention back in the living room. You assume it’s your boyfriend as you hop off the counter and swipe it from the arm of the chair.

Unknown Caller

With a roll of your eyes, your tongue rutting out against your cheek, you deny the call. Probably a wrong number or an asshole troll since Halloween was nearing. You’re about to turn back to the kitchen, hearing the popcorn bag rattling with intensity when your phone goes off again.

Stopped in your tracks, you watch your phone buzz with uncertainty as the screen flashes with the Unknown Caller tag once more.

All of a sudden, the air is tight in your lungs, and your body is riddled with goosebumps. Now you were annoyed. You slid across the call button and pushed the phone to your ear.

“You have the wrong number. Stop fucking calling me.” You jam the blaring red end call button before huffing and returning to your popcorn.

The timer slowly counts down, but each pop from the bag makes you jump. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Your body jolts as you hear something pound against the windows, throwing yourself back against the counter with wide eyes.

“What the fuck!” You gasp as you rotate your head, searching from open window to open window where the banging was coming from. But there was nothing. No one. Your heart rate is slowly increasing, you can feel it jumping in your wrist and your neck.

Your feet quickly skid across the room, locking the house’s back door before running back towards the front entrance, flicking the lock in place. Even if it was nothing, at least you were safe.

Standing still in the entryway, you observed the home to be dead quiet. Your fears were still nesting on your shoulders, that you weren’t alone.

Your phone rings again, causing you to jump from the silence you had grown used to. With a distasteful grimace, you glance around as you walk towards your phone. You accept the call with hesitancy.

“Who is this?” You ask, already maneuvering around the house and shutting all the curtains and blinds in your wake. “Whoever the hell you are, just stop fucking calling me.” You try not to let the panic that’s sitting in your throat be exposed over the phone. Whoever has called you hasn’t spoken yet.

“Hello?” You ask, pausing in the kitchen as you finish your rounds around the first floor.

“Now that is how you answer a phone call.” The voice isn’t familiar, it’s almost… animatronic? It didn’t sound like a person, but the languidness of their voice was all too human. It was low, primal.

Now, you’ve seen these movies before, you weren’t an idiot, and you weren’t going to be one tonight.

“What are you going to ask me? What’s my favorite scary movie?” You taunt, yanking the microwave door open and retrieving the piping hot bag of popcorn from inside, sucking in a harsh breath as your fingertips branded red from the heat.

The voice on the line laughs. It’s almost sinister, not at all comforting. You’re not even sure why you’re entertaining this jackass who’s calling you when all they’ve done so far is giggle at your expense.

“How did you even get this number, you fucking troll?” You probe, frowning as you squeeze your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you pry open the popcorn bag. Of course, it bursts, sending a few pieces scattered around the kitchen. You simply roll your eyes and sigh at the inconvenience.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?”

You squat down to pick up the kernels you dropped, only realizing the extent of what the voice said a moment later. Your eyes widen, and your chest surges with panic. You look around, but all the windows are closed and covered. Was that just a lucky guess, or is someone watching you?

Out of instinct, you reach for the knife block on the kitchen counter and yank out the biggest one. The blade gleams silver in the light, and you realize how exposed you are.

You set down the knife on the counter and quickly move around the house, shutting off the lights and concealing you in a dim darkness.

“What happened to the show? Why did the curtain close?” The low, sinister voice asks, and you whimper quietly in your hand to conceal your fear. “I liked watching you walk around,” he pauses, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, “in those red little panties.”

You hate to admit that this flicks a nasty switch in you, chased and taunted, talked down to by an unknown figure. As much as you’re scared, a small churning begins low in your tummy, and you clench your thighs tighter together.

With a shaky breath, you nibble on your lower lip and slowly move towards the front windows. You slowly peek them open, seeing nothing but your reflection and darkness.

“Can you see me?” You ask nervously, licking at your lower lip.

“Ahhh, there she is.” The voice praises, forcing you to swallow a lump down your throat. “Push those curtains open all the way. Want to see all of you.” You shiver, and the pooling in your panties only becomes more urgent. Someone’s watching you, and they like what they see.

Following the anonymous caller’s instructions, you slowly push open the curtains, your body backlist by a dim light still on in the kitchen. The voice hums in appreciation.

You blame it on your state of panic for not thinking clearly or logically for that manner. This creep wanted you, you could hear the slight desperation clinging to their voice.

“Promise me you won’t fuckin’ harm me, and I-I’ll put on a show for you. Isn’t that what you want? You said you liked my panties.” You breathily point out, opting to put the phone on speakerphone and setting it down on the bench in front of the now curtain-drawn windows.

The voice on the other line hums, pondering your offer. A shiver rolls over your spine as you subconsciously cross your arms in front of your body, scared and nerve-wracked.

“You have a gorgeous body. Let me see it. All of it.” The voice echoes within the quiet home, and you blink back the fear that is resting heavily on your chest. You take in a shaky breath and do as you are told.

Your hands go to the hem of your top, about to lazily toss it off when you are tsk tsk-ed at. You frown and quickly pull the t-shirt back down.

“Not like that!” The voice barks, angry and condescending, making you whimper. The voice pauses and takes a breath. “Slower.”

“Slower..” you whisper back, hearing the voice hum. You still couldn’t see outside, merely darkness and your reflection. You were fucking terrified, but if this was what they wanted, just maybe they’d let you be.

You try again. Your hands slowly start at the sides of your neck, pretty and dainty fingers cascading down to your clavicle. You push one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, lightly ruffling the strands while the other skims lower to more dangerous territory.

The heel of your palm skirts down the front of your shirt until your fingers flitter over the hem of your panties.

It feels stupid what you’re doing, but it makes you feel alive. Your heart has never beat faster. You’ve never turned on a complete stranger, stalker, even. You were in control of the show here.

You’re not exactly sure what to look at in the window, so you admire the reflection. You hum sweetly as you hook your thumbs into the tops of your panties. You loop them around, from front to back, stopping at the sides and lightly pushing down to show glimpses of your hips.

The breathing on the other end shuffles. It almost makes you stop.

“This turn you on?” You ask. “Does this make you have your hand around your cock?” You ask into the phone, smiling lightly as you turn around, lifting up the shirt from covering your ass, giving them a peek-a-boo of you from the back.

The evil voice echoes a laugh. “How did you know?”

Being correct makes you all the more turned on. “How could you not?”

I mean, look at you. You looked gorgeous and confident, silhouetted by the light, awed by a strange man. You can hear them jerking it on the line, murmuring little grunts to try and not get ahead of themselves. The show had just begun.

With your back turned to the window still, you cross your arms over your threshold, retrieve your shirt, and lift it up and off of you. Your hair cascades and dances around your back and shoulders. You felt bare, cold. Part of you wished they would come inside and warm you up.

You peer over your shoulder, hearing the approving grunt on speakerphone. You bit on your thumbnail, looking through the glass with big doe eyes.

“You’re not so innocent, pretty girl. Let me see you.”

Now, with your body to show, you felt a bit more nervous. Your fingertips twitched, and you felt shaky on your legs. You did as the voice asked, turning to face the window. Your arms are crossed, covering your bare breasts meekly.

That’s when you see him. A masked man standing a fair distance away out your window. It quickens your pulse and surges you with adrenaline.

Yet you don’t run. You don’t hide.

Your eyes flitter down to their hand shuffling up and down the extent of their cock. The sight alone, even in the dark, being able to see his impressive length was enough to make you let out a needy whimper.

“I-I don’t know about this,” you whimper, your head falling a bit shamefully. It’s like your head caught up with your foolish actions.

“I’m warning you. Put down your fucking arms.”

You let out a shaky breath and wince at the voice, tears simmering on your waterline. You put yourself in this position, you can’t believe you thought this would work.

You slowly drop your hands to your sides, exposing your breasts. And how embarrassing they were, taut and at peaks. They were flush with color, begging for attention. You interlocked your fingers behind your back and chewed on your bottom lip, shyly looking down at the floor as you clamped your thighs tightly together.

“You’re a real beautiful girl,” the voice grunted, flattering you with attention. “Why don’t you let me in.”

The demand didn’t frighten you like maybe it should have. Frankly, you were turned on to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t know who this mystery person was or what their intentions were, but they were getting off to seeing you exposed, scared, and alone.

“Come on,” the voice continues. You hear shuffling, and when you look up, the masked man outside your window is gone. You move closer and peer outside, but it’s quiet. Empty.

“Let me take care of you, sweet girl.”

Breaths fans out hastily from your nostrils, panicked as you looked around slowly from the front entrance to the back.

The doorbell rings, and it makes you jump nonetheless.

You bite down on your bottom lip as you retrieve your phone and slowly cross to the door in just your socks and underwear. Your forearm covers your breasts. Your hand rests on the handle, but you have a hard time willing yourself to open it.

The doorbell rings again, another jump through your bones, but this time, it implores you to swing the door open. And there he was.

He was tall, you had to crane your neck to look up. Your lips part, doe eyes taking in how close he is, stepping back in shock at his appearance. Broad shoulders cloaked by a black hooded robe. It was tattered, lined with rips and tears at the seams that draped from his arms. He also wore large, black, combat boots. The scariest thing of all was the mask. It was white with black eyes and a sloped open black mouth.

Whoever was behind the mask was fit. Their toned body could be discovered even behind the robust black robe. He wore black gloves, too. You don’t realize that as you’re taking him in, the protective arm you had concealing your breasts has since lowered.

“Scary night to be alone, isn’t it?” The voice is still animatronic as the masked man’s head tilts and observes you through the black cloth eye holes.

You nod your head, its pace quick.

“Invite me in. Don’t want you to catch a chill.”

It was disturbing to admit how stupid you felt letting this freakshow stalker into your boyfriend’s home, but in a really weird and taboo way, you found the anonymity of the man attractive. You saw his cock while he stood outside, his large hand stroking over himself at the sight of your body. You figure he must have put the gloves back on once he wanted to come inside.

As if he could read your mind, the masked man stepped inside with his tall stature looming over yours. He slowly plucked off one of his gloves, and you see his flesh.

You watch him carefully as he brings his hand to cup your cheek. You flinch at first, but there is truly nothing to be frightened of. He strokes away a dry, panicked tear from earlier. You can’t help but let out a shaky, wavering whimper. He touches you with such delicacy but hides behind a mask that scares you to your core.

“Just as I thought,” His animatronic voice echoed, his hand dropping to your hair that fell around your face and sweeping it behind your shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hair was no longer concealing your breasts. You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh.

You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him.

“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him.

“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties.

“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more.

The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame.

“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.” He aggressively cups your sex, feeling his fingers squish with the soaked material of your red panties. You whimper and clutch his arm, biting back whimpery moans that you’re so desperate to let out. You were secretly begging to be touched. Your thighs clamp around the man’s hand.

He deviously chuckles. “This is all for me, sweet girl?”

The man walks you backward until your back is flushed to the wall. You’re still holding his arm in place between your thighs. His fingers add pressure to your bundle of nerves. You lightly grind your hips down into his fingers and let out an embarrassed little moan.

“Y-Yes.” Admitting in defeat made your stomach churn. “But I want to hear your voice.” You whisper, unsure if you can even make demands in your position right now.

Ghostface sighs weakly but plucks something out from under his mask. It looks sort of like a smaller walkie-talkie. It was a voice changer. Your eyes flitter to the eyes of his mask. It was black, empty. Finally, you would hear his true voice, and you prayed it was as sexy as he looked.

“Is this what you wanted to hear, darlin’?”

You lightly gasp at the southern drawl, deep and guttural, musk-filled and leaving you in a tailspin. His voice was hot, causing a pool of your white-hot heat to leak once more into your panties. You finally nod to his question and let your hands skim across the man’s front. He was toned, like you imagined, with hardened plains and a toughened, thick torso under his black cloak.

“You’re comin’ with me.” The voice growls. He leans down and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you gasp and whimper, feeling him trail you up the stairs. His black combat boots echo loudly through the stairwell. He’s so strong. How he knows the layout of the house scares you and implores you. It’s like he knows you, and you may know him.

He takes you to the master bedroom, the one you share with your boyfriend. Fuck, your boyfriend. A naughty sin to cheat, a naughty sin to like it. It’s hard to picture him right now with the man above you captivating your full attention.

Your breasts jiggle when he throws you back onto the mattress. You scramble further up it, putting a safe distance between you and Ghostface. He grips you at your ankles and pulls you to him in an eager yank. A cry escapes your throat, but it’s just because you’re nervous. You saw how big he was in his hand outside, and now, soon, you’d hope he would be inside of you.

“Please,” you whimper, and Ghostface tilts his head. “I-I..” you trail off and shake your head, embarrassment and shame pumping through your veins.

“You, what? Spit it out, pretty girl.” The voice says as he slowly takes off the hooded robe. He wears black pants and a black t-shirt under it but keeps the mask on. You like the mask on.

“I… I need you, Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. Since he pulled you by your ankles back to the edge of the bed, your centers lightly graze one another. You make it a point to grind your hips eagerly into his, smearing the front of his pants with your slick.

The masked man hums in appreciation. You feel his hardened length concealed by his pants. Whimpers leave your mouth as you sit up and reach forward, unbuttoning the black pants with shaky hands. You unzip him and yank him free of his confines. You nearly freeze at his length, prominent veins lining up and down his cock from his pink tip to his swollen balls.

“You wanna live tonight, baby girl?” The low southern voice asks. You quickly nod, big, desperate eyes wanting to fill his every carnal need.

“Then get on your fucking knees, m’gonna fuck your throat.”

He’s aggressive as he pulls you down onto the floor by your hair. You scream out of instinct, but the heat on your scalp brings needy relief.

You quickly scramble properly to your knees and shuffle your hand over him. One hand isn’t enough, so you add your second. He’s so large and girthy. Fucking your mouth would hurt so good. You hope you’re a slobbering mess for him once he’s done with you.

“Did I say your hands?” You frown and slowly stop, shaking your head. “I said your throat, want your fucking throat, you little slut.”

You whimper and force yourself to put your hands behind your back, your breasts perking out more as you spit over him, watching it glide down his shaft and spill onto your shaking thighs. You lick your lips and wrap your mouth around his sensitive tip.

The masked man seethes through his teeth. He takes off both gloves and knots his fingers into your hair. You’re intimidated by his size, anyone would be, so you try to relax your throat and let him sink further and further in.

Your eyes go wide as he rams himself down your throat impatiently. Your hands instinctively fly up to his thighs, smacking at them and clutching desperately, trying to explain with a lack of words that you’re choking on him. You cry out, but his cock muffles you.

“M’not a patient man, I’m warning you now.”

You clench your teary eyes closed and sniffle, trying your best to swallow around him and breathe through your nose. Your black mascara tears turns him on, and he twitches in your mouth.

With a shaky breath, you try again. You have to start slow at first, but you remember how impatient he is. You slick his cock with your spit, trying to work up his shaft inch by inch.

“Open your mouth up, nice and wide for me.” The sight of his mask makes you twitch, but you do as he says and drop your jaw for him. You even go as far as to stick out your tongue for him.

“Wow,” he admires, as both of his hands wind up into your hair and carve out sections of your hair to create ponytails in his fists. “Such a good girl f’me.”

His praise makes you purr, bringing your hands up to your front as you massage over the squishy flesh of your tits.

You let out a low mewl as he stuffs your mouth again, stuffing your face with his cock. It takes a few moments, but you gradually learn how to accommodate him. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, and he likes it when you choke around him. You try to see him through your teary eyes, whimpering around his cock.

The masked man’s grip on your hair tightens as he pulls you into his cock and holds you there, balls flushed to your mouth as they smack against your chin. He groans, long and low, holding you down as his cock suffocates your throat. You swallow around him, tasting drops of precum, whimpering around him as you struggle to breathe. Despite it causing you to choke even more around him, you stick out as much of your tongue as you can and teasingly lick at his balls.

He sucks in harshly through his teeth and moans, gripping the ponytails even tighter, making your scalp sear in pain. But it was all worth it because he was so goddamn big in your throat. You hoped he would split your pussy.

With a harsh yank, the masked man rips you from his cock. You instantly cough and gag, trying to swallow around the excessive puddles of saliva grouping in the back of your throat and now dripping out of your mouth. You looked like a disgusting mess.

You plant your hands on the floor and drop your head, looking like a dog as you shakily regain your breathing. You slowly look up, seeing his hardened cock slap up against his toned stomach, dripping with your slobber.

You meekly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand up, your legs shaking beneath you. With as much courage as you can muster, you reach for Ghostface’s hand and slowly pull it to your center as you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Please,” you beg in a meek whisper, swallowing the messy amount of existing saliva and precum down your throat as you blink through black, mucky, mascara tears. Your eyes flutter as his long, meaty fingers slowly circle around your clit through your panties. It’s jaw-dropping, stomach-fluttering madness. It’s like he knows you like the back of your hand. “Please, fuck me.” You whisper desperately, pulling him slowly towards the direction of the bed. Towards you.

You don’t feel any more safe with him, but you like the excitement of feeling on the fence. Would he be rough or gentle with you? Call you his sweet girl or his little slut? The edging of unsureness and torrid manipulation has forced white hot heat to pool into your core, and you sure as hell spoiled these red panties enough.

The masked man drops his gaze to your mound. His hands reach up to the sides of your hips.

It’s slow and desperate at first, he almost fools you. Ghostface weakly chuckles before he begins to rip the measly material from your lower half. You yelp out as it causes your body to get tugged around. Your panties are now a mess of threads on the floor. You whimper desperately, clamping your thighs closed on instinct despite wanting the opposite.

Ghostface grabs your ankles and forcibly parts your legs, turning his head slowly as he watches your glistening core.

“Y-You could have a taste, y’know, if you take off the mask.” You offer, your heart pounding in your chest. You loosely hook your leg around his hip and pull him closer. Ghostface plants his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you as his heavy breath puffs through the mask.

Ghostface pulls one hand away to his side and shucks something off his belt. You gasp and flinch your eyes closed as a large knife glimmers in the moon’s light.

“You think I’m going to show you my face, you stupid bitch? Huh?” He taunts you, wielding the knife closer and closer to your throat as you cry out, but clamp your legs tighter around his waist and pull your centers together. You can feel his fat cock sliding up and down your exposed folds. You’re so needy, and it’s repulsive.

He sickeningly laughs, jutting the tip of his knife against the underside of your chin. It hurts, it stings, and you hope it leaves a mark from him so you can look at it later when you replay this night in your mind. You hope he spares you so you can think endlessly about him.

“I-I want you to keep the mask on.” You purr nervously, your hand drifting down your stomach towards your exposed mound.

Ghostface chuckles, low and demonic. “You want me to fuck you with the mask on?” He asks slowly, trilled with curiosity.

It fills you with a pit of guilt and shame in your stomach. But you slowly nod. You were willing to risk everything, your boyfriend, your safety, your life, just to ensure this man filled you to the brim like you know he could.

“Please do. Fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.” You beg. Though you can’t see, you imagine him smirking behind his mask, looking at you with a sense of intrigue and disgust. How could you be so twisted?

“My pleasure.” He says goadingly, ripping the hold you had on the sheets and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You cry out as he forcibly spreads your legs with his body and slaps his cock against your aching center. You’re so sensitive from waiting, you needed to have him this very second.

A smirk twitched on your lips, but you forced yourself to bite it down, shakily moaning as Ghostface tucks away his knife and wraps his large hand around his cock, lining up his tip to your dripping center. You flinch every time he purposely flicks your anxious bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand clutching his bicep greedily. “Please, need to feel you inside of me.” You whimper.

Ghostface reaches up and smears his hand down your face, your cheeks smudged with your mucky tears as you whine like a little brat. For your insolence, he strikes you across the face before nastily grabbing you by your cheeks and forcing you to look at him.

“Bein’ a real fuckin’ brat for a stranger’s dick, such a fucking hungry cock slut, aren’t you?” He degraded you to your very core, soiling his cock in your gushing slick. You were pretty sure that if he even just breathed over your mound, you would come.

Ghostface enjoys your desperate whimpers for his dick. He’s more than happy to deliver. He angles his tip to your entrance and notches himself inside. Your gasp surges his adrenaline as he parts you egregiously.

You hook your hands on the underside of your legs, keeping yourself wide and spread for the masked man above you. Inch by inch, you feel your head lose focus, your mind floating as you see stars that consume your vision.

The moans you give him are heavenly, he thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful thing. He’s a sadist watching you take his cock, knowing it hurts, knowing you’re forcing yourself open for him, knowing how much you’re drunk off it. He just can’t help himself to wait.

Air is knocked from your lungs when Ghostface decides he’s, again, not a patient man. He fucks the last few inches into you and hard, pushing you to your limits and filling you to the brim.

Your head is thrown back as you scream in shock, never having been fucked by someone who feels so good. You sob as your walls flutter around him, attempting to accommodate the size in such a short amount of time.

“Yes! Jesus Christ- Fuck!” You moan out, to which Ghostface chuckles lowly.

“Take me so well,” he’s trying to breathe through being squeezed so tightly by your walls, even he finds it difficult. “Such a pretty girl, just needs to be fucked to keep her- shit - her goddamn mouth shut.” The man growls behind the mask and starts to fuck you at an earth-shattering pace.

You cry out in shock, gripping Ghostface at his biceps and whimpering at how strong he is. He pulls himself nearly all the way out of you before he flushes his hips right back to you, slapping your ass cheeks with his clothed thighs. That’s when he really begins to rail you.

You see stars, still adjusting to his size, your slick pooling around him with excitement. You hazily smile, fucked dumb by a stranger, filled to the brim as you stare at the ceiling. Your visions jumps up and down as Ghostface pounds you senselessly. The bedframe rattles and the legs skirt against the hardwood floors.

Impatient whines from you fill the room as he pulls himself from your pussy, moaning out for him needily. He manhandles you, grabbing your hips forcefully and flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Ass up, let’s go.” He commands.

You were still in a funk, head wiped empty of any palpable information. You whimpered as you tried to move but at the pace of a snail.

His impatient hands grip you tightly at your hips, forcing a broken yelp from your throat as he pulls you up to bend over, shoving your face into the mattress and angling your ass up for him to use.

“Yes, please use me,” you whimper desperately, reaching your hands back and parting your ass cheeks for him. “Finish inside me, use me as your cum dumpster.” Where was this language coming from?! This wasn’t you, you didn’t sound or look like you. He was turning you into someone new, someone satisfied by his anonymity. You’d never know who was fucking you senseless, and it might drive you mad until you find out, if you ever will, that is.

Your thoughts are squashed from your mind as a harsh slap followed by a greedy grip is splayed across your ass. A yelp is pulled from your throat, instincts telling you to flinch away and protect yourself.

“Ah-ah,” the man teases, his angry fingers creating bruises on your hips as he pulls you back to the edge of the bed to be his little sex servant. “Good girls take what they are given, so take it,” Ghostface says as he smacks your other cheek, reddening them both, jiggling the flesh much to his appeal.

His large palms seared his prints into your ass, gripping your ass and pulling you to his cock. He lines himself up, and you take him again.

You don’t understand unless it’s happening to you, how it feels like you’re floating in space, fucked numb but also feeling like you’re on pins and needles. It’s indescribable to enjoy being fucked by a stranger, but it’s happening, and it’s happening to you.

He penetrates you, parting your walls, making himself a home inside you. You squeeze around him, and he moans. It satisfies you so intensely.

“Beg for me,” he mutters through the mask, grunting with each thrust. He must be close.

“P-Please, keep fucking me so good, please Mr. Ghostface-”

“No!” He strikes your pretty ass again, hard, and your warm flesh singes with heat. You whimper, imagining how red, angry, and large his handprint looks stamped on your ass.

“Want you to beg... for your life.” His voice had turned as cold as stone, ridged with a sadist tone that left goosebumps bubbling on the surface of your skin. A scared feeling sunk into the pit of your stomach. You swallowed a lump down your throat and shyly peeked around your shoulder to take him in.

“P-Please… I want to live,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets as Ghostface slowly picks back up the paces of his thrusts. He’s turned on by this.

“Oh my- please, I know you d-don’t know me, but I’m good, l-look how good I’m being for you,” you begin to cry as he fucks you harder, your ass clapping aggressively against his thighs and the grip he has on your hips intensifies.

He loves fucking you until you cry. Such a sadist.

Ghostface gives a few last gut-twisting thrusts, and his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly. He’s so large you can feel him in your tummy. His hand reaches around your hip, and the other stays gripping your ass while he spanks your clit lightly with his fingers.

“Fuck!” You cry out, beginning to throw your ass back into him, creating your own unique rhythm together. You’re so sensitive, and you’re coming before you can even fully register it.

“Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. “I-I’m coming so fu-ucking hard,” you mewl for him, your thighs twitching along with your walls that squeeze around him, begging to milk him for his seed.

Ghostface’s thick and angry cock twitches inside of you, desperate to fill your needy hole with his sperm. He grunts and pants into the mask, filling his own body with a heat that makes him sweat. He pounds himself into you until you’re flattened against the mattress, begging for release, begging to live.

There’s something about your obedience that he gives into, his cock twitching deep inside the warm comfort of your walls and between your beautiful ass cheeks. He pulls out and pants, handling his cock as he paints your ass white.

The warm droplets of come make you twitch, but it’s so hot to be painted white by the man who praised you and degraded you all night long.

You’re a heap of nothing strewn about the mattress. You can’t seem to calm your shaky breath. You lay there limp, unable to move, unable to think. All you can think about is the man behind the mask and how irate and perverted he is. And how much you fell into his trap.

Shame twisted your guts enough, forcing you to get up and turn around and face your stalker. But when you turned back, he was gone. How long were you not paying attention?

You quickly retrieved your robe, forcing yourself to walk despite your legs feeling like liquid gelatin. Checking room to room, you survey your boyfriend's home and are left empty-handed. It’s like he was never here.

From the top of the stairs, you hear the door open and close.

“Honey?” Your heart sinks, hearing your boyfriend kick off his shoes on the mat.

Rushing down the stairs, you collapse into his arms and cry out of guilt. You tell him everything. Everything besides the show in front of the windows and getting fucked by Ghostface in his own bed. There’s more to leave out than to leave in, but the short story is that you were taunted over the phone by a masked man, scared to death, and begged for your life.

His first reaction was to call the police, and despite how much you hesitated, you let him. Two nice offers responded to the call. They sat you two down separately and asked you what had happened. You were wrapped in a blanket and your robe, shaking in disappointment.

It was scary, lying to the cops, withholding all of the truth. Making sure not to overshare any details. You also didn’t want to give away that you liked it. To the bone, you liked it.

You were hunted like prey tonight, used, fucked hard until you couldn’t breathe. Left in the dark, feeling a little crazy if it even happened in the first place. But you could feel him still inside of you, stretched and still leaking between your thighs. You tugged your robe tighter, smiling weakly at the officer as he closed his notebook.

“We’ll figure out what we can ma’am. For now, keep everything locked up. I wouldn’t leave the house alone.” You wipe away the mucky mascara on your cheeks and sigh, nodding as you walk with the officer to the door.

His badge read J. Miller. He was older, stippled with grey hair within his dark curly locks. He had an aquiline nose and plumish-rose lips. His broad chest strikes something somewhat familiar to you. He glances behind you at the officer who is still asking your boyfriend a few questions.

Officer Miller sighed, looking over the door frame curiously.

“Said you locked the doors?”

You hesitate but nod compliantly.

His pointer finger shapes over the lock, then the entry metal hinge. “No forced entry.” He notes, looking at you curiously.

You evade his eye contact and conceal yourself tighter in your blanket and robe. “I.. I don’t know how he got in.” Your eyes find the floor, planting themselves there as you stare at Officer Miller’s familiar black police boots.

He hums curiously, looking over you slowly.

“You’re tellin’ me everythin’ that happen to you tonight?”

Your doe eyes go wide, your head snapping up to Officer Miller’s. “I-I promise, please, Officer Miller-”

He holds up a hand to cut you off, and you weakly stand there with your lips parted. Then he starts to nod and slowly smile. “That’s a good girl.”

It strikes you like a bolt of lightning, fear and curiosity consume you. You hear footsteps behind you, the other officer, and your boyfriend, who collects his arm around your shoulders.

Officer Miller watches you with a glint of intrigue but nothing more. His eyes shift to your boyfriend’s arm protectively wrapped around you. It makes him twitch up a stomach-twisting smile before he turns to his fellow officer.

“Got everything you need?” Officer Miller asks, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt while he observes the other officer’s notepad. The officer nods and places his small notebook and pen in his breast pocket.

“Got everything we need. You two stay safe.”

The other officer ducks out first and nods curtly, Officer J. Miller stands there a moment longer.

“Happy Halloween.” He said with a sickening smile. “Be sure to lock the door behind me.”

You gulp as you look over Officer Miller meekly before he disappears outside and into the night. Where he belonged.

---

here's my masterlist!

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purplesimmer455 · 21 days ago

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While Cam and Piper chat with Emily, iseul goes up to Megan. She takes some flowers she bought out of her inventory, and presents them to Megan. “They’re for you and Emily. To brighten up your apartment,” she says, her cheeks slightly pink. “Aww, Issy, they're gorgeous. Thank you.” Megan says, smelling the bouquet. Iseul nods, a smile spreading across her face as she watches Megan gently touch the petals of a flower. “I know we’re not officially dating yet, but I wanted to court you and be a little romantic.” Iseul says, and Megan smiles. “I don’t mind, and it’s sweet to see this side of you again. Remember that time in college when we were staying on campus during Winterfest? When my parents went on that cruise to Sulani and your parents were in Korea visiting relatives.” Megan says, and Iseul nods. “Yeah, you were so homesick and I made us a fancy meal with the food I had lying around and we ate it, watched a movie, and snuggled the whole night. It was one of my favorite Winterfests.” Iseul says softly, and Megan blushes and nods.

While Cam comes over to talk to Megan, Iseul goes over to Piper and Emily. She gingerly sits down on the couch, and Piper smiles while Emily turns to glance at her. “Hey auntie Is,” she says half heartedly. “Hey Emily, how are you doing?” Iseul asks. “Pretty good, I guess. How are you?” Emily asks, her voice slightly stilted. “Good too.” Iseul says, failing to find words for the second time in her life. “So,” Piper speaks up, cutting the tension. “Emmy was just telling me she’s thinking of going to Britechester.” She says, and Iseul’s eyes light up. “Really? You’d love it there, Emmy. I can give you a tour if you want because I know all the cool places on campus.” Iseul says. “Thanks, Iseul, but I’m good. My ma is going to show me around campus,” Emily says with a raised brow, and Iseul nods, her face flushing. “Oh okay, that’s great. But let me know if you’d need help or anything,” Iseul adds, and Emily nods, biting her lip.

Iseul heads back to San Myshuno, and Megan checks on Emily and heads back upstairs to their apartment, carrying the bouquet of flowers carefully. Emily talks with Cam, who glances at her before taking a breath. “Emmy, I know you’re not that happy with auntie Is right now, and you have every reason not to be.” She starts cautiously. Emily furrows her brows, and opens her mouth to speak before shutting it. “When my sis and I got busy with life stuff, college for me and kids for her, I think you became another niece to my auntie. She’s always bringing you up when we talk, and she loves you a lot. I don’t blame you for being angry that your moms split and your mom is in love with my auntie, but just try and give Iseul a chance.” Cam says gently. Emily sighs, fiddling with one of her braids. “I’m trying, Cammy. I care about auntie Iseul too, but it sucks that when I’m here, mom and auntie Iseul are so happy and in love, and when I go back home, I see ma, who’s still hurting and in love with mom and trying to move on. I don’t want to pick sides cause I love mom and ma both.” She mutters, and Cam nods, pulling Emily into a bear hug. “I understand, and you shouldn’t have to pick,” she says. Emily feels embarrassed as tears prick her eyes, and she feels a few fall onto Cam’s shoulder. “Sorry, I got your shoulder wet.” She says, wiping her eyes. “It’s okay, Emmy. What are cousin-in-laws for?” Cam jokes gently.

#ts4 #ts4oc #Iseul Kang #Megan Liao #Piper Feldman-Chen #Cameron Kang #Emily Liao-Feldman

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starkwlkr · 10 days ago

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MEET CLAIRE CROSBY

faceclaim pinar deniz

occupation actress

age 37

birthday october 27 1987

zodiac scorpio

years active 2004-present

spouse sidney crosby

awards golden globe, emmy, oscar

Claire Evangeline Crosby (née Weston) is an american actress born in San Diego, California. She got her first role at 17 when she played Christine in the 2004 film adaptation of The Phantom Of The Opera. Since then she’s worked with Christopher Nolan, Steven Spielberg and Greta Gerwig. In 2009, she received her first oscar nomination and won at the age of 21.

Personal life

Claire met NHL star Sidney Crosby at a party in Vegas in July of 2009. Shortly after their meeting, the pair began to date and in August 2014 they were married. She has since been credited as ‘Claire Crosby’ in her films. The couple are very private when it comes to their life. It was reported that in 2021, the couple quietly welcomed a baby girl.

an: hellooooooo!! so here’s my oc that is going to be part of the ma!reader universe! you don’t have to read every single ma!reader fic don’t worry lol

#marvel actress!reader #oc #marvel actress universe

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angelap3 · 2 months ago

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Mi chiamo Caryn Elaine Johnson, ma tutti mi conoscono come Whoopi Goldberg. Sono un’artista EGOT, ovvero ho vinto i quattro premi più prestigiosi dell’intrattenimento americano: Emmy, Grammy, Oscar e Tony. Questo significa che ho eccelso in tutti i settori – televisione, musica, cinema e teatro. Dicono che il mio carisma sia irresistibile e che la mia energia sia così travolgente da poter andare in Vaticano e chiedere a Papa Francesco di recitare in Sister Act 3, mentre negli Stati Uniti festeggio il tributo che mi è stato dedicato in TV in Italia da Fiorello.

Ho vinto l'Oscar come Miglior Attrice Non Protagonista per Ghost nel 1990 (diventando la seconda donna afroamericana a riuscirci dopo Hattie McDaniel, che interpretò Mami in Via col vento) e sono stata candidata come Miglior Attrice per Il colore viola di Steven Spielberg. Ho ricevuto anche due Golden Globe, due Emmy, un Saturn Award, quattro People's Choice Awards, cinque Kids' Choice Awards, sette Image Awards, due Drama Desk Awards e un BAFTA. Nel 2002, mi è stata dedicata una stella sulla Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Ho diretto e prodotto documentari, musical e film acclamati sia dal pubblico che dalla critica. Sono un'attivista per i diritti umani, la ricerca sull’AIDS e la tutela dei bambini. Ho partecipato a numerosi show e serie televisive americane e, tra i vari progetti, ho co-condotto per nove stagioni Comic Relief, uno speciale televisivo benefico a favore dei meno fortunati, insieme a Billy Crystal e Robin Williams. Dal 2007, sono una delle conduttrici di The View, il popolare e progressista talk show dell'ABC.

A 68 anni, ho scritto la mia autobiografia, Frammenti di memoria.

In questo libro, che ho scritto anche per affrontare il dolore della perdita di mia madre Emma, racconto la mia vita, dall’infanzia nei quartieri popolari di New York ai viaggi a Coney Island, dagli spettacoli di pattinaggio su ghiaccio alle visite ai musei, fino alla mia carriera, tra successi e sconfitte. Il libro è un omaggio alle due figure più importanti della mia vita: mia madre e mio fratello Clyde, entrambi scomparsi negli ultimi anni. Mia madre, orgogliosa, pratica e indomabile, ci ha trasmesso l’amore e la saggezza necessari per affrontare la vita, insegnandoci sempre l'importanza di essere onesti, almeno con noi stessi.

Whoopi Goldberg

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marvelous-goose · 2 months ago

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OC KISS WEEK 2025

Prompt: Caught

Featuring my darling Jasper Thorne & Lorant Thorne, who belongs to the wonderful @theesteppenwolf !!!! Loosely inspired by some lovely art she did of the two of them :3

It was winter at Weisshaupt, and Antoine and Evka were throwing their annual Feast Day party—which was really just an excuse for their friends to dress up nice and get wasted, but who cares? Grey Wardens take joy where they can find it; it certainly won’t find them in the end.

Lorant lay across Jasper’s narrow bed, half dressed, his long red hair strewn across the thin blanket. He was still choosing between the two shirts on either side of him, but he decided to take a break from his internal debate to watch Jasper carefully apply shimmery eyeshadow around his eyes, the other Warden’s face mere inches away from the tiny mirror he and Emmy kept in their room.

Jasper looked over to see Lorant staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just cute when you’re focused.” Lorant smirked coyly.

Jasper rolled his eyes in response, but a blush was spreading across his cheeks. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, I’m serious!” He tossed his head back as he laughed, his hair glowing like fire in the warm candlelight.

Jasper gave him a fond smile. Lorant was an incurable and endearing flirt—and Jasper loved to tease him back. “I’m sure you saw cuter when you were a fancy noble in Orlais,” he shot back.

Lorant shook his head morosely. “Never. They all hide their faces behind masks, in Orlais. Such a shame.” He sighed. “Although, I do regret that I may never show you the unique beauty of those masquerade balls.”

“I always dreamed of attending a ball when I was a kid.” Jasper returned to the tiny mirror, now lining his eyes. “There was a book salesman who passed through my hometown once—my ma got me a novel about an Orlesian knight, and he attended a ball at one point in the story. It was so romantic.” Quick flicks of his wrist made fast work of the eyeliner. He looked back to Lorant, who was still watching him with…interest? Amusement? “What, do you want me to do your makeup too?” Jasper teased.

Lorant cocked an eyebrow and looked up, thinking it over. “You know what? Sure. You look so hot with that eyeliner, it’s only fair of you to level the playing field, give me some, too.”

The blush on Jasper’s cheeks spread even further. Without a word, he pulled his long, blondish-brown hair into a bun and stuck an eyeshadow brush through it to keep it in place. “Just eyeliner?”

Lorant nodded. “I don’t want to get too carried away…” He gave Jasper a crafty little grin and pushed himself upright, the muscles in his freckled arms and shoulders highlighted by the flickering shadows.

Oh, Jasper could fight back. He grabbed the tiny pot of eyeliner, wiped his brush clean, and walked over to Lorant—and before the redheaded Warden could do anything about it, Jasper placed a hand on his bare chest and pushed him back down onto the bed, then straddled his hips. “I’ll get a better angle with my wrist this way,” he said innocently. Lorant’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing; Jasper felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. He dipped the brush into the eyeliner, wiped the excess off on the edge of the pot, then adjusted it in his right hand like a pencil.

He held Lorant’s face still with his left hand and gently rested the side of his right hand on the redhead’s lightly scruffy, freckled cheek. Those eyes…sometimes Jasper forgot how beautiful they were. One a soft, cornflower blue, the other hazel. They both looked up at him with a mix of wonder and desire. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and Lorant obliged. He gently swiped the brush along the line of his eyelashes, using short strokes. Lorant was making a clear, conscious effort to stay still, and Jasper rewarded him with a stroke of his thumb across Lorant’s cheek. The Warden hummed in appreciation.

With the first eye finished, Jasper lifted his hand, dipped the brush in the eyeliner once more, then rested his hand on Lorant’s brow. Again, he flicked the brush against Lorant’s lash line, applying just enough eyeliner to make his eyes really pop. When he finished with the second eye, Jasper set down the brush and gently used the pad of his pinky finger to smudge out the line a little. “Okay. You can open them.”

Lorant’s eyes blinked open and locked with Jasper’s. The breath caught in Jasper’s throat. Maker above, he was beautiful. The jet-black of the eyeliner was stark against the blue and hazel of his eyes, glowing in the soft candlelight; Jasper glanced down at his fellow Warden’s lips, imagined what they might taste like, how they might feel against his own. He and Lorant had been flirting for months, and he’d always thought it was a game they were playing, but…what if it wasn’t? What if it could be real, right now?

“Hey,” murmured Lorant, a dazed expression on his face. He smiled softly at Jasper and reached up, placed a warm hand where his jaw met his throat, deft fingers stroking the edges of Jasper’s short beard. Jasper melted into his touch.

“Hey,” Jasper replied, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his chest. Planting his right hand on the bed to brace himself, Jasper dipped to rest his forehead against Lorant’s, their noses bumping, their breath intermingling. He could close the gap between their lips right now.

He didn’t get the chance. Lorant pulled him down the rest of the way and their lips pressed together, sweet and warm. A giddy smile tugged at the corners of Jasper’s lips. “Ah, your mustache tickles,” whispered Lorant into Jasper’s mouth.

“Sorry—“ Jasper was cut off with another kiss, more fervent than the last. Lorant’s teeth grazed across his lower lip, and Jasper shuddered. He shifted his hips against Lorant’s and the redhead let out a low groan—

—When suddenly, the bedroom door opened and Emmy, Jasper’s twin sister, barged in. Lorant and Jasper sprung apart.

“Hey, Jasper, can you—ANDRASTE’S FLAMING KNICKERS.” She immediately covered her eyes with one hand and backed out of the room. “Maker’s breath, the least you can do is put a sock on the doorknob or something next time. Fuck.” She left and slammed the door behind her.

When Jasper and Lorant finally looked at each other again, Jasper’s face was beet red. Lorant giggled. “I love how easy it is to make you blush, you know.”

Jasper just gave him a goofy grin.

#mg talks #theesteppenwolf #ockiss25 #oc kiss week #jasper thorne #lorant thorne #warden twins #my ocs #friends ocs

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jesterday00 · 4 months ago

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Layton AU where I’m definitely not the first person to think of this, not by a long shot. Spoilers for like, the whole Layton series.

Ma and Pa Layton are able to adopt both boys and they don’t get separated, so we have Hershel (Desmond) and Theodore (Hershel) Layton.

Descole still exists, though he’s not a “haha Layton I am foiling your plans because I’m weird and evil”, he’s much more “I am specifically trying to foil Targent’s plans and trying my best to avoid as much damage and casualties as possible.”

The past events from Miracle Mask play out pretty similarly, however Hershel, who is 21 at the time, is visiting Ma and Pa when Theo and Randall go to the Akbadain ruins. Wanting Theo and Randall Bo be safe, he follows them from a small distance, just keeping watch.

He loses track of them when the fall happens, then catches back up as Theo comes out of the treasure room. Theo has a breakdown about Randall in the ruins, and they head back home together. Hershel was studying Archaeology but swiftly changes to a multi-track to Criminology and such. He ends up becoming Detective Layton, and heads the search for Randall and other Missing Person’s cases.

Theo still becomes an Archaeology major in Randall’s honor, believing him to have died like before. He becomes Professor Layton again, the whole Claire situation is the same, but this time Detective Layton begins a down-low internal investigation after Theo is assaulted. Once Theo comes out of his coma, he tells Hershel it’s fine, he’s going to give up his investigation into the explosion. Hershel, however, is enraged, and Descole starts to cause problems with Bill Hawks, leading to Detective Layton needing to investigate his own crimes.

Anyway Miracle Mask, it’s very similar except it’s specifically Targent leading Randall along, trying to use any of his knowledge of the ruins and the mask of chaos to their benefit. Detective Layton arrives shortly after Theo, Luke, and Emmy, claiming to have found a lead on Randall’s whereabouts. Technically he has, but he also knows Targent is involved with this Masked Gentleman.

So Monte d’Or has this Masked Gentleman causing problems, and then this other masked guy (Descole) interrupting the miracles and trying to show off the trick as quickly as possible. The whole spectacle is still pulling in tourists, because many of them think it’s just a fun thing Monte d’Or does.

Maybe it would be Miracle Mask where Theo finds out about Hershel’s second identity, but I’m not quite there yet. Anyway this is really fun to imagine lol

#professor layton #hershel layton #Desmond sycamore #Layton brothers AU #alternate universe #professor Layton AU #Layton series #Layton au #jean Descole #descole #Layton series spoilers #miracle mask spoilers #azran legacy spoilers #unwound future spoilers

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blackiron11 · 6 months ago

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Death's Lover - Chapter 1

A longer look on the emmy nominee series "Agnes of Westview"

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Prologue

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2026

No episódio de hoje de "Agnes de Westview":

Oh cidadezinha mais ou menos. Argh, as coisas que ela tinha que fazer por causa do seu trabalho... E ela nem recebia por isso!

Rio suspirou, enquanto passava pela placa de entrada de Westview. Wanda fez um estrago e tanto na cidade, Rio teve que parabenizá-la algum dia, ela era uma força a ser reconhecida; Três anos depois e esse lugar ainda precisava de bons reparos. O pessoal daqui também tinha espírito, basicamente todas as casas da rua principal tinham algo como "Wanda fede" ou "Morra, Maximoff".

A mulher encarou o papel em sua mão, conferindo o endereço de Agatha mais uma vez, antes de vê-la no final da rua brincando de detetive, ao que tudo indicava. Já que ela estava de pijama e um colar com um distintivo falso. Rio a observou enquanto ela analisava o que parecia ser o jardim do seu vizinho. O homem ao seu lado participava da fantasia junto com ela. Patético.

Rio revirou os olhos, se perguntando mais uma vez se isso era mesmo necessário. Ela estava aqui apenas por ordens superiores, mas a que interessava seus chefes que Agatha Harkness recuperasse seus poderes? Não é como se a bruxa fosse ser aceita nos Vingadores ou algo assim.

Bem, ordens são ordens. E quanto mais cedo ela se livrasse de Agnes, mais cedo poderia procurar por S/N. Depois que o blip de Thanos foi desfeito, as coisas se acalmaram, então a Morte finalmente podia relaxar seu lado. E ela sentia tanto sua falta que o coração dela doía.

Rio viu que Agatha ia em direção a uma cafeteria e aproveitou para falar com o vizinho.

"Por que vocês estão ajudando-a? Não sabem tudo que ela fez?" Rio perguntou arqueando as sobrancelhas.

"Ah, você sabe. Agn-- Agatha era uma boa vizinha. Prestativa" Herb falou sem se importar de nunca ter visto Rio antes. As pessoas gostam de fofocar. "O que Wanda fez foi errado, estamos apenas cuidando dela até que a SWORD consiga reverter o feitiço"

"Prestativa", certo. Vidal riu internamente, ela quase tem pena dessas pessoas. Agatha veio para Westview logo depois de Wanda. Tudo que ela fez aqui era somente a persona de Agnes O'connor em ação. E deve ter sido uma atuação muito boa para todos gostarem dela. Além disso, a SWORD não estava nem um pouco preocupada em tirar Agatha dessa ilusão. Por tudo que a bruxa fez, ela estava basicamente em prisão domiciliar.

Escolhendo não falar sobre isso, a mulher apenas concordou

"Certo, certo. Que seja" ela assentiu "E o que ela está fazendo ultimamente?"

"Ah, acho que agora ela é detetive. Acredito que está investigando a morte de Wanda. Nem sempre entendo o que ela quer dizer" o homem respondeu incerto.

"Sei..." continuou "e isso seria o corpo de Wanda?" Eles olharam para o jardim que Agnes parecia tão submersa antes. Herb apenas deu à mulher um sorriso sem graça.

"Se importa?" Rio tirou o celular do bolso antes mesmo de Herb concordar. Se Agnes achava que essas flores eram o corpo de Wanda, talvez essas fotos fossem importantes.

Passados alguns minutos, houve uma gritaria na cafeteria. Com certeza era Agnes causando confusão. Rio se dirigiu para lá a passos largos - Herb esquecido e ignorado - e entrou no estabelecimento a tempo de ouvir Agatha gritar para a atendente, perguntando onde ela estava ontem à noite; depois olhou para a parte dos cardápios e foi embora correndo.

Rio se dirigiu até o balcão, uma ideia em mente.

"Você pode imprimir essas fotos para mim?" Dottie a olhou desconfiada, pronta para dizer que ali não era uma gráfica "É para Agatha" Rio mascarou um sorriso doce.

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Vidal estava parada na frente da casa de Agnes, tomando coragem para entrar. Passou pelo quintal com algum custo. Estava uma bagunça, lixo por todo lado e grama alta. Aparentemente Agnes não tinha deveres domésticos.

A Morte entrou sem bater, encontrando Agatha sentada na sala falando com a parede e decidiu falar alguma coisa antes que começasse a gargalhar.

"Cheguei!" - Rio decidiu uma abordagem mais amigável

"Sujeita chique sempre atrai atenção dos federais" - Agnes falou ainda sem olhar para sua ex

Era assim que ela a via? Mesmo na ilusão, ela via sua ex como alguém mais poderosa, isso é interessante.

"Vai te ferrar, Chefe" - Rio não aguentou e dessa vez soltou uma risadinha. Tinha que entrar no jogo para saber até onde ia esse feitiço.

"Quanto tempo, né?" - ainda doía pensar que essa frase era verdadeira. Fazia séculos que não via Agatha. Desde que...

"O que faz aqui?" - retrucou Agnes, cruzando os braços

"Meu trabalho?"

"Você quer controlar minha investigação?"

"Não, você pode estar no controle, se é isso o que quer" Rio tentou dar opções, mas não pôde deixar de encará-la por um instante.

Agatha tinha olheiras fundas, cabelo despenteado. Claramente não estava bem. Wanda deixava as pessoas viverem no Hex. Isso foi bem mais... pessoal.

"É assim que você se vê?" A mulher mais velha perguntou, um tanto preocupada. Infelizmente, mesmo depois de tudo, Vidal ainda se preocupava com essa bruxa.

Agnes parecia perdida com a pergunta, e franziu a testa.

"Certo, vamos falar do caso" ela não queria forçar muito. Pegou as fotos que imprimiu e jogou na mesa. "Não tem rastros do corpo, pode ter aparecido lá por magia" talvez essas palavras despertassem alguma coisa em sua ex

"Vamos focar na realidade, aqui" revirou os olhos "é tudo sobre a história do corpo, quem ela era, onde morava, os segredos que escondia"

"E quem melhor que uma cria de Eastview para desvendar isso?" Rio trocou o nome de propósito "você morou aqui sua vida toda, não é verdade, Agnes?" Talvez ela estivesse indo rápido demais.

Agnes olhou no fundo dos olhos da mulher à sua frente. "Eu não quero você aqui" se levantou e abriu a porta da frente de casa - ou a que deveria ser do escritório, Rio supôs.

Ficou claro que não conseguiria mais nada agora, então ela foi embora, mas antes: "Te veo"

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Rio não foi embora de verdade. Um pouco depois, Agatha saiu de casa e Rio entrou pela janela. Ela queria saber se ainda tinha alguma magia do darkhold aqui, talvez tivesse algo para reverter o feitiço. A bruxa verde saiu abrindo cada porta da casa à procura de algo importante - por que Wanda fez uma casa enorme dessas para só duas pessoas estava além da compreensão de Rio - e... Ah.

Ah...

Vidal se arrependeu de ter aberto a porta instantaneamente. Era o quarto dele... Nicky. Ela prendeu a respiração por um momento e as lembranças a invadiram em cheio. O único dia que ela não queria ser a Morte, foi quando teve que levá-lo. Ela não queria fazer isso, ele era somente uma criança. Infelizmente era sua hora.

Nicky é seu único arrependimento. O motivo pelo qual Agatha e ela terminaram. Claro que a mulher teria recriado seu quarto. Mesmo nesse lugar.

Agatha foi a primeira mulher que ela amou, mas depois de tudo que a bruxa disse para ela, depois de tudo que a mais nova fez... Rio tentou explicar à época, Agatha não entendeu. Rio não a culpava, sabia que deveria ser difícil ver um filho partir; porém não deixou de doer, ainda doía.

Harkness a culpou e provavelmente a culpa até hoje pela morte de seu filho. Mesmo sabendo que Rio não era responsável por tirar a vida de alguém. Nesse dia, o coração de Rio se quebrou e passou décadas pensando que a Morte nunca seria digna de amar e ser amada, até conhecer sua doce S/N.

Ela se sentou na beira da cama, com os olhos lacrimejando e segurou um desenho que ele havia feito todos aqueles séculos atrás, agora conservado por magia. Um desenho dos três juntos, "Nicky, Tia Rio e Mamãe" era o que estava escrito.

"Eu sinto muito", ela sussurrou, como se ele ainda pudesse ouvir. Como se ela não tivesse dito isso o caminho todo, enquanto recolhia sua alma. Foi ele quem a consolou no final.

Nicholas Scratch era o mais próximo do que ela jamais teria de um filho. Ela conheceu e se apaixonou por Agatha pouco tempo depois que ele nasceu. Rio ajudou a cuidar dele tanto quanto conseguiu, seu trabalho sempre foi muito puxado, mas pelo menos uma vez por semana conseguia ver seu menino. Eles foram felizes por bons cinco anos.

Ver esse quarto agora mexeu com a Morte. Ela quase esqueceu seu propósito aqui. Se não fosse o barulho de Agatha voltando para casa, Rio ainda ficaria ali um bom tempo.

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Vidal pegou uma caixa de pizza vazia do quintal e tocou a campainha de Agnes dessa vez. Ela não precisava se alimentar. E tinha certeza que Agatha estava com a cabeça tão fértil que veria pizza nessa caixa.

Agnes abriu a porta e tinha a mesma roupa que estava de manhã. Ninguém toma banho no Hex?

Rio sorriu. "Sabia que é uma verdade universal que uma policial não pode ser boa no trabalho e ter uma vida pessoal saudável ao mesmo tempo?"

Ela estava quase sem aguentar estar na frente de quem a fez tanto mal, mas quanto mais rápido ela tirasse Agatha do feitiço, mais rápido esse pesadelo acabava.

"Ótimo, eu estou com fome" Agnes deixou-a entrar e sentaram na sala. Dessa vez, Rio percebeu que realmente estavam na casa dela, segundo sua ilusão.

Agatha falou alguma coisa de tiktok e a mulher apenas riu sem graça. Ela não entendeu nada do que Agnes queria dizer com isso.

"Enfim, eu tenho uma teoria sobre o caso"

"Por isso que eu vim aqui" Rio jogou verde, enquanto fingia tomar qualquer coisa que fosse, no copo vazio que Agatha lhe deu. "Mas pode falar"

"Teve um acidente a uma hora daqui. Tinha sangue no carro"

"Onde?"

"Eastview"

"Eastview?" Rio repetiu "Pensei que você virava abóbora fora de casa" instigou

"Eu já viajei para vários lugares" Agnes retrucou

"Quais?" Agnes abriu a boca para responder, mas não saiu nada. Por que ela não conseguia se lembrar?

"Posso te fazer uma pergunta?" Agatha assentiu, atordoada. "Você se lembra por que me odeia?"

Rio viu ela tentar pensar "Não..."

"Está apenas mentindo para si mesma" Rio tentou.

Agnes ia responder, mas foi interrompida por um barulho e correu. A morte revirou os olhos. Estava tão perto.

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Agnes voltou com um garoto, colocou ele na sala e veio conversar com Rio na cozinha. Rio sentiu a energia dele. Ora, ora... Se não é Billy Maximoff voltando dos mortos. Rio deu a ele um sorriso predador.

Interessante que Agatha não conseguia ouvir o nome dele mesmo dentro do feitiço do Hex.

"Por "condecorada", você quer dizer em "suspensão não remunerada?" Perguntou Billy.

Rio sorriu, ele também tinha feito sua pesquisa. Garoto esperto.

"O que tava procurando na minha casa?"

"O respeito dos seus colegas e uma vida sexual satisfatória, mas você não tem nenhum dos dois"

Rio não esperava isso, então ela riu antes de impedir Agnes de machucar Billy ainda mais. Ela fez um sinal de negativo da cozinha, mas o que raios Agatha olhava tanto para o quadro da sala?

"Vou repetir mais uma vez, o que você está procurando?"

"O caminho"

Isso surpreendeu a Morte. O garoto tinha acabado de se esquivar dela e já queria correr novamente para seu domínio? Essa é nova.

"Que caminho?" Ela ouviu Agnes perguntar

"Eu não sei, você quem mais deve saber"

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"Do que você está falando? São só flores"

Rio decidiu pegar uma cerveja de verdade e apreciar o show. Ficou claro que ela não precisaria fazer nada para ajudar Agnes, a cria Maximoff tinha tudo sob controle

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"Caso encerrado, então?" Rio perguntou mais tarde naquela noite, vendo Agnes no "necrotério" - apenas um dos quartos da casa, cheios de flores do jardim de Herb.

"Como ela morreu?"

"Pergunta errada. Aquela bruxa se foi, levando todas as cópias do darkhold e deixando você num feitiço distorcido. Mas não precisa ficar aqui"

"Tá calor aqui" Agnes estava se abafando e tirando roupas metafóricas

"Isso! Usa as garras e sai. Havia duas desconhecidas nesse caso, e você sabe o nome dela. Qual é o seu?" Rio soltou sua última cartada.

Demorou um pouco para perceber que Agnes estava se aceitando Agatha Harkness e realmente estava tirando toda sua roupa.

Rio fechou os olhos em respeito, correu do quarto e fechou a porta. "S/N, S/N, S/N, S/N, S/N" Ela repetia seu nome como um mantra na mente. Você não poderia culpa-la por estar nervosa, se soubesse. Agatha é uma visão e tanto. E mesmo a Morte tem olhos.

Vidal não ouviu mais barulho do outro lado, então presumiu que Agatha desmaiou de cansaço. Ela passou pelo armário, ouvindo o garoto tentar pedir ajuda, mas nada fez. Sabia que Agatha precisaria dele para recuperar os poderes. Ela voltaria amanhã.

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Como Rio não perderia uma boa entrada, ela explodiu a porta da Ex Agnes e entrou. Ela também agradeceu por Agatha já estar vestida. Sai para lá, tentação.

Rio pressionou Agatha contra a parede, a faca perto de seu pescoço.

"Sentiu saudade?" Perguntou jocosa

"Eu te amo" A bruxa respondeu

O quê? Rio quase perdeu o foco. O feitiço tinha algum dano colateral?

Não importa, ela tinha um trabalho a fazer.

"Quanto tempo faz, Agatha? Desde que você adquiriu o darkhold e me deixou? Mas agora você o perdeu e está vulnerável"

Rio tinha lágrimas nos olhos, mas mesmo assim forçou a faca até tirar um filete de sangue de sua ex.

"Só fisicamente" a bruxa reagiu e bateu sua cabeça parede

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"Você adora isso... A expectativa" Agatha disse, se aproximando dela.

Rio deu um passo para trás, tentando colocar alguma distância entre elas. Qual era o joguinho dela? Fazer Rio se apaixonar novamente? Isso não iria acontecer. Agora e para todo o sempre, a Morte só queria você.

"Ok, Agatha, mas eu vou contar a elas onde você está"

Presentinho dos superiores.

"Quem, especificamente?" Agatha se aproximou mais para tirar o cabelo do rosto de Rio, mas ela se esquivou.

"As Sete de Salém. Finalmente Agatha Harkness vai encontrar seu fim, chega a aquecer o meu coração".

Ela disse isso da boca para fora. A morte de Agatha não lhe traria felicidade ou Nicholas de volta, mas pelo menos mãe e filho estariam reunidos.

"Você não tem coração"

"Sim, eu tenho, mas ele não bate mais por você." Somente por você, S/N. Vidal pensou, saudosa.

Rio pegou a mão da bruxa e apertou seu corte, lembrando a Agatha que ela também sabe causar dor.

A morte empurrou sua ex pro lado e saiu da casa com apenas um "Te veo".

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Chapter 2

Só a título de curiosidade, Westview ainda está assim, porque Pepper parou de ser idiota e de dar dinheiro para o controle de danos dos vingadores.

Também não entendi para onde eu fui com esse capítulo. Era para ser só a perspectiva de Rio das coisas, mas acabou se juntando ao meu prompt 8.

Ah, fico muito feliz em saber que algumas pessoas leram a história e gostaram. Obrigada, gente 😊

Acredito que vou fazer 9 capítulos. Tentarei postar 1 ou 2 por semana.

O que eu não descrever durante os capítulos, significa que é igual ao Canon.

Agora tô achando que usei espaçamento de menos, ai que ódio

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #agathario #agatha harkness x rio vidal

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sciatu · 3 months ago

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PREPARAZIONE TIRAMISU'

Prontu o prontu …. Anciulina jo sugnu …. Ti scuddati di canciari i batterii a l’apparecchiu pi sentiri. Mi senti? ANCIULINAAAA studduta chi non si otru , cancili si batterie E si chi sugnu jo , avi menzura che ti parru Comu avivi u cellulari a ruvessa … Oh ma ni fai chiossa i Giufà. Senti a mia, mio nipote Massimo, … si, si chiddu i Milano … si si … sta facennu u Masterri .. e chi ni sacciu jo quannu finisci … su cosi longhi … oh ma mi fai parrari o no? … Mi ghiamoi Massimo … comu Massimu cu …. Me niputi i Milanu , ma ta pigghiasti a pillula pu ciriveddu stamatina ? Scutami … Massimu, me niputi i Milanu , mi desi a ricetta du Tiramisu … u Tiramisu Anciulina, a totta chi pavesini … si, si chidda cu mascapponi. Allura ti dicu a ricetta … a pinna ? e chi ni sacciu jo unn’ è a pinna … a truvasti ? … prontu oh prontu … Anciulina … ma unni si … nenti a chista du critinu i so maritu ci fici sventari u ciriveddu … ma quannè cu signuri ni fa a grazia e su ricogghi? … prontu ma scinnisti sutta ma catti? Allura scrivi … Un chilu i mascarponi Otto o deci tazzine di cafè … eh cafè Na tazzina di Rhum … si Rhum … ma picchì c’ha mettere a Sambuca ? quannu mai a Sambuca si metti nte dolci … non è che si fanno i babà alla Sambuca, si fanno i Babà al Rhum … u sapia che a to maritu ci piaci a Sambuca ma u Tiramisu si fa cu Rhum … e ci dici mi nun rumpi chiddi chi nun avemu ci volu u Rhum e basta. Du bustini i vanillina … dui Anciulina …. E picchì ni vò mettiri una? … si dici dui su dui … nun fari a pricchia comi da cosa pessa i to maritu Pavisini …. Du scatuli … Cacau amaru in puvviri Allura ti dicu comi si fa: Pigghia u mascapponi ci metti l’ova, u zuccuru e a vaniglia e cu sbattituri giri fino a chi non fai na crema solida… si, voi poi sbattiri prima l’ova e zucchiru, sbattiri, e poi mettiri u mascapponi e a vaniglia, ma a cosa nun cancia :sempri na crema a fini tà truvari pigghia na tegghia rettangulari … e chi ni sacciu si chidda tunna vali u stissu? Va bhe pigghia a tegghia chi boi Ci dugni na spuvvirata di cacau amaru Bagni i pavesini viloci viloci nto cafè unni mittisti u Rhum … No non aviamu dittu Sambuca … Anciulina ma chi hai a Zaihmer galuppanti … dissi RHUM: …. Erre acca u emmi I bagni viloci viloci s’hannu appena appena bagnari e i metti in fila , unu arreti all’otru … comi un metti … nta teglia Anciulina unni i vo mettiri. Quannu inchi a teglia ci metti i supra u mascapponi e poi rincuminci: cacau spuvviratu, pavesini bagnati, crema e vai avanti finu a quannu nun ti finisci u mascapponi. A du puntu ci fai l’uttima spuvvirata e finisti. … si cettu chi l’ha mettiri nto frigu … sempri na crema è … Si, si va bene si c’è bisognu mi chiami … va beni daccoddu … ciau , ciau …. Matritta bedda , ma chiù tempu passa chiù Anciulina è studduta … tutta coppa i du strunzu i so maritu … ma Santa Matri di Diu, chi ci vurria a facci veniri nu coppu plopetticu a du critinu ? na paralisi ? n’anticchia di Ictus? … va bhe va, fammi fari stu Tiramisù

Pronto, pronto … Angelina sono io … ti sei dimenticata di cambiare le batterie dell’apparecchio acustico. Mi senti? , ANCIULINAAA , stordita che non sei altro, cambiale quelle batterie E si che sono io. È mezzora che ti parlo Come avevi il cellulare alla rovescia … Ma ne fai di più di Giufà. Ascolta, mio nipote Massimo … si, si quello di Milano … si, si … sta facendo il Master … e che ne so quando finisce ,, e che ne so quando finisce … sono cose lunghe … ma mi fai parlare o no? … Mi ha chiamato Massimo … come Massimo chi … mio nipote di Milano, ma l’hai presa la pillola per il cervello questa mattina? Ascoltami … Massimo, mio nipote di Milano, mi ha dato la ricetta del Tiramisù … il Tiramisù Angelina, la torta con i Pavesini … si, quella con il mascarpone Allora, ti dico la ricetta … la penna? Che ne so io dov’è la penna … l’hai trovata? … pronto, pronto … Angelina … ma dove sei … niente, a questa quel cretino di suo marito a fatto svaporare il cervello … ma quando Dio ci fa la grazia di prenderselo ? … pronto, ma sei scesa a comprarla questa penna ? Allora scrivi … Un chilo di mascarpone Otto o dieci tazzine di caffè .. si cafè Una tazzina di Rhum … si Rhum … ma perché devi metterci la sambuca) quando mai la sambuca si mette nei dolci … non è che si fanno i babà con la sambuca, si fanno i Babà al Rhum … lo sapevo che a tuo marito piace la sambuca, ma il tiramisù si fa con il Rhum … gli dici di non romperci quelle che non abbiamo, ci vuole il Rhum e basta. Due bustine di vaniglia .. due Angelina … e perché ne vuoi mettere una? … se dice due devono essere due … non fare l’avara come quella cosa persa di tuo marito. Pavesini … due scatole Cacao amaro in polvere Allora, ti dico come si fa: Prendi il mascarpone e metti le uova, lo zucchero e la vaniglia e con lo sbattitore e giri finché non ottieni una crema solida … se vuoi puoi mettere prima le uova e lo zucchero, sbattere e poi mettere il mascarpone e la vaniglia, ma la cosa non cambia: alla fine ti devi trovare sempre una crema. Prendi una teglia rettangolare … e che ne so se quella tonda va bene lo stesso? Va bene, prendi la teglia che vuoi. Gli dai una spolverata di cacao amaro Bagni i Pavesini molto velocemente nel caffè dove hai messo il Rhum … no non avevamo detto la Sambuca … Ma Angelina che hai l’Alzheimer galoppante? … ho detto RHUM. erre acca u emme. Li bagni molto velocemente che si devono appena bagnare e li metti in fila, uno dietro l’altro … come dove li metti … nella teglia Angelina dove li vuoi mettere? … Quando riempi la teglia li copri con la crema di mascarpone e rincominci: cacao spolverato, Pavesini bagnati, crema e vai avanti fino a quando non finisci il mascarpone. A questo punto fai un ultima spolverata di e hai finito. … Si certo che la devi mettere nel frigo … è sempre una crema … SI, va bene, se c’è bisogno ti chiamo … va bene d’accordo … caio … ciao Mamma mia, ma più passa il tempo, più Angelina è stordita … tutta colpa di quel suo marito … ma Santa Madre di Dio, che ci vuole a fargli venire un colpo apoplettico a quel cretino? Una paralisi? Un poco di Ictus? Va bhe fammi fare questo Tiramisù.

Hello, hello… Angelina, it’s me… you forgot to change the batteries in your hearing aid. Can you hear me? , ANCIULINAAA, you dazed girl, change those batteries Yes, it’s me. I’ve been talking to you for half an hour Like you had your cell phone upside down… But you do more than Giufà. Listen, my nephew Massimo… yes, yes, the one from Milan… yes, yes… he’s doing his Master’s degree… and who knows when it’ll end,, and who knows when it’ll end… these are long things… but are you going to let me talk or not?… He called me Massimo… like Massimo who… my nephew from Milan, did you take the brain pill this morning? Listen to me… Massimo, my nephew from Milan, gave me the recipe for Tiramisu… the Tiramisu Angelina, the cake with Pavesini… yes, the one with mascarpone So, I’ll tell you the recipe… the pen? How do I know where the pen is… did you find it? … hello, hello … Angelina … but where are you … nothing, that idiot husband of hers has made her brain evaporate … but when will God grant us the grace of taking it? … hello, but did you go down to buy this pen? Then write … A kilo of mascarpone Eight or ten cups of coffee .. yes coffee A cup of rum … yes rum … but why do you have to put sambuca in it) when do you ever put sambuca in desserts … you don't make babas with sambuca, you make rum babas … I knew your husband likes sambuca, but tiramisu is made with rum … you tell him not to waste the ones we don't have, you just need rum. Two sachets of vanilla .. two Angelina … and why do you want to put one? … if he says two it must be two … don't be stingy like that lost thing of your husband. Pavesini … two boxes Bitter cocoa powder So, I'll tell you how to do it: Take the mascarpone and add the eggs, sugar and vanilla and with the mixer and mix until you get a solid cream … if you want you can add the eggs and sugar first, beat and then add the mascarpone and vanilla, but it doesn't change anything: in the end you always have to find a cream. Take a rectangular pan … and how do I know if the round one is also good? Okay, take the pan you want. You sprinkle them with bitter cocoa You dip the Pavesini very quickly in the coffee where you put the Rum … no we didn't say Sambuca … But Angelina, do you have galloping Alzheimer's? … I said RUM. r acca u em. You dip them very quickly that they should just be wet and you put them in a row, one behind the other … like where do you put them … in the pan Angelina, where do you want to put them? … When you fill the pan, cover them with the mascarpone cream and start again: dusted cocoa, soaked Pavesini, cream and continue until you finish the mascarpone. At this point, do a final dusting of and you're done. … Yes, of course you have to put it in the fridge … it's still a cream … YES, okay, if I need to I'll call you … okay, agreed … ciao … bye Mamma mia, but the more time passes, the more dazed Angelina is … it's all her husband's fault … but Holy Mother of God, what does it take to give that idiot an apoplectic attack? A paralysis? A little stroke? Okay, let me make this Tiramisu.

#sicilia #sweet #sicilian culture #sciatu

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