#bravo: full on exploring

[novembudgie]

exploring. being sillay

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW  SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.  

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.” 

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text. 

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame. 

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress. 

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk. 

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation. 

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble. 

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine. 

“Cash or charge?” 

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement. 

“400 euros.” 

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it. 

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room. 

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself. 

The golden door opens after a moment. 

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips. 

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand. 

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.” 

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody. 

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him. 

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding. 

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she  opens the book and pushes it towards him. 

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page. 

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page. 

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman. 

“This is Almond Blossom.” 

He turns the page. 

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous 

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work. 

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.” 

He braces himself as he turns the page. 

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall. 

“Wow,” he breathes out. 

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.” 

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.” 

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans. 

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you. 

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity. 

The door opens. Pieter appears. 

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room. 

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing. 

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you. 

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate. 

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?” 

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.” 

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason. 

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation. 

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted. 

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery. 

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat. 

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. 

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear. 

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins. 

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you” 

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy. 

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs. 

“Y-yes,” he huffs. 

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song. 

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity. 

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others. 

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting. 

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair. 

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his. 

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast. 

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you. 

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans. 

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands. 

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman. 

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client. 

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements. 

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.” 

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds. 

You got, you got the cinema

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat. 

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes. 

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays. 

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers. 

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs. 

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him. 

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly. 

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door. 

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.  

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth. 

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you. 

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen. 

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile. 

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen. 

[prolix-yuy]

Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Incubus!Dieter Bravo x Virgin F!Reader

Summary: Have you no idea that you're in deep?

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.

Notes: Like most things Dieter's involved in, it takes twice as long but you reap the most rewards. A little late for Halloween, but spooky season is 24/7 and I needed to put this out into the world as soon as possible. Very special gold star mutual thanks due to @ezrasbirdie who gave me the prompt for this story and then talked me through some of the ideas she had. Religious corruption kink is super new for me, not being raised in a formal religion, but it was incredibly interesting to explore in this way. Apologies for the sacrilege, friends, it's all in the pursuit of sexyness.

A big disclaimer! This is not a blueprint for losing your virginity! This is some wildly unrealistic sex, especially for someone who has never experienced PiV intercourse before! Please be safe and careful with your bodies. While we thirst over these scenarios and would love to take monster cocks, always practice safe and fun sex with partners who care about your comfort.

A second disclaimer that in this fic, the Reader defines losing her virginity as experiencing penetrative sex and breaking her unbroken hymen. Virginity does not look the same for every person, and each individual's circumstances may be very different. Virginity is also a social construct that has some gross stigmas around it, which we'll be briefly addressing. I've also kept the reader's age unspecified (18+ of course) but that she has gone to college, so whatever age you may be reading this, your own sexual journey moves at your pace and if/when you define that you've passed this milestone, that's the right time for you.

Cross-posted on AO3

The lines chalked into your hardwood floors glow with a sudden and panic-inducing heat, smoldering as a phantom breeze whips around your kneeling body. The lights in your apartment flicker and dim as a sooty haze hangs around your ankles. Springing to your feet, you frantically search for something to smear the careful symbols to nonsense while a crackle of electricity raises all of the hair on the back of your arms and neck.

It’s much too late to go back now.

Something pulls in the center of your chest as the room expands and contracts like a great beast breathing. You try to stand strong but the tremble in your frame chatters your teeth. Suddenly the room plunges into darkness, and a crack echoes in your ears before the light swells back to full strength. Bracing yourself for what may be in the circle you foolishly copied, you peel open your eyes. 

Then, your mouth falls open, because never in your wildest dreams did you expect Dieter Bravo, famous actor, to be sitting in the middle of your half-assed summoning circle.

“What the fuck?”

He looks just as bewildered as you do, cross-legged on the floor and pulling his lips from a turquoise bong cradled in his lap. He’s wearing sunglasses - did you spirit him here from halfway around the world? - and an open silk bathrobe patterned with roaring tigers. The waterfall of folds bundle in his lap, and for a mouth-drying moment you wonder if he’s got anything on beneath. Then he shifts, billowing a cloud of skunky smoke at your ceiling and placing the bong at arms length. 

Well, he is wearing socks at least, pulled halfway up his legs and under Crocs. You don’t know whether to laugh or choke on your tongue.

“What the fuck to you too,” he grumbles, creakily getting to his feet and dusting little frills of ash from his shoulders. It’s now easy to see he’s sporting tiny black boxer briefs, and your eyes fight to land anywhere but there. They finally find the book, opened to the page you scoffed over until your finished glass of wine goaded you on.

“This can’t be happening,” you finally squeak out, shifting on the balls of your feet as you spin and press your fingers into your cheeks. 

“Sure is,” Dieter says, one hand on his hip and looking at you with naked curiosity. He’s swept back the robe on one side, showing off the shapely curve of his thigh, the soft definition of his stomach, how large his hands…

“I didn’t…I couldn’t have…you…go back,” you stammer, heart and head pounding. Does this mean you’re a witch? Did you honestly summon something with a book you rented from the library? Nothing makes sense with this man staring at you - practically leering - as you contemplate whether you’re having a dusty-old-book-based hallucination.

“Breathe, baby,” Dieter purrs, hands making soothing motions in the air between you. Taking in a big breath and letting it out explosively, you follow Dieter’s motions to sit down with him. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your bottom, but you criss-cross-applesauce with him as he leans back on his hands.

“Normally when I show up, people aren’t all that surprised,” he says, and his voice is raspy and sonorous in the room. You swallow hard, finding comfort in twisting the hem of your pajama shirt in your palms.

“Well, it’s pretty damn surprising to have THE Dieter Bravo in my living room,” you say, a momentary swell of pride when you realize your sarcasm hasn’t flown the coop with your sanity. Dieter chuckles, tilting his head onto one shoulder.

“Who were you expecting?” 

“Honestly, no one. Nothing,” you lie. Half-lie. You were hoping for something pretty specific.

“Very cute, but let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here. I know exactly what you were hoping would pop up in this pretty little circle of yours.” 

Your eyes wander to his inner thigh, then snap to a symbol on the floor. 

“I thought…” You sigh, ducking your head. “I thought I was summoning some sort of…sexy demon. At least that’s what the book said.” 

“An incubus,” Dieter offers, and you nod. 

“But clearly something went wrong, because you’re here, somehow.” You scrub a hand over your face. “No idea how I messed up this bad. I didn’t even know you could mess up this badly.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Dieter says in a carefree voice. “Mess up, that is.” You arch an eyebrow at him.

“But I got…you.”

Dieter leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head with a knowing smile. In the dim light of your apartment his eyes seem even darker than before.

“Exactly what you asked for. At your service.” He tips his head, tongue slipping from between his plush lips to swipe along his full lower one. A sudden patter of arousal grips your hips, and he half closes his eyes and breathes deep.

“That can’t…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

“Yes.”

“You’re an…incubus.”

“Also yes.”

The next question blurts out of your mouth too quickly to stop.

“Why?”

His laugh is just as quick and breaks some of the tension digging into your spine. The warmth of it wraps your head in cotton, smiling along. 

“Oh, starlet, I should be pissed as hell to be pulled away from that fantastic party I was about to ruin, but this is turning out to be much more fun.” Your cheeks warm at the affectionate name. “How many people do you think summon incubi these days? A demon’s gotta get by.” He’s sliding closer to the edge of the circle but not moving past it. A small voice in the back of your mind notes that he might not be able to.

“So…acting,” you say, not without a little smirk. He seems to like that, smile stretching wider and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“What, should I be slinging burgers?” he asks with another snort of laughter. “C’mon, don’t tell me it doesn’t make sense. Beautiful people, sex appeal galore, fast living and high octane relationships? I haven’t been hungry in ages.”

Your hands still in your lap, studying your fingers as you let the silence linger. Dieter allows it for a time before his voice pulls you back.

“But you summoned, and I came. You must have a reason.” 

Now that the silly half-buzzed fantasy is mere feet from you, saying it aloud is daunting.

“You’ll…you won’t get it.” 

His eyebrows lift in slow surprise. 

“Try me.”

You're turned on more than you’ve ever experienced in your life, and Dieter’s nostrils flare as his jaw ticks.

“I was having a drink. A couple,” you correct, the dregs of the bottle giving you away. “And I was just hating the way I was feeling about everything going on and I looked at this book and it seemed like a funny thing, to try and summon a demon…”

“Incubus, get it right,” Dieter purrs, and the air thickens.

“I didn’t think it would work,” you protest, hands coming up to cradle your temples. 

“But you hoped, enough to do all this work on the one day of the year when magic is easiest to grasp,” he teases, tilting his head to the side to catch your eye. It’s definitely not helping the situation that he’s Dieter Bravo, solid C-list star who’d captured your attention in more than one of his movies. Thoughts of his dark eyes and full lips drew your hands down your body on more than one occasion before…

Dieter growls low and frustrated. “Let’s cut to the chase, starlet. You’re laying out a buffet and I can’t even have a taste.” You blink owlishly at him before he smirks, licking an incisor. “I can smell how much you want me.”

Shock slams your mouth shut, face burning. Your traitorous body has failed you again.

“You called and I answered. I’m still in your circle, so you could send me away, but I doubt you know how to do that.”

He’s right. You’ve trapped him here. With little old you.

“Or, you could tell me what you really wanted when you spent all this time writing all these little symbols so carefully.” Dieter’s fingers dance along the chalk lines, smile turning cheekier. Steeling yourself, you let the truth out into open air.

“I called you because…I’ve never had anyone before.” 

Dieter’s face remains cooly neutral, but you can see his nostrils flare briefly. 

“You’ve never…”

You shrug, self-deprecating smile cutting through the awkwardness.

“I’ve done some things, by myself, but never…I’ve never had sex with anyone in the…classical way.” The words are starched and wooden but hit a chord with Dieter. He repositions to sit back on his knees, hands splayed on his bare thighs. The smooth expanse of his chest begs to be touched.

“I thought I smelled something special here, and I was oh so right,” he rasps, nipping at his lower lip while he drags his eyes over your body. “Human virginity is a social construct, but inexperience in pleasure? Being allowed to revel in your body discovering all the ways it can feel? That is a rare treat.” 

You don’t expect the sudden rush of emotions at Dieter’s eagerness. Years of people either finding you broken or fetishizing your “purity” had given you an even larger complex than you thought. 

“It’s not…fucked up that I’m doing this?” you ask. 

“What sounds better to you, letting some Chad fumble through trying to pleasure you when his dick can barely handle your sweet cunt, or allowing someone with centuries of experience give you everything you ever desired?”

Your aforementioned cunt knows which one she wants.

“May I ask why you’ve waited until now?” he says, interrupting your railroading thoughts. Shyness and shame clouds your eyes.

“My parents were very religious. Lots of ‘thou shalt nots’ and ‘obey thys’. But I wanted to be a good daughter. So badly.” Dieter’s eyes are darkening as you speak, fingers pressing divots into his thighs. “So I did everything they said. Followed all the rules. And I grew up their perfect little girl. Never got caught sneaking out with a boy, never drank or smoked or anything.” 

“How…boring,” Dieter comments. It stings between your shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much all I heard when I went to college. That I was boring for not liking weed. A buzzkill because I was nervous about breaking rules. And sex…”

Here you swallow, your lower lip trembling before you bite it back. 

“I thought I was doing everything right. Everyone told me I was doing everything right. And then I get into the real world and nobody wants…” Looking up you catch a softer expression on Dieter’s face, true understanding blunting the lust.

“How have these fumbling fools tried to pleasure you?” he asks, and maybe the wine is still thrumming in your veins (it’s not), but your tongue is looser than it’s ever been.

“Grinding mostly. I think they’ve…cum…but I don’t. Not like when I do it myself.” 

Dieter snarls softly. “Fuckers,” he rumbles, an oncoming thunderclap crackled with electricity. 

“Every time I feel like I’m damaged goods,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I thought maybe this would…fix me.”

The lights in the room dip low as Dieter chuckles. Darkness seems drawn to him, settling around his shoulders like a fine stole.

“Betrayed by the God you worshiped so faithfully,” he muses, rolling his shoulders and licking his lips. “Don’t worry, starlet, I’ll take care of you tonight.”

“Can I…do anything for you?” you ask. Dieter’s smile softens, tutting quietly.

“Believe me, you’ll be perfect,” he praises, the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. “Like I said, I’m rarely hungry anymore, but your arousal will be delicious. I’ll gorge myself on your peaks and leave you sated…and ruined for any after me.”

That should be a warning. It only makes your want greater.

“Okay,” you breathe out. Dieter’s smile widening again. Are his teeth…sharper?

“Now we can fuck to our heart’s content in this summoning circle here,” Dieter says, tapping his finger in the air. Motes of copper light and sparks rain down from an invisible barrier. “I’ve had more challenging obstacles. But if you would like me at my best, break the circle starlet.”

Standing back up, you retrieve a cloth from your kitchen table. When you return Dieter is standing in the center, prowling ever so slightly in his tiny prison. You move to wipe the line connecting the circle when…

“Are other celebrities incubi?” you ask, kneeling in front of him with open curiosity on your face. Dieter’s predatory smile quickly shuffles to confused and incredulous.

“I mean, maybe, I don’t keep close tabs.”

“Tom Hiddleston could totally be one. Or Robert Downey Jr. Heck, maybe Marvel just employs incubi to keep their revenue going…” Leaning down, you move to wipe the mark. 

“Strange little starlet,” Dieter chuckles, and a warm breeze tickles the back of your neck. With one swipe the circle is broken.

“Hannah Waddingham would totally be…” you start to say, nerves tumbling words from your lips, but thankfully Dieter’s stop them. 

He moves so quickly for a moment you’re sure he’s going to devour you, tear you limb from limb for imprisoning him. Instead he crashes your mouths together, hand firm on the back of your neck as his broad shoulders press you on your back. His hips slot between your thighs so smoothly you’re arching into them before you can think straight. Once your head is carefully lowered to the floor his hands find your wrists and press them above your head, maneuvering your thighs to wrap you around his waist. The dizzying feat of agility pales in comparison to his kiss.

Dieter commands your mouth to submit, tongue hot and lewd between your lips. You’re afraid you’ll choke on your own but he strokes delicate paths into the lush depths that keep you barely breathing. His lips are plush and yielding, pulling away to drag against the corner of your mouth or teasing the edge of your lips. And his teeth. You’d had boys clack against you, or press them harshly against your lips. Dieter knows exactly when to scrape them against your tongue, how much pressure to put with your lower lip trapped, the anticipation of them sliding against your skin before he dives in again. 

“What a soft, pretty thing you are,” he rasps, and there’s a deep grinding quality to his voice now. Like stones moving slowly past one another, it vibrates straight to your clit as he inhales deeply behind your ear. 

“Dieter…” you manage, his face lifting from his ecstasy to study your own. His eyes are somehow losing the edge of white, expanding into inky blackness. He lazily laps at his lower lip, and when you lean up to kiss his chin he snarls and presses deep into your apex.

“I’m sorry, starlet, I forgot you’ve been waiting to break promises,” he teases, sliding a hand down to knead at your ass. As quickly as you were laid out you’re suddenly in the air, legs wrapped around Dieter’s waist as he carries you out of your living room. His strength has you feeling light as a feather, barely a nuisance as he searches out a place for his plans.

“The bedroom.” You motion to a half-opened door and Dieter’s knowing smile precludes entering. 

“Eager, aren’t we? What if I wanted to lay you out for everyone to see?”

The image of your body laid bare, covered in moonlight and monstrous hands, flutters your eyes as the bedroom door shuts behind you.

“No, tonight you will remain in my confessional,” he says, kneeling down on the bed and letting you fall back into the mess of pillows and sheets. 

“You’re very fond of religious metaphor,” you rib, rubbing your thighs together as Dieter sheds the robe and his Crocs, a brief moment of clarity bubbling a giggle up your throat. Dieter’s motions slow as he regards you again, kneeling between your legs.

“Maybe I am rather fond of…corruption,” he husks, the word lighting on your skin like sparks. “Maybe I like seeing you forsake all for me.” 

If he asked, you just might. The high of his attention is so great.

“But in this moment, what I mean is we will speak no lies in this room.” His hands trail down your thighs, and now your body remembers it has no experience from here. You shake, heart pounding as Dieter crawls up your body with only brief brushes to guide his way. “My promise is that you will know pleasure as great as I can offer. And you will tell me everything you think, and feel.”

He hovers over your body, broad enough to block the paltry light through your window.

“Would you like to be pleasured?”

“Yes, Dieter, please.” 

His smile is wicked, and the scrape of his fingernails up your ribcage arches your back. In a fluid slide of his fingers your shirt is over your head and tossed into darkness, leaving you bare-chested under him. He hums with appreciation as his face descends, curved nose dragging along your tender skin. Time hangs in the balance as you tense for what may come, but Dieter only traces dizzying paths with the tip of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Up one side of your ribs, placing kisses at intervals, then along the underside of your breast. His hot breath warms skin, nipples hardening sharp and sensitive at the scratch of his facial hair. Then down the center of your stomach, a long and cyclical detour around your bellybutton. Stomach trembling, he hushes you as his fingers slide under your waistband and bunch your sleep shorts and underwear in his hands. 

Another fluid drag and you’re nude, still swimming in endorphins at Dieter’s skilled touch. It’s only when hot palms wrap around your knees and begin easing them apart do you balk. Instinctively you clamp your legs together, heat flooding your face. Dieter tuts, smoothing his hands up and down your jittery thighs.

“What are you afraid of, starlet?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the apex of your sex. Just the brush against your mound steals your voice, that same hot shame and anxiety pulling you in on yourself. When you don’t answer, Dieter commands more firmly, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Dragging your eyes from the ceiling back to him doesn’t help. He’s all mischievous eyes and knowing smiles, pressing a kiss to both of your knees as he rests his chin on them. 

“I can make it easier for you,” he says, fingers finding a soft crease in your hip and stroking along it. “Give you something for the nerves, for any pain. I’ll only let you feel good here with me.” 

You take two more grounding breaths and ease the pressure on your knees.

“”Sorry, I’m just…no one’s ever…” you say, but before you can explain your woeful inexperience he’s wedging his way between your legs and holding your thighs open in his firm tight grip. 

“I’m the first to taste this forbidden fruit?” he asks, and you clench involuntarily. He waits as you gather yourself enough to nod. A deep, dark chuckle falls from his lips. “Starlet, you have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

The question claws up your throat but no sooner has he glanced at your pussy he’s diving in to press his tongue deep and sweeping through your folds. The velvet slither arches your back off the bed, a strangled cry earning a satisfied hum between your legs.

“Holy shit, Dieter, oh my god,” you rasp as he flicks his tongue in fast swipes over your clit. It’s foreign and taboo, so much wetter and softer than your fingers and you can barely stop your hips from bucking into his mouth. One hand presses you down to the bed, his chin tilting up to catch your eye. Slick shines his mouth, and your pussy throbs when you realize his eyes are the shiny black of nightmares and creatures used to the dark. 

“No god here, sweetheart. Only me. Only take my name in vain,” he growls, and the rush of blood in your ears speeds up when you realize the hand pressed on your abdomen spans the width of your hips. Black-tipped claws indent the flesh, prickling your skin just shy of pain. Dipping low again, Dieter swirls at your entrance and prods in, nose pressed tight to the button of your pleasure. The supple stretch is unfamiliar, pulling at a primal need to let him fill you. It tightens your thighs and shudders you against him as he forces you down again, the bite of claws a sharper warning. His jaw doesn’t stop, plunging and delving into you as deep as he can manage. 

“Dieter, it’s never…oh fuck, it’s never felt this good before, please…please, I can’t stand it,” you beg, a rush of slick coating his tongue. Now a true snarl seeds your cunt, and in the charcoal dark his silhouette thickens, shoulders broadening under your knees. He pushes you further up the bed, pulling even greater cries from your chest. Dragging his tongue from your sopping hole, he sucks greedily on your clit, hands wrapped around your waist to lift you half off the bed. Suspended and flowing with arousal, your hands unclench from the sheets and circle his wrists. The skin is hot under your palms, and they dig deeper in at your scrabbling touch. It’s not enough, so with a boldness you pull from a dizzying depth you bury your fingers in his curls. 

At first touch they’re soft. Long enough to wind around your fingers. You give a gentle tug and swear you feel a shudder around you. But as you bury them deeper another sensation tickles your palm. Something unyielding and curved, smooth like bone. Two protrusions fit in the webbing of your thumb and forefinger, short enough that the blunt tip brushes your knuckles. Horns, you think. A demon is eating me out and he has horns. And where you might have tried to wake yourself from a nightmare at this thought, instead you wrap your fingers around them and tug.

Like lightning something changes in Dieter. His lips tear from you with a roar that fills the room, your mind, spreading like forest fire and drying your mouth out. You hold on as he drops you back to the bed, the sound still ripping from his throat. Then there’s pain, supernova-like in intensity and scorching through arousal and fear. Your eyes snap down to Dieter’s mouth, but it’s no longer defiling your pussy. It’s clamped hard on your inner thigh, air puffing sharply through his nose. The pain radiates, and you realize he’s bit you. Not an overzealous love bite, you can feel the puncture of incisors and pump of blood into his mouth, the same pattern as your racing heart. Your hands release his horns, pushing you up as your mouth drops open in horror. 

“Dieter,” you gasp, but with his horns released the pressure abates. His eyes open slowly, catching your terrified face. The curve of his brow morphs from surprise to apology to determination. Then a thumb presses firmly to your clit and circles it, washing pain away with pleasure teetering right on the edge. His fangs remain in your thigh as you stare at him, incredulity on your face but pleasure rocking your hips. He adds pressure to the bite again, speeding up his fingers as your brain struggles to differentiate one from the other. 

Then, just as your spine begins tingling and your fingers go numb, one slick finger penetrates your cunt, smooth and deep, barely noticeable compared to the symphony of sensations. Like a reward, Dieter gives you the final stroke that crashes your orgasm over him, slamming you back to the bed as pain and pleasure and shame and exhilaration floods your brain. You barely register Dieter’s jaw releasing, fingers working you through your orgasm as the slow laps of his tongue lull you back to your body. Every muscle quivers, attempts to sit up failing twice before you manage to come up to your elbows. 

Between your legs Dieter is pressing devotions to the spot he bit, open-mouthed kisses with peeks of tongue soothing the injury. His finger is still inside, a lazy caress of your walls foreign but not unpleasant. Finally he lifts up to his knees and turns his attention back to your face.

“I’m sorry, starlet, you got me a little too riled up there. I’ve fixed it, but you might be sore tomorrow.” A bloom of teeth circle your inner thigh, but no blood oozes out. You felt the pop, felt him inside you, and somehow he’s taken it back. “Can’t have you injured because of me, not very professional.”

“I hope it stays,” you pant, fingertips tracing the dark marks. The tenderness arcs down your spine. 

“Fuck, you’re made for sin, starlet,” Dieter purrs, and now your attention can turn back to him. Grounding yourself with a healthy, “oh fuck,” is the only way you can fathom what he’s become.

He towers over you even kneeling, broad body only more tantalizing as he’s grown in stature. The well-known triangle tattoos you’d seen in paparazzi photos are joined by swirling patterns up and down his arms, concentric rings and text you can’t read patterning his skin. Where only wild curls were before now jut two smooth horns, curved away from his face and looking suspiciously similar to a goat’s. His skin almost steams in the room, wisps of smoke or condensation haloing his silhouette like an ominous aura. 

Then his hand flexes again and you realize how full you are with just one finger inside, even observing how thick and wicked they’ve become.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and there’s only a hint of teasing now as he works his finger inside.

“It’s…okay,” you gasp, staring at the place where you’re connected. His thumb ghosts over your clit again, but so soon after your high it’s over sensitive, making you hiss and tremble. 

“Shhh, starlet, just relax. Thought it would be better to take advantage of the pain.” With a final stroke that lights up your nerves he slips out, holding his fingers up for you to see. They’re wet with your arousal and a little blood, a lot less than you thought. “Now that’s out of the way, we can take our time giving you the best fuck of your life.” With a knowing smile, he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. 

“Fuck, you really are…an incubus,” you say, acquainting yourself with the dull ache of your loss. There isn’t much fanfare, no swelling of emotion. If anything, breaking your hymen is probably the least memorable part of your night. Dieter’s smile falters briefly, and in a dizzying turn of events he shrinks back, closing in on himself. Ducking his head, you might think he was embarrassed, or shy. It looks stranger than the horns on him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Touching the horns got me a little too worked up. Let me open you up on my fingers for a little while longer, that’ll give me enough time to…change back.” His smile is sheepish now, hands roaming your thighs and stomach. Instead of the skin-crawling terror you thought that would instill, you’re practically preening under his touch.

“Is this you? This form?” you ask, and you let your boldness move to your hands. You stroke your fingertips over his, investigating the smoothness of his claws, how the joints of his fingers are more pronounced than yours. He scoffs an uncomfortable laugh.

“Uh yeah, mostly. But you’ll have a lot more fun bragging that you lost your virginity to THE Dieter Bravo,” he redirects, shaking his head like he’s annoyed he’s not that man yet. 

In your brief and paltry handful of intimate moments, you never considered yourself bold. You’d let men touch you until your discomfort was too much, or your embarrassment pulled to the forefront. You never asked for the touches you enjoyed, or sought out the pleasures you dreamed of. But now, with a creature that’s endearingly vulnerable before you, your voice is finally strong enough to be heard.

“I’d like you to stay this way,” you say. Sitting up further, you skim your hands up his arms to cup his face. Your touch snarls his lip briefly before he settles.

“You can’t handle that, starlet. I’ve kept my human form reasonable, but you will not be able to take my cock,” Dieter husks. Tugging your wrist down to his waist, you palm him through fabric barely able to contain him. Thick and long in your hand, he drops his head and thrusts against you and gets bigger.

“Ruin me, then,” you whisper, filthy and naive into his ear. “I’ve waited all this time, saved myself for no one but you. Make me take no lover but you. Make me pray to you for ecstasy.” Leaning in to the metaphor rewards you. With a dangerous rumble he pushes you flat on your back, one hand wrapped around your throat.

“You want this, starlet? All of it?” he grits out, sickening cracks and pops echoing in the room. His hips force yours wide, planting his other hand by your head and carefully watching your face. The shine of his fangs whips your heart into a gallop, more ink dancing on his skin as he transforms from something beautiful to something magnificent. The room darkens perplexingly until you realize wings spread from his shoulders, thin light gleaming through the stretched web of skin. His aura crackles with molten motes, a whiff of fire and smoke making a home in your lungs. When he looks back at you, half familiar and half transcendent, his roguish smile brings one to your lips.

“Strange little thing, wet and ready for me,” he croons, removing his hand from your throat. A rip of stitching signals he’s as nude as you are now, and your eyes widen when the heavy length of his cock rests on your mound, curving past your navel and thicker than your hand can circle. 

“Say you want Dieter Bravo back, and I’ll have just as much fun wrecking you in that form,” he says, but there’s something cautious between you now. A shimmer of anxiety and distrust. You’re holding a thread of something truer than he intended to give you, and if you drop it you’ll never find it again.

“Can you help me make it feel good?” you ask, sliding your palms along his chest. Without proper pupils it’s hard to track his expression, but you think it’s awestruck.

“Of course, starlet. You’ve learned to cum from pleasure and pain, but I won’t have you suffer more than necessary.” Dieter leans down and cups your head, bringing your nose to his neck right where it meets his shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructs, and you inhale deep. Below the smoke and heat you smell sweet new earth, lush and fruitful. It makes your mouth water, clutching at his shoulders as he begins rocking his hips against yours. His monstrous cock slips in the wet mess between your legs, slicking the underside generously.

“Fuck, you arousal is so delicious, I could taste you for centuries,” Dieter whispers. Lifting up, he smiles at your dazed expression and wandering hands. They trace his features, lingering on his lips. “How are you feeling now?” 

You want him inside you, filling you up to bursting, to breaking. The need is hotter, all-encompassing. It’s surety that he won’t hurt you, that you’ll be shown pleasure beyond anything you’ve experienced. It’s lust but also trust. 

“Can you kiss me?” is what you say, and Dieter’s smile is a touch softer before he leans down and claims your lips. 

You swear you hear a hiss when he touches you, his skin scorching but not enough to burn. Parting his lips and nudging your jaw open, he traces the inside of your lower one with the tip of his tongue. One hand cups the back of your head, cradling you to his mouth, and with a forbidden thrill you realize his hands are now large enough that his fingertips caress the perimeter of your face. The threatening pressure of claws in your skin arcs arousal back in your cunt, winding your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he orders, and with a magnificent beat of bat wings his silhouette glows with dancing light much like a breath sparking fire to life. The warm hue of his human skin has gilded to gold, tattoos moving along the dips and peaks of his body. Eyes black and fathomless, his smile is a lifeboat in a raging ocean. He lets the heavy weight of his tongue wet his lower lip as your eyes widen, hefty cock lifting from your mound to press at your entrance. Scrabbling fear overtakes you, and you clutch at Dieter’s shoulders as the pressure mounts. 

“Again, starlet,” he croons, but his voice is the rumbling of great stones moving over one another as you inhale deep of his scent. Cool water pours through your limbs, easing your muscles and letting your legs drop open wide. His other hand presses at your lower back and arches you off the bed, resting your thighs atop his own. Then, with a controlled push his head breaches you, wrenching a wrecked moan from deep in your chest. He stops as soon as he’s engulfed in your heat, the only betrayal of his own state residing in the long exhale of breath that tickles across your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Tell me if you need me to stop,” he grits out, but you shake your head and roll your hips. It’s sloppy, inexperienced, but he moves ever so slightly within you and it punches a groan from between Dieter’s clenched teeth. 

“Please, Dieter, more,” you beg, his claws tightening around you again. Another measured advance, another wail, more snarling and groaning from the creature stuffing himself inside you. Whatever aphrodisiac he’s fed you is working magnificently. You’re full, the pressure intense, but the pain is dull and quiet. He’s watching where you’re joined so closely, stretched obscenely around his cock, waiting for your thighs to unclench before backing out and pressing deeper in. 

“Touch your clit,” he gasps, “Rub that pretty clit so you can take all of me.”

Your fingers are nowhere as decadent as his tongue but they pull bursts of ecstasy close to the surface. Venturing a look down, you’re dismayed to see he’s barely halfway there, so much more of his pulsing cock still to take. He already feels like he’s in your stomach, battering against your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes, lower lip wobbling.

“It’s not going to work,” you whisper, and even with the knowledge that Dieter could turn human at any point you still wallow in the rejection you anticipate. Not good enough for anyone, not even the person you called for.

“Shhh,” Dieter soothes, easing you back down to the bed. He tugs over pillows to tuck under your hips before covering you with his body, still looking in your eyes even at his towering height. “Breathe. Do you want me to stop? I can let you rest, change back to my human form. If you can take all of this…” His hips twitch forward, a soft cry tumbling out. “...then you can take my human cock perfectly.” With a tenderness your eyes water for, he strokes his thumb along your cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”

It’s already so much, so intense and mind-blowing, but you can’t help yourself. 

“I want all of it, Dieter,” you say, consequences be damned.

Much in the same way touching his horns unleashed something in Dieter, hearing those words unlocks something even more primal and greedy in his face. Dropping down to his elbows, he presses your face against his neck. 

“Bite,” he orders, the word igniting every pleasure center in your body. “Hard, starlet, give me one as good as I gave you.” The words are barely out before you sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, but instead of blood or other ichor you’re flooded with pleasure. The sensation rips an orgasm out of you, hips bucking on his cock. You register Dieter pulling out to the tip before slamming his hips into yours, seating himself fully inside your throbbing cunt. You don’t know how your body makes room for him, how you’re not screaming (well, maybe screaming some), but he’s inside you and littering your body with, “oh fuck, oh fuuuuucks” as he swirls his hips. 

“I did it,” you coo in pleasure-dipped delirium, head flopping back on a pillow as Dieter starts thrusting into you in slow passes.

“You sure fucking did sweetheart, look at that perfect pussy taking my monster cock,” he praises, now sliding along your clit with focus. The overstimulation rolls right into desire again as your cunt learns how to gorge itself on pleasure. 

“It feels…good,” you say, bearing down on his thrusts to meet him with a little more force. He purrs in admiration, starting to speed up ever so slightly. 

“Yeah? Like how good you feel all stuffed full?” Dieter asks but it’s nonsense now, his focus pulling between your face and his cock pumping in and out of you. There’s a little more pain now, places where his cock brushes that zip sharp up your spine, but it’s far from unpleasant. In fact, you might like it. Maybe really like it. 

“More, Dieter. Want to feel you. Please,” you moan, restraint flickering in Dieter’s eyes. 

“Fuck, baby, you can’t say shit like that when I’m so deep in you, I won’t be able to…” His thought falls off as his thrusts speed up, a little more force at the end each time. It’s kissing at something devastating inside, something clawing its way to the surface through years of shame and dread.

“Please Dieter, I’ll beg for it. I’ll…” Your brain wraps around a wicked idea. “I’ll pray for it.”

That does the trick. Dieter’s lips curl back in a snarl as he rears up to his knees, wings spreading to fill the room with only him. Hands gripping your hips, he looks down at you not like a lover, but like a fallen god. 

“Then do it, starlet,” he challenges. His smile is cool, but his cock twitches in your cunt. You have him. 

“Glory be to you, Dieter,” you say, and hellfire light erupts around him. Dragging himself out of your cunt, he holds tight as a bowstring.

“And to your…fucking massive cock,” you continue, eyes rolling back as he fills you to the brim. “And to your true form, in all its beauty,” you add, softer now, drawing his eyes back up to you. Time hangs as he studies your face before dipping down and sealing your lips with a kiss that means too much for words. When he lifts away you finish the prayer.

“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”

Dieter’s smile glints.

“A-fucking-men,” he rasps, giving you just enough time to press your hands against the headboard before he starts railing you. 

You’re lost in pleasure and ache and sin and Dieter pounding recklessly into your cunt. His grip paints bruises along your waist, battering thighs marking the inside of your hips. His claws dig into your flesh and sharp scrapes tighten your nipples. Hands roam up over your breasts, around your neck, pressing your wrists into the bed as ominous splintering and cracks echo in your ears. 

“Another before I cum on your tits, sweetheart,” he pants, spitting down onto your clit and circling it with vigor. You cry out, hips bucking as the thickness of his cock impedes on your quivering walls. “It’s so close baby, just cum around me. Let me feel you cum on all my cock this time.” 

“I can’t,” you cry out, shaking and sobbing around him. Dieter tuts, his rapidly increasing slap-slap-slap of thrusts maddening. 

“You can, and you will starlet. You didn’t think you’d take my cock. I didn’t think you’d take it, and look at you now. So you’re going to cum. You’re going to cum now.”

The order shakes the room, pictures rattling on the wall as a final flick hurtles you off into oblivion with Dieter’s roaring triumph right behind. He’s somehow still fucking his cock into you even though you’re so tight it almost hurts to be cumming so good. A final crackling roar and you’re achingly empty, followed by a hot splash of cum across your stomach. Then another cresting your breast, and more and more until you’re covered in it, sticky trails sliding to pool in your bellybutton and drip over your sides onto the covers. Dieter is gasping above you, glowing like a sacred artifact as he pumps the last drops from his cock. 

You close your eyes once and it’s a mistake. As soon as you let your eyelids touch exhaustion grips you, fighting your desperate attempts to reopen them. It’s battling this bone-deep tired when you experience Dieter’s return to a human form. The horns receding, tattoos fading to just the ones that grace tabloid pages. The wings fold away, and soon a sexy as hell rumpled and soft body replaces the supernatural one. 

“Wore you out, starlet?” Dieter Bravo asks, kneeling between your parted knees with a rakish smile. You try to return it with a nod but your whole body is heavy, the mess barely bothering you. Dieter hums thoughtfully, and in a few moments a warm washcloth is cleaning up his cum.

“Side effect of my influence, helps a lot in the moment but it’s got some pretty strong sedative properties. Good for a speedy exit.” His chuckle sounds faraway now, even as you try to clutch at it.

“Stay,” you manage to croak out, hands seeking his body. You find his hair again, nose buried in your sex as he licks softly at your folds. The building ache there creeps back down to something dull and manageable.

“Our contract is up, can’t stay once you’ve given me what I’m owed.” Dieter’s lips start leaving small kisses along your abdomen, fingers soothing your skin. “Even if it was very, very good.”

“Please,” you try again, racking your rapidly puttying mind for anything to keep his hands on you. 

“Even when you say it so sweetly,” Dieter says, but there’s melancholy now. It glances off your fingertips as sleep pulls you under. 

In the between world of dreams, you think he says something more to you, but Morpheus snatches it away. 

Hail, starlet, full of grace, Dieter is with thee. 

This might be the silliest thing I’ve ever…well, hmm…

Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, all those delectable orgasms you gave me.

Holy starlet, bringer of…something special.

Pray for this sinner.

There’s blood on your sheets when you wake, though less than you expected. There’s also less pain, though the ache takes your breath away when you sit up too fast. Hobbling to the bathroom with the cool pink of morning light guiding, you inspect your body in the mirror. 

You don’t look much different than before. Some strange notion of losing your virginity making you suddenly appear “mature” is dashed away. Maybe there’s a little glint of a secret in your eye, but not much more. Actually, surprisingly not much more. You expected bruises, scratches along your body and love bites marring your landscape. Instead your canvas is unblemished, no marks or injuries to hide. It’s almost as if he’d never been there.

Sitting down on the toilet, you wonder if maybe he wasn’t. That you dreamt up debauchery due to food poisoning or someone spiking the punch at the Halloween party. You couldn’t possibly have summoned an incubus. 

A dark mark inside your thigh catches your attention, and any doubts dissipate. A ring of teeth, four larger fangs prominent, marrs the inside of your thigh. Brushing your fingertips over the circle, the skittering thrill of those memories settle in your chest. 

You ride on the endorphins for a few days, a handful of people noticing. A work friend tries to interrogate you on it but “a lady never tells” is a saucy enough reply for her to give an approving look. You buy a new bed online, the base of yours splintered to ruin, but you keep the cracked headboard like a souvenir.

Online dating doesn’t seem as daunting now that you’re not so worried about the dreaded “first time.” You even accept a few dates, meet some generally nice men with generally boring personalities. They don’t make your heart race like a certain celebrity whose name you googled briefly before slamming your laptop shut. They certainly don’t kiss like him, or make sexy little jokes or terrify you as much as intrigue you. 

So for a while you try to move on. There’s no other option, right? Dieter Bravo the Movie Star would never give you a second thought. Dieter Bravo the Incubus surely has better things to do, more lascivious living. So you try to find something even remotely like what you felt that night.

It’s mid-November when you find yourself sitting on your living room floor again, piece of chalk in hand. You lit candles this time, bought black lace lingerie, made yourself up to feel pretty. It doesn’t help your shaking hands as you pull the rug off the summoning circle. Touching up a few spots, you settle by the broken line where you released Dieter. It all popped off when you completed the circle last time, so with a deep breath and a swipe of the chalk, you reconnect the chalk.

And you wait.

And wait.

A bulb in a lamp flickers but it’s brief. An errant breeze almost snuffs out a candle. But nothing happens. Your knees are sore, eyes watering but you blink the tears away. 

It was a long shot, you have to admit. A fluke chance, never to be repeated. You’ll have to settle for something bland, safe, loving but…

Nothing like Dieter.

You’re about to get up from the floor when one other idea tempts you. Something you thought he might have said before leaving you ruined.

Pray for this sinner.

Clasping your hands in your lap, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

It’s been a long time since you last prayed.

“Dieter…” you whisper. The fine hairs on your neck rise up, but you press on.

“Dieter, I pray to thee,” you continue, closing your eyes. “Come to me in my hour of need.”

A pause, then a final entreaty. “Please.”

A rumble creeps into your body, tiny puffs of candles snuffing out reaching your ears. You dare not open your eyes yet, too hopeful for disappointment. Instead you wait, and hope.

A hot hand, thick fingered and human, slides up your chest, over your throat and cups your chin. Relief floods your body, melting back against a solid chest and chuckling lips.

“Hello, starlet,” Dieter croons in your ear, wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers search for curls, burying in his hair as you lace your fingers with his.

“You came,” you breathe, sparks igniting on your skin as he presses a line of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

“How could I not, when you prayed so sweetly?” he teases, tugging you back to sit in the cradle of his crossed legs. “Smart of you to try the circle, but outside of all hallow’s eve you don’t have access to enough power for that trick.”

“But you came,” you repeat, turning your face into Dieter’s ministrations. He nips at the side of your jaw, soothing it with his lips before murmuring a confession into your skin.

“I hoped you would call again.”

A thick emotion swells in your chest, and you spin in his grasp to crash your mouths together. The momentum knocks him backwards to the floor, letting you straddle his waist and feast on his ample lips. His hands roam your back, reverent in their paths. When you break to suck in lungfuls of sweet air he leans up to mouth at your neck, possessive hand on your ass urging you to grind against him.

“Have you let anyone else fuck you?” he growls. To your delight the anxiety and trepidation that colored your first encounter is nowhere in sight. You smile wolfishly down at him.

“How could I? You’ve ruined me for any man,” you tease, and under your body he writhes, the whites of his eyes trading for inky black. “Plus, one time is hardly enough to know if I even like sex. I’ve barely begun to explore.”

The fangs flash between his kiss-swollen lips, and under the promise of any delight you desire you glimpse the even more exciting fondness that will draw you back to him again and again.

“Then we have a lot of work to do.”

END

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through

The Arctic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know?"

[sp00kymulderr]

just a touch

Dieter Bravo (x afab!reader)

980 words

warnings: m masturbation, afab!reader mentioned, writer Dieter being horny af, unedited.

Does anyone else ever spend all their day thinking about...

Dieter Bravo jerking off.

About how he draws it out for hours because he loves to be teased, even if he's teasing himself. He'll watch something filthy (he's got a great selection of porn, some homemade) or look at those nudes you sent him. But he refuses to touch himself the whole time, as he gets harder and more desperate for it.

He likes the luxury of getting off in bed, on his expensive soft sheets, or in the shower with the warm water running all over his body. He gets really sensitive the longer he holds off, so he'll give it as long as he possibly can. If he really wants to drive himself crazy, he'll force himself to go do something else after getting all turned on from whatever he chose to watch - something super mundane like read his many emails, or tidy up whatever mess was left out last night.

Usually though, he'll go to the big full length mirror in his bedroom, slowly take his clothes off, appreciate his own body. He spent a long time struggling with his body image, but nowadays he loves what he sees. His broad chest, the softness of his tummy, and then the bulge in his pants before he slowly peels them off. He's never been anything but proud of his dick. As far as cocks go he's got a pretty one, everyone always says it. He's still not touching it, not now as he appreciates the view of it in the mirror. His hands might come close, as his fingers softly feel their way around his own body, mapping paths you've taken as you've explored him yourself. He'll play with his nipples, pinch at the sensitive parts of his torso and grasp his stomach, appreciate the soft feel of it. He wishes you were there right now, but he'll make do with what he's got. Himself.

Finally...oh finally he makes his way on to his bed, sat with his back against the headboard with his legs spread wide. The mirror is angled just right, so he has a good view of himself from there. He's a little flushed, cheeks reddened. He's leaking precum, made himself so fucking desperate for his own hand. He looks really good, and he knows it.

He'll use whatever is closest, spit or lube or lotion. He isn't picky. Sometimes he'll use a toy too, depending on what he wants to feel and how quick he wants to get off. He loves playing with things that vibrate but they tend to make him come quicker than he likes so he doesn't use them too often - better when you're trying to overstimulate him to tears. Usually he'll use a butt plug when he's on his own, he likes his ass nice and full as often as it can be.

Now he takes himself in his hand, and the moan he makes at that first touch is sinful. He starts off painfully slow, teeth gritted in concentration as he tries to zone in on every single thing he's feeling as his fists glides up and down his cock. He'll think of you now the most, of the drag of your cunt up his dick. Or the warmth of your mouth on him. He'll bring up every memory he has of you and him together, the way you look when he's in you. The way you cry out as he thrusts into you for the first time. God, he can't take it this slow anymore.

As he quickens his pace, the noises he makes would make anyone blush. Dieter is never quiet like this. He loves to be heard, even if it's only him who can hear it right now. More, and more, and more. His free hand is playing with his balls, gentle tugs and squeeze that makes him tense dangerously and groan in pleasure.

Will he slow down now, calm himself down before he starts up again? Well, he'll try but at this point he's possessed by the need to come. He tries to be good, he really does. The way you like it, every last drop teased out of him but holding off for as long as he possibly can You tell him to be good, but you're not here right now and he can't quite bring himself to be that good.

He'll confess later, you can punish him if you want.

He's gasping out, a needy thing, beautiful noises of absolute heady pleasure. Eyes zoning back in just enough to watch as he brings himself to the edge. His favourite part to watch, as his movements falter and his balls tighten and with a loud cry he's spilling ropes of his cum onto his lower belly, onto his fingers, wherever it goes. Messy, he loves it that way. He pulls out every last drop he can, until its too much.

His head falls back against the headboard, eyes squeezing shut as he heaves out heavy breaths while his body trembles slightly from the climax. After a moment or two, he'll bring his hand up to his mouth and lick it clean. Dip his fingers into the mess he made and taste himself. It makes him groan, he tastes so fucking good. You always tell him the same, and he knows you're not lying.

In the time it takes him to regain his thoughts, he's laid himself down on the bed properly, sprawled out and a little dozy. He gets sleepy after he's come, but not enough to actually fall asleep. He just likes to bask in the feeling for a little while while he recovers. He bury his face in the pillow that still smells of you, and close his eyes and just enjoy the moment.

And if he really needs it today...he'll make it all happen again in a couple hours.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑

ㅤㅤjavi gutierrez x f!reader x dieter bravo

genre: smut, minors dni, romance

word count: 0.7k

summary: javi and dieter spoil you with everything they have.

warnings: established relationship, threesome, poly relationship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, oral (reader receiving)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE @pedrorascal!!!! I know you're probably sleeping right now (damn you timezones)but hopefully this will be a lovely morning surprise! I'm so happy that I've met you through this hellsite---everything you create is art and you bring so much joy to this fandom. You're one of a kind and I just adore and love you so so much 💗💗💗💗

It’s still hard to believe it sometimes— The two men that spontaneously came into your life, the way they made you feel that you belonged in a chaotic, dark world. First came Javi, then came Dieter. Two loveable idiots, and you, the biggest idiot in love. 

Looking down, your heart swells, and your pussy throbs. It’s a sight to behold. Both of their mouths latched on to each hardened nipple, sucking with earnest while you sit on the bed, your back pressed again the bedpost. Their eyes are closed, lashes fanning their cheeks. You slightly shift, your arousal getting the better of you as you search for any kind of friction. 

“Don’t be impatient,” Dieter murmurs with his mouth full. “Let us make you feel good. It’s been a while.” 

A shiver runs through your body at his words, memories of the last time the three of you were together flooding your mind. It had been pure bliss, the way their bodies moved against yours, the way their lips and hands explored every inch of you. And now, as they continue to suck and nibble on your nipples, it feels like coming home. 

Javi moves his mouth to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and love bites along your skin. Dieter's hands move down to your thighs, spreading them wider as he dips his fingers between your legs. Your breath hitches as they both apply their attention to different parts of your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

Their touch is familiar yet electric, and you can't help but moan when Dieter's fingers slip inside of you, finding your sweet spot and rubbing it with just the right amount of pressure. Javi moves his mouth down to your stomach, kissing and licking his way toward your core as Dieter starts to thrust two thick fingers in and out.

Your body is on fire as they continue to devour you, your senses heightened and your mind consumed with pure pleasure. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to Dieter’s eager mouth, encouraging them to take more of you in. Dieter's fingers continue to move inside of you, hitting all the right spots as he curls them and adds in a second and then a third. The sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel your muscles clenching and your release approaching. 

Javi's hot breath fans against your core as he blows on your heated skin before finally attaching his lips to your clit. You throw your head back, letting out a long moan as his expert tongue works its magic, swirling and flicking at just the right pace. Your body is trembling now, the sensations too much to handle as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. 

Your eyes drop to where Javi crowns between your legs, his mouth briefly pulling back as Dieter stuffs his fingers between the other man’s lips. He sucks on them, loudly moaning while Dieter shallowly thrusts them in and out. 

“Good boy,” he raps, pulling them out and sliding them into you once more. “Now make out pretty girl come with those full lips of yours.” 

You can hear Javi and Dieter's moans mixing with yours, their own arousal evident. You feel them move closer to you, their bodies pressing against yours as they continue to suck, lick, and stroke you into oblivion. Your body is on the verge of ecstasy, and you know that you're only a few seconds away from losing yourself completely. 

And then it happens, the pleasure overtakes you, and you're screaming their names as you come undone in their arms. Javi and Dieter both hold you close, their touches still gentle as you ride out your orgasm. Their kisses now sweet and tender instead of passionate and relentless. 

“That’s it,” Dieter whispers. “That’s our girl.” 

Javi blinks up at you, his eyes dazed and lips slick, “That was amazing, mi amor. Want you to make a mess again, want to taste it on my tongue until the day I die.” 

“What about you guys?” 

Dieter chuckles, breath fanning your neck, “Don’t worry, I already have plans of fucking that dork over there until he faints as you watch.” 

“Good,” you say with a wide grin. “I can’t wait to see it.” 

As your breathing returns to normal, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. You feel so loved, so cherished in this moment, and you know that with them by your side, anything is possible. Your heart is full, and you know that you belong with these two loveable idiots, who have captured your heart and your body with their undeniable charm and affection.

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(still spoilers for both the whole show and the books)

Season 2 episode 1 [What Can The Damned Really Say to the Damned] - part 3/4

- [Daniel] "Memories just keep bubbling up." - oooh, the face Louis makes at that...

- [Louis] "'Claudia was... uh... She was dreaming. Her head twitching like you would.'" - ain't no need to take a shot at Danny boy now! He hasn't done anything (yet)...

[Daniel] "'Maybe you're just uh, frosting the pie?'

[Louis] 'No. I can feel her. I can feel her next to me. She's having a nightmare. What's worse than a nightmare? If your soul's projecting out its fears, at least it's up and running. But the absence of anything? The void. The nothing. Pieces... coming back. Hours, nights. Objects, surfacing in water. It was just something she wrote. But it wasn't true. She could dream. Thank you.'

[Daniel] 'If you wanna take that break...'

[Louis] 'No. No. I want this. To remember.'"

Can I scream about Jacob's phenomenal acting? This man. I have no words. The voice breaking. The hand waving. The vacant eyes. The tears (he cries so prettily). The accent emerging from the flat Dubai accent. What a masterclass. Also who else thinks that when Louis says he can feel her next to him, he's not just talking about past Claudia in the memory but also Ghostdia in present time?

This scene has everything:

1, it showcases once again Daniel's profound compassion, in the way he doesn't try to push Louis more now that Louis is finally doing the job of being honest on his own, in the way he's looking at Louis having a breakdown with concern and immense compassion... Yes, Daniel is a catty bitchy old queen, yeah, he's grumpy and cynic and an investigative journalist who latches on his subject and doesn't let up. But he's also profoundly human and full of sympathy and humanity, and that's what makes him such a darned good journalist - he touches at the heart of his interviewees.

2, it sort of closes the theme started in s1 of memory being a monster, to open up the second theme, memory being a blessing. S1 was about how Louis ran away so hard from the truth he had basically changed his recollection of things to not face up the real events and emotions, ultimately leading him to just shut down - something that is explored more in details in s2. S2 is about Louis finally facing up to his true memories and reconciliating not just with Lestat, not even only with the memory of Claudia - reminder that he carried with him for 77 years Claudia's diaries in which she writes how much she hated him - but also and maybe most importantly, owning up to his real memories allows him to reconcile with himself.

3, it fixes a hole in Louis' heart regarding Claudia and the end of their time together. As said above, Claudia writes in her diaries that she hates Louis maybe as much as Lestat. But she also wrote that she doesn't dream, when obviously Louis' recovered memories show that she does. So if what she writes that one time is a lie, "just something that she wrote", maybe she also lied, "just wrote", that she hated Louis? Even if we can't ever know for certain, even if this session starts with Louis and Daniel agreeing to believe what's written and nothing more (a decision that's almost immediately abandoned), for Louis, just holding on to that thought, is everything.

- And there goes another queen.... Rip Emilia, you were magnificent. +10 points and a bit of grace for Morgan speaking Romanian and trying his hardest to save Emilia. [Louis] "Human affairs. Death, and how to avoid it. Their problem. Ours was in the woods." - bravo, only took you 30 years to learn that lesson. Better late than never I guess. Lestat will be pleased. With that and with the hunting.

- Claudia's sassing Louis, Louis showing off his fangs... And the revenant being a full horror show. Yep, welcome to the Old Romania portion of the story.

[Louis] "'What. The. Hell is that?'

[Claudia] 'It's... A vampire.'

[Louis] 'No, I'm a vampire. That's a fucking catfish with teeth. It's dirty. It doesn't like us.'

[Claudia] 'Us, you, the same.'

[Louis] 'Not the same, not even close.'"

This show is a comedy.

- Do you think a vampire with a rifle is more or less dangerous than a vampire with just their fangs and claws...? Someone needs to make a poll.

- One queen exits (Emilia), another emerges (Daciana)... And what intensity. What pain. A motherless mother. [Louis] "An angry woman vampire. A mom." - the fact that Louis himself points that out, as if he's somehow recognising himself in her... The way he says "a mom", full of wonder and understanding. Because a parent is a parent and no matter the words used, he is Claudia's parent, and he spent years suffering his child's absence. He knows.

- [Louis] "Through the forest, as if a fairy tale." - hello, did you know that today's Fantasy literature, inherited from the Fantastique literature, comes directly from fairy tales and folktales? There's a direct pipeline between "Le Petit Poucet" (Little Thumbling, a fairy tale about a boy abandoned in the woods finding his way back home thanks to the trail of white stones he left behind) or "Hansel and Gretel" and the musical story of "Emilie Jolie", where a little girl all alone in her house follows the characters of her storybook into the pages of the book. A very French example, I know, I know, but I was looking for something that would reference being alone and lost in the woods, like Claudia and Louis here. In any case, what I meant to say is, go read amongst others Tolkien's essay "On Fairy Stories", Daniel Baker's essay "Why We Need Dragons: The Progressive Potential of Fantasy" (Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, 2012), Carh Filmer-Davies' "On Fantasy Stories" (Mythlore, 2000) and Jack Zipes' "The Irresistible Fairy Tale: The Cultural and Social History of a Genre" (Princeton UP, 2012). I have a lot more bibliography but they're more related to what I wrote about in my thesis which is Beauty and the Beast, a fairy tale that woumd be fascinating to explore in relation to Lestat, so I'm going to stop here. Man, when can I go do my folklore PhD...?

- [Louis] "But even if we could get her to talk, what would she say? What, after all, can the damned really say to the damned?" - interesting, the way the book quote (see part 1) was inserted in the show narration... Really emphasises how lost and alone, metaphorically, Louis and Claudia are.

- Welp. I have to put the entire conversation between Louis, Claudia and Daciana. Every line is fascinating.

[Louis] "'We are from over the ocean.'

[Claudia] "Five years we've looked for you. We came to where vampires are spoken of, to find others like ourselves.'

[Daciana] 'We own the night. Yes?'

[Claudia, Louis, in English] 'Yes.'

[Daciana] 'Long centuries, into the villages, into their hovels, drinking, drinking, drinking. They don't want life anymore.'

[Claudia] 'Maybe it's the blood. [In English to Louis] Tell her about the blood.'

[Louis, in stammering Romanian] 'It's blood here... Can't... You...'

[Claudia] 'Say it in English.'

[Louis in English/Claudia in Romanian] 'The blood is bad here. The humans, there's too much sadness, too much pain. We feel it too when we drink. We can't get warm. Our bodies hurt. Maybe you need better blood.'

[Daciana] 'From over the ocean?'

[Claudia] 'America.'

[Daciana] 'Another one like a burnt tray of bread.'

[Claudia] 'How many of us are left? How about this one?'

[Daciana] 'Cezare Romulo. He was a droll one. Killed a travelling circus in Sibiu, everyone but the bear... but all those in darkness go into darkness.'

[Louis] 'What's she saying?'

[Claudia] 'Who's left?'

[Daciana] 'You killed my last out in the forest.'

[Louis] 'What's she saying?'

[Claudia] 'He was hurting us.'

[Daciana] 'All of them dead now. All gone. Like cream from the top of a milk bucket. So many nights to come on the devil's road, playing in their blood, oh, you will laugh and laugh...'

[Claudia] 'And you'll come with us? '

[Daciana] 'Yes. You will take me over the ocean with you. And I will grow strong again. And tell you my story. And you will tell me yours. And we will kill for the small comforts and wait for my children to join us... The wind in our hair and bare feet in the grass. Daciana.'

'Louis.' 'Claudia.'

[Daciana] 'We own... nothing.'"

Be right back, need to add Romanian to my Duolingo list.

What a scene. A scene that will stay with Louis forever, reminding him for decades to come of the immense strength and the immense fragility of the vampire. Of the power of the creature owning the night, and the fragility of the creature bending under the weight of inconmensurable, endless time. Lesson learned, again. "All those in darkness go into darkness".

I love that Daciana, this ancient, timeless vampire, remembers little pleasures of human life and uses them as a measure of good and bad things, burnt bread one tip of the scale, cream from the top of a milk bucket the other side. As if, at the end, what sustained her wasn't the blood anymore, but those long ago memories of when she was human. A loop, ended.

Louis being the one who understands the blood and can explain it, after all those years rejecting it. He truly is the most dangerous one.

From a very meta perspective, it's hilarious that they made the character played by the actor famously known for his languages and accents abilities the one who struggles with languages. Very on the nose, very funny.

Claudia's face, the pure joy and elation when Daciana talks about going with them. And then the crestfallen, resigned expression when she throws herself in the fire. Emphasises the youth of Claudia and Louis. They want someone to willingly and joyfully guide them and teach them, an adult adultier than them. And they can't find anyone. Lestat refused, bound by his promise to Marius, his control and abandonment issues, Daciana had enough of the devil's road, and when they meet Armand, he doesn't want to guide but to, again, control and dominate. You know who they should have found? Pandora. She would have taken them under her wing if she had met them independently from Lestat. Pandora would have been worth it. I want a fic where Pandora meets them while they're travelling through Europe and decides to mentor them.

season 1 masterpost

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

episode 2 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7 | episode 8

[slyvester101]

Despite what everyone thought, Wash did actually know how to sleep. 

He knew intimately how not getting enough rest could mean life or death, how just one sleepless night can incapacitate someone to the point of dysfunction.

He has a scar on his shoulder from a bullet he couldn’t dodge, feet stumbling over the terrain after a sleepless night high up in a jungle canopy. A sniper shot through his armor, piercing his skin and leaving a nasty mark on his thigh when he was too tired to stay aware of his surroundings. He almost got stabbed in the throat after getting backstabbed by a tip, leaving a faint scar tracing the side of his neck.  

There are many more scars like that–-usually a bit more mundane in nature, like when he tripped over his own feet and broke his nose by face planting into the concrete—that reminded Wash of the importance of sleep, that pushed him to getting as much sleep as he could. 

He wasn’t always able to get a solid eight hours in a row, nightmares are a hell of a bitch and sometimes a mission called for unusual hours awake, but Wash quickly figured out that he could make up for the sleep he missed by taking naps throughout the day. And since he was almost always on the move, he learned to sleep in some… odd positions. But if it meant the difference between life or death, Wash was willing to learn how to sleep in full power armor on a stack of crates in the middle of the day.

So yes, Wash knew how to sleep even if his way was rather unusual. And he knew that he wasn’t the only one with quirks when it came to when or how they slept.

Which is why he didn’t say anything about Tucker’s odd sleeping habits when he joined the blues.

They had just finished fighting the Meta, bodies bruised and a little broken when they finally made it back to the safety of their base, so it made sense that most of the time spent in those beginning months were used for sleeping, healing, and recovering from the long months hopping from fight to fight. 

It made sense to find Tucker curled up in bed well into the late hours of the day, napping on the couch or on the roof of the base. Wash was a little surprised when he spotted him cuddling with Caboose in his room occasionally with all the bitching and complaining Tucker does about him.

Even once they are all healed up and settled, Wash didn’t take notice of Tucker’s occasional lack of energy, simply assuming he’s just always been a low maintenance, low energy guy, maybe even a little lazy sometimes.

There are days where Tucker can barely get out of bed to eat, those days only noted because Caboose would come up to Wash and ask him to help get Tucker up for the day. But there were also days when Tucker seemed to burn with energy, buzzing in his skin and begging Wash for a spar or two.

He didn’t think anything of it, not really. He understood trauma and depression and everything that came with it. He, himself, wasn’t the best example of mental stability. So he didn’t say anything.

Not until Crash Site Bravo.

He’s training with Tucker, Caboose having already finished his laps and off to explore more of the canyon, still peppy and hopeful for the day Church comes back (Wash has his doubts, but he doesn’t voice them. He too wants to hold onto the hope that Carolina didn’t just leave him behind again). 

Tucker’s been falling behind more and more lately, more stubborn and grumpy and passive aggressive than ever. He snaps when Wash gives orders, continually sleeps in past schedule, and is always finding excuses for breaks.

Wash thinks Tucker is just being pissy about his friend leaving and about Wash taking charge during their extended stay in the gorge 

He’s not wrong, but he’s not completely right either.

“Tucker! I didn’t say you could stop!” Wash shouts from his place at the end of the track, arms folded as he waits for Tucker to get his hands off his knees and finish the lap.

He still had two more to go.

“Just… just give me a minute.”

Wash grits his teeth, patience slowly thinning the longer Tucker drags this on. He barks at Tucker to keep moving, that the battlefield will not allow Tucker a break to catch his breath. 

Tucker only gasps, shaking on his legs before his knees crash to the ground, unable to keep himself up any longer.

Wash drops the hardass act, worry sinking into his stomach as Tucker crouches more and more on himself, seemingly unable to catch his breath. “Tucker?”

He starts moving when Tucker doesn’t respond, the harsh breathing being the only response Wash gets. He kneels down next to him, gets his hands on his shoulders to keep him steady as he checks him over for injuries. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Did I push you too hard?”

Tucker throws a weak glare his way, wheezing and panting like he’d never run a lap in his life. “What do… do you think? Fuck.”

“Easy. Deep breathes. Take your time, okay?” He lets Tucker crash into his chest, heavy and exhausted. They sit there for a while, Tucker doing his best to take large gulps of air now that he doesn’t have to worry about collapsing onto the floor.

It takes a while, but he does get his breath back and the shaking stops. They take Tucker’s helmet off as well, the aqua soldier practically melts into the cold armor of Wash’s chest plate when his bare face hits the metal. “‘M really tired, Wash.”

“You’re always tired, Tucker.” An observation, not a critique. The last few months are now being observed in a different light as Tucker mumbles an important detail.

“Chronic fatigue is a bitch.”

Wash blinks. “I didn’t know you had chronic fatigue.”

“Why do you think me and Grif get along so well? We both tired ass bitches.” Ah, that explains a lot actually. The constant napping, the lack of motivation, the sudden crashes in energy. Wash really should’ve taken that into consideration.

He feels even more like a jerk when he remembers he thought of Tucker and Grif as lazy assholes. The sting of shame rings loud and clear as Wash shifts Tucker to sit more comfortably against him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not wake me up at 5am every morning?”

“I think we can manage that.” Wash snorts, relaxing a bit at hearing Tucker sass him as usual.

His amusement fades a bit when Tucker seems to melt in relief at the statement, almost sobbing at the confirmation that he’s no longer required to wake up so early in the morning. “You’re exhausted, huh?”

“I just wanna sleep all the time. It fucking sucks. I can’t do anything.” Tucker slumps further into Wash, misery soaking into his voice.

Wash thinks back to Blood Gulch, to the days where Tucker seemed to have endless energy, a smile nearly cracking his face open as he ran circles around the reds with Caboose. He then thinks of the days where Tucker stayed miserably tucked in his room, bleary eyed and grumpy and more crass than normal. 

Wash had figured Tucker was having a bad day, that his mind had decided to fill with thoughts of inadequacy or insecurity like it does for Wash. And maybe there was a bit of that, but Wash would now pay good money that Tucker was more upset about the fact that he couldn’t get out of bed, that he didn’t have the energy to be the high-spirited man he was than anything regarding his mental health. 

Looking back at the previous infrequency of Tucker’s less energetic episodes and comparing them with Tucker’s more recent descent into tiredness and dimming motivation, Wash makes the conclusion that there’s other factors pushing Tucker off the deep end into his sleeping disorder.

“Do you have any meds you need to be taking?”

“Ran out. I think Grif is running low too.” Tucker mumbles.

Wash makes a note to talk to Simmons about that, hopefully the red had gathered tips on the best way to assist with someone showing symptoms of extreme exhaustion, maybe even things specific to Tucker with how long they’ve known each other. Until then, Wash settles to keep Tucker safe while he faces the rough edge of his exhaustion. “Well, that’s shitty.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Tucker curls further into Wash, not even trying to muffle down his whines as he hisses in pain. “My head hurts.”

“You wanna go lay down?”

“If I lay down, I am not getting back up again.” Tucker warns, skeptical that Wash would let him rest that long.

Wash vows to be a better friend than that, one that Tucker (and Caboose) can rely on to tell them when they’re tired or hurt, to earn their trust to tell him that they have a fucking disorder they need meds for. He grabs the back of Tucker’s neck, squeezing gently as he leans him to sit back.

“I think I can make an exception.” Wash assists Tucker back to his feet, arms reached out to help him stand. It becomes clear rather quickly that Tucker will not be making it to his room on his own. 

After stumbling side by side for a while, Wash decides to just save them both the headache and scoops Tucker up into his arms. He expects Tucker to protest, to flail and bitch about being held like a baby, but Tucker simply sinks into Wash, sighs gently, and shuts his eyes. 

He’s out before they even make it halfway to Tucker’s room. 

Wash takes his time getting there, not wanting to disturb Tucker from his much needed sleep. He lets habit guide his legs as he focuses on keeping the precious bundle in his arms still, smiling gently at the soft look of Tucker’s face as he relaxes.

He’s so focused on his face, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice the new presence hovering behind him.

“Is Tucker hurt?”

It takes every bit of Freelancer training to not jump as Caboose pops out from seemingly nowhere. Wash smiles gently at him, hoping it’s as comforting as possible as he adjusts Tucker to fit snugly against his chest, thankful that he didn’t wake up from the sudden noise. “No, he’s just tired.”

Caboose nods sadly, pouting underneath his helmet as he twitches in place. “Tucker is always tired.”

“I know, Caboose.”

“He is out of medicine.” Wash blinks. He hadn’t expected Caboose to know about Tucker’s condition. Then again, they have been on a team together longer than Wash has. Caboose probably knows more about what’s normal or not for Tucker. 

“Yeah, he told me. He’s probably going to be pretty worn out until we can get it refilled.”

“Tucker hates being tired.” 

“I know. We’ll figure something out for him, try to make things easier while we’re stuck in this canyon.” Caboose nods again, but doesn’t say anything more as he stands off to Wash’s side, looking a little antsy as he stares at Tucker.

“Something wrong?”

He shakes his head as he picks at the seams of his gloves. It’s weird seeing Caboose so fidgety and not bouncing off the walls or yelling at the top of his lungs. Wash puts together that maybe, just maybe, Caboose is purposefully being quiet so Tucker can sleep. “No, it’s just that I’m usually the one to take Tucker to bed when he falls asleep because Church isn’t strong enough to carry him.”

“Oh… Would you like to help me?” 

“Yes!” Caboose slaps a hand over his mouth after he shouts, looking at Tucker’s still sleeping form before letting his hand slip away to show off his smile. Bouncing on his feet as he crowds near, Wash lets him gently hold up Tucker's dangling legs as they walk the last stretch to Tucker’s room.

Once Tucker is gently placed under his blankets, his armor removed and placed in a pile on the floor, Wash tries to move away to exit with Caboose in tow. He’s stopped by Tucker latching onto his arm, grip firm and unmoving as he’s tugged to lean on the bed.

“Stay.” He hears him muffle into his pillow.

Caboose stage-whispers his gasp, shaking Wash gently as he shares his idea. “We should have a sleepover! We can make a fort and everything!”

Wash looks down at Tucker, the man not even trying to hang onto consciousness before slipping back asleep. He nudges him a little, silently asking for approval before they no doubt turn his room into a giant mess of pillows and blankets. Tucker hums softly, pushing into the touch as he sinks into the bed.

That’s probably the best they’re gonna get.

“Alright, let’s do it. But—” He holds up a hand to keep Caboose from cheering, putting a finger over his mouth as he whispers, “—let’s keep quiet so we don’t disturb Tucker, okay?”

Caboose nods, zipping his lips and throwing away the key before bolting out of the room to gather supplies. Wash sighs after him, smiling as he lets himself sit fully on the bed. He bumps slightly into Tucker as he does, the line of Tucker’s body curling into him the closer he gets.

In a moment of pure intuition and impulse, Wash cards a hand through Tucker’s hair, careful not to pull on the long locs Tucker spends meticulous care on. He gets to watch as Tucker melts against him, practically purring under his hands as Wash gently scratches at his scalp.

“Sleep well, Lavernius.”

I’m gonna get you out of here. He thinks.

I promise.

[nerdieforpedro]

The Brave, The Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 2

Fanfics that I am currently reading or re-read because they’re that good!! 😊

This list is for those aged 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they are there for a reason.

Crawling Back to You Author: @prolix-yuy

(Dieter Bravo x female reader) There’s a secret that Hollywood has been keeping from us that explains so much. Found out I find horns sexy.

This Charming Man

Author: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

(Frankie Morales x OFC Camilla) No one said Frankie had to be good all the time. To be fair, he's had some major life events. He's unhinged but also sweet. He's got layers. Some of the layers are concerning. Make sure to check the warnings before reading. Dark fluff!

Dr. WeVibe; or How Dieter Bravo Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Remote Vibrator

Author: @imalrightllama (Dieter Bravo x female reader {established relationship}, Dieter Bravo x female reader x male soft Dom, Dieter Bravo x male soft Dom) This is smut. It has evolved into ultra smut and eventually reaches super ultra smut. There's also toy use. You have to read it to understand.

Opia Author: @artemiseamoon

(Ezra x black female reader) A woman's journey for a payday leads her to meet Ezra under less than ideal circumstances. The bond they form is life-long.

Kinktober 2023 Author: @palioom

Thirty one days of October - thirty one different fics each with their own theme to sink your eyeballs into. Make sure to double check warnings.

going slow Author: @ezrasbirdie

(Javier Peña x female reader) An issue that no one really speaks about but can make sexual intimacy extremely difficult. Thankfully, Javier Peña is a sweetheart and willing to take it at the reader's pace.

anytime Author: @undercoverpena

(Javier Peña x female reader) Reader and Javier have been friends for years. Seen each other through the best and worst of times. Javier's mind is rattled and there always seems to be one thing or person rather that settles him.

I like the way you Author: @undercoverpena

(Frankie Morales x female reader) Reader is friends with Frankie. An offhand remark leads a becoming friends with benefits. What could go wrong? Feelings? No one agreed to that.

When the west was wild Author: @boliv-jenta

(Silva x OFC) Nine part story about a woman living alone in the west. An injured strange changes her life, for better, for worse? Read and find out.

Be all and Endor Jyr’ika Author: @djarins-cyare

(Din Darin x OFC) An epic love story told over 40 chapters. Use the bathroom, get a blanket and get comfy, there's reading to be done.

Darkness Author: @ezrasbirdie

(Ezra x female reader) We all know Ezra has explored many ways, things and positions. One that he has not explored is our reader. He's a bit scuzzy, but a gentleman - mostly. You gotta invite him in, give him the ok.

Moonlit Serenades Author: @geminimoonbeamx

(Poe Dameron x plus size female reader) Poe needs some comfort after a tough mission that only the reader can provide.

Headshots Author: @secretelephanttattoo

(Marcus Pike x OFC Ella) Turns out reader's new job as a photographer for the FBI changes her path in life forever. The job was temporary but the relationship was for life.

The Gift Author: @mandoisapunk

(Javier Peña x female reader) Sweet Javier Peña fluff. Reader's gift to Javi is life changing. I'm not crying, you are!

An American in Paris Author: @absurdthirst

(Ezra x female reader) If you ever wondered what Ezra would be doing in the late 1940's after WWII. Our man went to Paris where he meets the reader. This pic had me at Ezra in Paris and then held on to me tight and tossed my feelings around like a rag doll.

To hold you tonight Author: @iamasaddie

(Marcus Pike x female reader) Dark! Marcus has a very dark spin in this one shot. He also has a love a statues that extends to the reader. Please read the warnings before reading.

Full of colors. Author: @trulybetty

(Tim Rockford x female reader) Tim’s working a difficult case, you’ve got work piled on the table. Quality time is needed. A walk-in shower is a treat.

Dry Run Author: @chronically-ghosted

(Javier Peña x female reader) Anyone who may have questioned if dancing with THE Javier Peña in a club was sexy or not - your answer is here.

Tired Author: @javierpena-inatacvest

(Javier Peña x female reader) It’s date night for you and your husband Javier Peña. Everything that could have gone wrong, has. You are stressed out. Date night was not what you’d planned at all.

Diosa Hermosa Author: @fhatbhabie

(Javier Peña x plus size female reader) Javier finds the reader to be the sexiest vision he could see in the museum.

Preciously Plump Author: @melodygatesauthor

(Santiago Garcia x plus size female reader) Our reader is a bit self-conscious, Santiago has her get over that quickly.

Dirty Secrets Author: @absurdthirst

(Dave York x female reader) Your husband Dave is suspicious about your change in behavior. He endeavors to find out the reason why.

[boredzillenial]

Recent Drabble #2, enabled encouraged by @lunar-ghoulie4art and her incredible art

You get high with Cecil Dennis & Dieter Bravo and they have… other things on their mind 😳

A.N: grammar ain’t my strong suit atm this is fully fulled by raging hormones. Bit of a tease tbh 😉

Themes: NSFW, suggestive, drug use (with these two ya can’t avoid it)

“No way.” You laugh “You two - in a three way?” You question while taking the blunt from Cecil’s outstretched hand. You pull a long drag, enjoying the relaxing burn for a moment before exhaling.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dieter shrugs, all smiles stretched out on the couch next to you. “She was fun.”

“And you two didn’t.” You waggle your brows and cross your fingers like swords before bursting into laughter.

Cecil rolls his eyes with a lazy smile as he plucks his gift back from your hand “When you’re that high, bodies are just bodies.” He take his own long drag, his half-lidded gaze raking over you stretching opposite to Dieter. How your legs intertwined…

“Have you ever fucked high before?” Dieter asks, brows raised in curiosity while his hand slowly runs up and down your calf. “Or had a threesome?”

“No to both.” You sigh “I fucked drunk once but, never again.” You shudder at the memory, all fumbling hands and nausea.

“Would you ever -“ Cecil’s voice trails off, when your eyes lock his look is no longer playful, there’s a hunger there.

“I don’t see why not.” You shrug. Dieter sits up slowly in response, hand running higher up your bare leg. “Oh you mean, like right now?” You gulp, the lump in your throat refusing to go down.

“No time like the present.” Dieters voice huffs as his hand trails higher, toying with the hem of your shorts. His gaze meets yours and the little smile playing at his lips daring you to say yes.

“Yeah I - I guess so.” Your voice waivers. Cecil steps closer, taking your chin in his hand to lift your gaze to his. “Go easy.” You murmur.

“ ‘course.” He murmurs, half lidded gaze locked on your lips until they met yours in slow, deep exploration.

The mixture of the taste of him, his touch, it’s nearly overwhelming. You’re completely focused on Cecil’s wonderfully soft lips until a new sensation causes you to groan. Dieter, kissing in a similarly deep, passionate way to another part of you…

—————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m

[bratzydollz]

"Ivanka's Grand Unveiling: Who is Ivanka? 💋✨ #IvankasReveal #IvankaHasThe411"

January 10th, 2024.

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•—✧✷ Well, well, well, Upper East Shifters! The prodigal blogger has returned! Cue the applause, the confetti, and, of course, the eye rolls. Yes, my fellow shifters and followers, it's moi—Ivanka. I've been MIA for what feels like a century, and in the midst of my Instagram-worthy life drama, I've managed to gain a few followers. Not that they care, but hey, who needs a lame and basic introduction when you're living the chaotic dream?

Round of applause for my stellar disappearing act! Bravo, Ivanka. But enough about that. Let's dive into the grand reintroduction because, let's face it, you've been deprived. What can I say? Life's been a rollercoaster, with more twists and turns than a binge-(un)worthy season finale of Riverdale. But fear not, for the gossip and glam are back, and I'm about to spill the tea on yours truly. Ready or not, here comes the multidimensional Ivanka comeback!

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✧ About me, Xoxo.

—✧✷ Greetings, cyber citizens! I'm your digital deity, Ivanka Beeyuh, reigning over the online realm. Real identity? Baby, that's a closely guarded secret. She/they pronouns are my melody, and proudly transcribing my existence as a fabulous transgender woman. Virgo vibes and INFP musings – at the ripe age of 19, I'm navigating the academic jungle with a major in Business Administration. Because, let's be real, who doesn't love a business-savvy queen?

Oh, and here's a little nugget of trivia to spice up the Ivanka saga—I'm rocking the Klinefelter Syndrome, making me a naturally sculpted divine doll. HRT process? A breeze, honey. Feeling blessed, and this goddess is ready to conquer the digital cosmos. Buckle up, buttercups! 🌟💻 #IvankaBeeyuh #OnlineRoyalty

—✧✷ Listen up, trendsetters and multiverse explorers! Ivanka Beeyuh, your guide through the virtual wonderland, is spilling the tea on her current obsessions. Since the mystical year of 2020, shifting has been my jam – and yes, girlies, I've successfully made the leap! Yay for alternate realities!

Now, let's talk beauty—natural vibes with a splash of bold Latina and Thai makeup, because who says you can't slay in multiple cultures? Embracing the magic of witchcraft, I'm your modern-day enchantress. Need some data entry wizardry? Count me in. And of course, strutting the cyber catwalk, because fashion is life.

But wait, there's more! Yours truly is also a subliminal sorcerer, crafting unseen spells for your subconscious. I've got a stash of creations waiting to dazzle, and when they hit the digital airwaves, you'll be the first to know. Stay tuned, my cyber comrades! 🌐💄🔮

—✧✷ Hold onto your broomsticks, spellbinders! Ivanka Beeyuh here, spilling the enchanted tea about my bewitching side. Yes, luvly, I'm not just interested in witchcraft—I am a full-fledged chaos-type witch, and I'm here to own it. No rulebook, no limitations—I dance to the rhythm of my own magical beat.

Quick disclaimer: I'm not your run-of-the-mill chaos magick witch. Let's get one thing straight – my craft is a constantly evolving masterpiece, not a cookie-cutter spell from the dusty pages of some ancient tome. Had to clear that up because, you know, some witches get their broomsticks in a twist when you mix "chaos magick" and "creating your own craft" in the same cauldron <3.

And now, a moment of worship for the Goddess of Keys and Witchcraft, the ultimate diva, Hekate. Bow down, beauties, for her cunty aura is the reason I'm a devoted follower. The slay is real, and so is my commitment to the mystical queen.

—✧✷ Picture this: the current earworms that have me spellbound include the hypnotic vibes of Melanie Martinez, the powerhouse notes of Ariana Grande, the offbeat allure of Ayesha Erotica, the soulful serenades by SZA, and the sultry sounds of Summer Walker.

Now, let me spill the real tea—I might not be the maestro of musical taste. In fact, I'm shamelessly riding the trend wave, and who can blame me? These beats are too good to resist.

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•—✧✷ Alright, my curious companions, buckle up for a little rendezvous into the aesthetics of both my CR-self and DR-Self. If you're itching to unravel the layers of my vibe, swing by to the "Ivancore" page, or if you want more shifting teas, drive your Mercedes to "Ivanka's Shifting Teas" that you can access from the front page! 👀

And with that, my luvlies, behold the finale of my introduction—lovely, yet a tad messy. Here's to hoping that as you tread the path of my posts, you, my moots and followers, get to uncover the layers of Ivanka Beeyuh. For now, a temporary farewell, my luvlies. Buh-bye~

Xoxo, Ivanka. 💋🫧

back to front page —❥ 💙

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

Bravo!

Applauding is a familiar activity, but, as you stand for an encore in the concert hall, do you think about how you hold your hands and how that affects your clap? That question prompted two scientists to embark on an acoustical exploration of clapping.  (Image credits: top - G. Latorre, others - N. Papadakis and G. Stavroulakis; research credit: N. Papadakis and G. Stavroulakis; via Physics World) Read the full article

[trulybetty]

oct' 19 x ghosts

Prompt: ghosts Pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader Word Count: 774 Warnings: M, un-beta'd Dieter, nothing too scandalous outside some groping of breasts in a consenting enviroment Summary: dieter has a new hobby and he's decided you need to get involved.

x. masterlist

The Los Angeles fall season was always a bit of an anomaly. While a great deal of the country started experiencing the early signs of the departure of summer, LA stubbornly clung to its warmth. But this year was different. The air had a distinct crispness, a subtle chill that seemed to herald the arrival of fall with more conviction.

Hollywood heartthrob by trade and an artist at heart, Dieter had embraced the season with enthusiasm. 

“This weather,” he exclaimed one evening with a joint hanging from his lips as the two of you sat outside, wine glasses in hand, “it's stirring something,” he declared with a flourish of his hands, as if he were painting onto an imaginary canvas.

That ‘something’ turned out to be pottery.

Yes, pottery.

And not just a casual dalliance, but a full-fledged obsession.

Dieter had installed a pottery wheel in his art studio, converting a section of the expansive room into a miniature ceramics haven. He spent hours there, moulding clay with intense concentration, a smudge of wet clay always on his forehead like a badge of honour. It wasn’t long before pottery pieces—of varying degrees of questionable functionality—started appearing throughout the house.

“Look at this vase, babe,” he said one evening, cradling his creation like a newborn, it somewhat resembled . “It's practically a metaphor for our relationship—quirky, beautiful, and one of a kind.”

He'd brought you down to his studio at the back of the garden. An expansive open space with tall windows that let in the golden light of the setting fall sun. The walls were covered in paintings and sketches, and the floor in the area you were standing in was covered in splotches of clay, paint and dried glaze.

You looked over at the small shelves that were crowded with various pieces of pottery in different stages of completion. Some in the drying stage, some glazed and some unglazed... your eyes drifted to a piece that caught your eye.

“Dieter?”

“Yes Bea?” you scowled at his nickname for you, Beaver, christened as such as soon as he found out you were from Canada.

“Is that a ceramic dildo?”

He gave you a wicked grin, “I may have explored some creative outlets.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide a smile. “Of course you have.”

Dieter returned with just an apron draped over him, “Ready?” he asked.

You eyed him suspiciously, “I don’t remember Patrick Swayze being naked.”

He gave you a devious smirk, “Well, in the version I watched, he was very much naked.”

You rolled your eyes, of course there was a porno version of the movie, and of course Dieter would have watched it.

“But my dear,” he tutted, “I’m sure you’d be more inspired if you were wearing less.”

“Dieter, I’m already down to just one of your shirts.”

“Still too much,” he countered as he brought you to the pottery wheel.

He sat on the stool and promptly pulled you down onto this lap, his arms encircling your waist. His warm breath tickled your neck as he leaned in close, his lips teasingly brushing against your earlobe.

Feeling heat pooling in your stomach and spreading outward, you couldn't help but lean back against him, the firmness of his chest a comforting presence.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his hands moved to yours, guiding them to the wet clay on the wheel.

As the wheel spun, Dieter's hands moved over yours, steadying them as they worked in tandem to shape the clay. The wetness of the clay slipping through your fingers, and the movement of the wheel was hypnotic, and before you knew it, you were lost in the moment, fully immersed in the experience.

Soon the sound of the wheel spinning was the only thing that filled the silence in the room.

Without warning, Dieter's hands left the clay and found their way to the hem of his shirt you wore, his wet fingers sliding beneath the material to your breasts, his large hands working softly.

“Hmm,” you hummed in appreciation, the mix of his warm hands and the coldness of the clay already having an effect on your body. “I also don't remember Swayze doing this either.”

The pottery wheel now abandoned, the lump of clay nothing more than just an abstract attempt at something, you had long stopped paying attention to what Dieter had been helping your hands form. You were more focused on Dieter's lips that were on your neck.

You felt his smirk against your skin as he pulled your shirt up further, “How about we take some creative licence with that.”

[aquaquadrant]

Deep Breath in.... Deep Breath out....SCREAMING

Thank you for this amazing update it was so so good. I will probably end up sending multiple asks (apologies in advance) because there is so much to process. This was such an amazing chapter! Your ability to capture these strong emotions and display what I feel is accurate characterizations is truly captivating. I've been so pumped for this chapter and I was just so blown away by it.

God first off Impulse. IMPULSE!!! My man literally carried Tango to a safe place, helped the ranchers feel safe, and just went full Dad mode. I flipped when he went full demon mode after finding out what happened to Tango. Man was ready to enter Hels and destroy Hels Tek block by block.

Jimmy getting hints about Watcher stuff as well was *chef kisses*. Kinda curious can Martyn and Scott hear what the Watchers are saying to Jimmy? Martyn seemed to step in just when they were getting extra hurtful.

God you fed us with Ranchers too. I was so happy that Tango may slowly be starting to get that he is loved. The way Jimmy didn't back down. uggggg perfection

Also Tango associating quartz with Hels was so painful. My man went through every trauma response this chapter and probably will still hit like 30 more.

Small questions you might not be able to answer yet but will ask anyways. When Tango went through the portal, is it still open on Double Life or did Jimmy get in at the last second? If Tango did break the portal would he or Bravo be able to get back to the rest of the universe? You mentioned that Bravo's sense of superiority shows up differently in Tango, is that Tango enjoys watching other suffers. That he enjoys the power it gives him or is that more of a trauma response due to strong need to be in control and by killing others he feels like he is strong enough to protect himself? Or I guess a combo of both hahaha. Ummmm last question for now can I like stab Atlas for like everything? Especially the collar? That cool ya awesome I'm gunna assume that's a yes

HEY NOVA always great to hear from my readers, no apologies needed ^^ i’m glad u enjoyed it!

loved getting to give impulse a bigger role in this update- as tango’s oldest friend on hc, it just made sense that he’d be front and center. and getting to show demon mode was the cherry on top 👌

martyn and scott CAN indeed hear jimmy’s watchers if they’re close enough, scott just tries his best to pretend they don’t exist out of spite while martyn is more sympathetic to being the brunt of their jokes. neither of them want to talk to jimmy abt it tho bc they think he’s better off not knowing abt the watchers, even tho the alternative is him thinking his own thoughts are super mean ;(

(but neither of them were close enough to catch grian’s brief slip into watcher state, in case anyone was wondering)

GLAD U ENJOYED THE RANCHER MEAL 💃 there’s a lot of interesting hels dynamics and worldbuilding and angst to explore in this au but at the end of the day, this is a rancher’s au for a reason 🙏😤

obvi u sent this in before i answered other asks abt it but JUST in case u didn’t catch those, tango was interrupted before he could break the portal, and if it were broken, they would still be able to open a portal out of hels using another player’s data.

as for ur other question, it’s def a bit of both. tango’s always had a bit of sadism in him as an amplification of bravo’s superiority complex. one of his favorite pastimes pre-hels tek was to set traps outside of the cities and wait for players to stumble into them and perish terribly, while he watched with delight. but after hels tek, he fixated more on mob farms as a way of trying to reclaim that trauma, while ALSO being a more socially-acceptable way to scratch that itch.

and last but not least, u can TRY to stab atlas but ur gonna have to wait at the end of a very long line.

[burlveneer-music]

Bosq & Kaleta - No Be Today - 12 blasts of Afro-Latin disco from Colombia

After 10 years of globally celebrated but only occasional collaborations, Bosq & Kaleta have their first full length album together. On No Be Today the duo is finally able to stretch out and explore their wide range of influences and musical histories. The album seamlessly melds styles from West Africa & it’s diaspora, Caribbean & South American sounds most prominently, with Disco, Funk, Soul, Hip Hop & House. Live Horn sections mix with a blend of acoustic and electronic drums, Kaleta’s effortlessly funky guitar, Bosq’s layers of keyboards, bass & synthesizers, and heavily layered percussion sections that tug at your waistline. Kaleta’s virtuosic melody writing ties the pieces together with infectious chants and socially conscious lyrics that span Yoruba, French, Goun, Fon & English. Kaleta, having played in the bands of both Juju music great King Sunny Ade & Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti, brings the first hand experience and authenticity seldom found in todays West African influenced fusions. Bosq, now on his 6th full length album, brings a 20 year run experimenting with updating vintage sounds in the most tasteful way possible, melding Disco & Funk with styles from around the globe. In that time he’s worked on adding his touch to records by Ray Barretto, Orchestre Poly Rhythmo de Cotonou, Toure Kunda, Poolside, Rawayana & more. The record is an ode to these musical histories, with the title No Be Today coming from a Nigerian saying, which explains that this did not just start and this did not happen by chance, there’s lifetimes of work behind this. It’s also a flag planted for a different way of doing things as technology makes the “perfect” & “clean” sound easier and easier to obtain, with AI art slapped on the front. This record is handmade, full of love and feeling, from the music to the incredible art by Brazilian muralist Amanda Lobos that graces the gatefold vinyl. The statement made by this record is that we should still take our time and delve deeply into projects with our whole soul.  Marco Fajardo - Sax (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9) Jose Miguel Vega - Trombone (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9) Leon Pardo - Trumpet (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9) Andres “Bongie” Giraldo - Timbales (4) FLORENTIN KOUDJOU - Trombone (1, 4) TCHANVOEDOU PARFAIT TADAGBÉ - Trumpet (1, 4) ANICET HOUNDONOUGBO - BARI SAX(1, 4) Erlyn Correa - Bass (1, 2, 3, 10) Yuki Kanesaka - Keys, Synths, Organ (2, 4) Wilton Bravo Tascon “El Towii” - Congas (1, 2, 3, 7) Luis Miguel “Papinm” Guerrero - Marimba (3, 11) Hemmy Shout - Trumpet (10) NOAH DREIBLATT - Tenor & Bari Sax (10) Thank you Josephine Ikudehinbu & Salomon Fassinou OROBIYI MOTUNRAYO ABIODUN - Backing Vocals (2, 10) Daniel Biodun - Backing Vocals (10) HORNS RECORDED AT OZANA TRINITE IN COTONOU, BENIN (1, 4) HORNS RECORD AT MAMBO NEGRO RECORDS, BOGOTA (2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9) All songs mixed & mastered by Caserta

[mylifeincinema]

My Week(s) in Reviews: December 10, 2022

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (Guillermo del Toro & Mark Gustafson, 2022)

The best animated film of the year. The animation is stunning, and Guillermo del Toro understands the heart of this story completely, delivering an updated take on Pinocchio’s journey that explores the themes throughout with creativity and tenderness. - 9/10

The Menu (Mark Mylod, 2022)

Oh, shit, this was amazing. Not at all what I was expecting, and I couldn’t be happier for it. Chock-full of pitch perfect pitch black humor that makes some amazingly shocking moments. Anya Taylor Joy is fantastic (as always), but this is Ralph Fiennes’ show. Just a wonderfully twisted, detached performance that’s a delight to experience. And bravo to Nicholas Hoult and John Leguizamo for their scene-stealing performances. The ending might (maybe, probably not, but definitely close) be my favorite of the year. Such a perfect final course to all exceedingly decadent dishes by which it’s preceded. - 9/10

She Said (Maria Schrader, 2022)

The direction was off. There was never any moment that really packed the gut punch this film needed. (Whereas Spotlight had several, and they were so hard it was near impossible to recover from them in time to receive the next.) Carey Mulligan steals the film fairly effortlessly. Her performance is complex and expertly balanced. But Zoe Kazan is damn good, too. I was also disappointed in the supporting performances. I wanted something great from Patricia Clarkson and Andre Braugher, but - while they were certainly good - we sadly never got the moments I was hoping for thanks to the self-satisfied, poorly balanced screenplay. - 6.5/10

The Good Nurse (Tobias Lindholm, 2022)

A restrained true-crime film with a sneakily powerhouse turn by Jessica Chastain and an exceedingly disquieting turn by Eddie Redmayne. The climactic scenes are limited due to true events, but what is there is still executed with careful tension that understands the dynamic between these characters. - 7.5/10

The Lost City (Aaron & Adam Nee, 2022)

Stupid. Bad. But I’ve definitely come across more offensive options to waste a couple hours on. Plus, however I dislike Sandra Bullock, she kinda looked fantastic in that purple jumpsuit. - 4/10

Causeway (Lila Neugebauer, 2022)

A bit too slow for its own good, but my do Jenniefer Lawrence and Brian Tyree Henry’s performances make up for it. This is a quiet study of trauma that’s never heavy-handed in its depiction of those affected as they work to find their way in its wake. - 7/10

Enjoy!

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

[maxfax]

🌟 Max Fax - Solving Mysteries with Max: Disco Elysium! 🌟

Hello, wonderful Max enthusiasts! Today, we're plunging headfirst into the captivating world of gaming as we join our dear Max on his fascinating journey through the enigmatic masterpiece, Disco Elysium. Get ready for some intrigue, because this is a ride you won't want to miss!

Max's day started off on the right foot, and he's having a pretty great time exploring the compelling universe of Disco Elysium. Armed with his quick wit and uncanny problem-solving skills, he's been tackling the game with the confidence of a true pro. It's worth noting that, much to our delight, Max hasn't met the unfortunate fate of becoming a ghost in the game yet. Bravo, Max!

The heart of Disco Elysium revolves around solving a riveting murder mystery, and Max is all in, working his way through the twists and turns of this intricate case. As of now, he's on day 2 in the game, eagerly piecing together the clues, interrogating characters, and immersing himself in the rich narrative. We can't wait to see how Max unravels the puzzle, and we're rooting for his detective prowess!

One thing is crystal clear: Max is thoroughly enjoying his time in the Disco Elysium universe. The game's unique blend of humor and mystery has him in stitches, and he's a fan of the engaging gameplay loop that keeps him coming back for more. He's not just playing the game; he's living it, and that's what makes Max such a fantastic gaming companion.

Max wanted us to pass on his wholehearted recommendation to all you lovely folks out there. If you're in the mood for an unforgettable gaming experience filled with laughter, suspense, and brilliant storytelling, then Disco Elysium is the game for you. Trust Max - he knows what's up!

Now, here's a little trivia: Max has actually owned this game for a while, but like many of us, sometimes life gets in the way of gaming adventures. However, he's finally dusted it off, and boy, are we glad he did! It's like reuniting with an old friend, and the enthusiasm in Max's eyes tells us he's making the most of every moment.

Speaking of enthusiasm, have you seen the adorable little skeleton with a pumpkin figure that graces Max's gaming setup? It's a perfect companion, adding a touch of spook-tacular charm to his adventures. And let's not forget his stylish cat mermaid shirt - it's like Max brings a dash of his vibrant personality into the gaming realm.

Now, when we asked Max what he'd like to say to his beloved fans, he gave us a charmingly random tidbit: "I don't know, I got a Lucario amiibo." Classic Max, always full of surprises! We're thrilled to share in these delightful moments with you, Max, and we're eagerly anticipating what's next on your gaming agenda.

So, fellow gamers and Max aficionados, get ready for more exhilarating journeys with Max as he conquers new challenges, laughs at the game's humor, and shares his gaming joys with all of us. Until then, keep your gaming spirits high, your detective skills sharp, and stay tuned for the next thrilling chapter of Max's extraordinary gaming escapades! 🕵️‍♂️🎮🌟