#but damn. i can definitely feel how much they love it

[artytaeh]

as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[godmadeaterribleerror]

As Much As I Do - No Love Lost One Shot

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: One-shot request from my love lordofthunderthr! Extra thanks because I've been waiting for the genuine smallest reason to use this gif because it's in no way going to fit into the actual story. Title from Bob Dylan by Fall Out Boy (you guys can pry my Fall Out Boy song titles from my cold, dead hands)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary/Warnings: Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. It's fluff. Horny fluff.

Ben felt like a fucking cat. She was touching him casually while he “slept” and he was pretty sure he was fucking purring. The Thing was definitely making some sort of goddamn low sound, and Ben couldn’t blame it. She was touching him like it was simple, his head was buried in Her neck, and one arm wrapped was between her body and the mattress while one splayed out across the bed because it goddamn could. He was in their fucking bed and Ben could do whatever the hell he wanted on it. 

Except fuck Her. 

Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her. 

He wasn’t allowed to make Her moan and scream and feel fucking good. Fuck Her until she said his name and smiled at him and looked so fucking perfect, undone below him. Or above him. Or against him or in front of him or clinging to his body. He didn’t give a single shit, as long as it was Her. Wanting Ben, touching him, letting him touch her. Like this—where Ben’s breath was in time with her heartbeat and her perfect hands were running through his hair—but until She’d been ruined. Until her beautiful face was flushed and her hands were clawing at his back and her pretty eyes were blown out and lustful and all of it was for Ben. For how he was making Her feel, how she was gasping and begging for him to do it again and again until the only words She knew were Ben and please and everything else was just moans and whines. Until she felt half as damn good as Ben did now, resting on top of Her as she fucking pet him and he had to fight the Thing’s urge to just stay here for the rest of goddamn time. 

“I know you’re awake, Benjamin.” Her voice was so perfect, humming everywhere around him and soothing the Thing, that Ben almost missed her actual fucking words. “I can feel you.” 

He didn’t answer. Maybe She’d just give up, and keep him right fucking here—where they both belonged—forever. 

He should’ve known better. Ben knew Her too fucking well to think she’d ever just let anything go. 

“You’re heavy,” She said, and one hand dropped to the base of Ben’s neck. “And you smell like shit.” 

“Shut the fuck up. I smell fucking fantastic.” Ben didn’t move as he grunted the words against Her skin. He wouldn’t move, not until she damn made him. 

“I knew it.” 

Clever, impossible, perfect fucking woman. With Her happy giggle when Ben squeezed her closer and her gasp when he nipped the skin of her neck.

“That’s a goddamn underhanded move, Sunshine.” He muttered, and when he looked up at Her it was like he’d been struck by lightning. She was smiling at him so gently, eyes still heavy with sleep, and so fucking beautiful. Just looking at him, watching Ben like she’d never want to look anywhere else. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pretty Boy.” She kept smiling at him, voice smug. “I didn’t do anything.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “You didn’t know I was awake,” he said Her name, and her smile widened. “You fucking baited me.” 

She shrugged, body shifting under Ben’s and making a small sound that sent a rush of pure fucking hunger through him. “Prove it.” 

Ben had a lot of favorite sounds She made. The small squeak when he flipped her body over his—sitting up with his back against the headboard and sliding her down his chest—was certainly on the damn list. 

“You’re a fucking menace, beautiful.” Ben pulled Her forward slightly, leaning down to growl in her ear. “I don’t think I’ll have to prove it. I think I’ll ask you again and you’ll just tell me.”

When Ben moved back, meeting Her eyes, he could feel her heartbeat under his hands. Resting right at the line of her shirt, never higher. Holding her right where he fucking wanted her. Against him, so when she squirmed he’d feel it. 

“Fuck yo-“ 

He didn’t wait to make a teasing remark or dirty joke. Ben just leaned forwards and touched Her. Kissed her pretty mouth until she opened for him, pushing his tongue in—almost down her throat—and just trying to get closer. As close as he was allowed to be, while still touching her more, making her feel good. Make Her hands pull at his hair, make her whimper a fucking perfect sound from her throat that Ben got to devour. He’d lost sight of his original plan, but he didn’t really fucking care. Not when he bit her lower lip and could revere in the way she leaned further into him, or when he had to try not to lose his fucking mind when she started to grind down on him. Started to practically fucking climb up his body. 

When Ben sucked on her tongue and she made maybe the best sound he’d ever heard in his life—unintelligible and breathless—he had to wrap his arms around Her and pull her into his chest. Hold Her there until he could get goddamn control of himself and not have to explain why he’d fucking cum in his pants. 

“Ben,” She whispered, head in his chest. “You really do smell terrible.”

He chuckled. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Can you please shower so we can train?” 

“I told you last night, we’re not fucking training-“ 

“And I told you, Benjamin, that I do not care what you told me.” She glared up at him, so fucking beautiful, and now Ben had to goddamn pretend he hadn’t already given in. “I am training, with or without you.” 

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass.” 

She smiled at him. “But…?”

Ben rolled his eyes, leaning his head back, forcing himself to stop staring at Her perfect face. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“We’ll train.” 

“Thank you,” She kissed his neck, near his jaw, and hummed against his skin. “Now go shower. You smell like balls.” 

The only thing that kept Ben from taking a year in the shower—letting the Thing grab him and show him all the ways he could’ve just fucked her on the bed, buried himself in her and made her scream—was that sometimes, when they trained her singing, his doppelgänger would appear. It would make Her face flush, make her eyes wide and heartbeat quicken, and Ben would get to taunt her until one of them moved and he was kissing the air out of her lungs. It was something to look forward to. Something that made Ben fucking haul ass, getting in and out of the shower in four minutes flat. 

Ben hadn’t left the room when he realized that She was already singing. She’d gotten more comfortable with it, the longer they practiced, and sometimes would hum softly during movies or while doing normal things. Normal, easy things like laundry or dishes or cooking, simple fucking things that Ben got to share with Her. Got to watch how Her humming would send the world into a spiral of her, all the perfect fucking parts of her cast across the room for Ben to exist in. Colors and lights that he got to watch her sway in. 

This wasn’t that. This was singing. 

With words and instruments and a beat that ran through Ben’s body and bones. With the room turned into a dark club, with lights that flashed and changed in time with the bass. 

And She was dancing. She was singing and dancing and moving with the music like it had been made for Her. Like the rhythm had been designed to follow her legs, and the guitar had been made to move her hips. Like the whole fucking song had been perfectly tailored to her voice and how she moved through it. How she didn’t stop for even a second, never losing a breath, performing for no one like her life depended on it. 

It didn’t, but Ben’s life might. Everything in the world might hinge on letting her just dance like that forever. The Thing wanted all of this. All of Her, forever, like this, or it would fucking explode. Ben had no will to push against it. Not when She was dropping down and twisting and turning her body and so lost in it that she didn’t even see Ben. Falling to her knees and leaning back while her hands gestured with the lyrics. Trailed down her body and up again. Wrapping around her throat before falling to the side. Her whole fucking voice saying every word like it had been written for her, the whole face twisting with the emotions of the song, smiling and dropping into a pout and so fucking perfect. 

She only saw Ben when the song ended. When the club disappeared and they were back in the apartment, leaving Ben no longer hidden in the shadows of her illusion. He should probably feel like a goddamn creep, but Her mouth fell open and her heart picked up, so he couldn’t really bring himself to give a fuck.

“Hi,” She whispered, and Ben grinned at Her.

“Hello.”

“How long-“ 

“About three minutes,” he crossed the room until he was standing above Her. “Almost the whole fucking show.” 

“You, um, you showered fast.” 

Ben winked at Her. “I’d have showered faster if I’d known I was missing something. You do dance like a fucking slut.” 

She scoffed, wrinkling her nose at him. “That’s pretty high and mighty for the manwhore to say.” 

“It was fucking hot,” he lowered himself down until his nose was bumping hers. “I think I prefer your slut dancing, Sunshine. It’s more you.” 

“More me?” She gave him a flat look. “Fucking rude.” 

“How the hell is that-“ 

“You just called me a slut, Benjamin. That’s not very nice.” She whacked his chest, and Ben caught her hand. Held it there. 

“It’s more you because it’s fucking loud. Because it’s fucking captivating and hot. So fucking beautiful and good.”

Because it’s fucking perfect, the Thing rumbled. Because you’re fucking perfect. 

She was watching Ben with wide eyes. Opening and closing her mouth like she was going to say something. 

Instead, she fucking tackled him. Rammed Her body forward, crashed her mouth against his, and let Ben pick her up and carry to the couch. Training could fucking wait. Everything could fucking wait. She was making that same perfect sound from before, and her hands in his hair were making him groan, and when his hand started to kneed at her skin she made such a happy fucking sigh and Ben knew everything could wait. This was just Her. Making the Thing content and goddamn purr in his chest. Making Ben grin against Her neck when he sucked that one spot and she moaned his name. 

The whole world could go fuck itself. This was Her.

End Note: Let's all say thank you to @lordofthunderthr for some easy fluff in these dark times (Chapter 16 to a secret chapter number I cannot yet say).

I'm going to start a separate tag list for one-shots, so lemme know if you want to be added!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

[vampiresbloodx]

Stardew valley au:

Farmer!reader moving to Pelican Town and taking over their grandfather's farm will definitely be a lot of sweaty, sleepless nights and drowning on coffee to make sure everything looks just as perfect as you saw in those photos of what the farm used to be.

That's when you meet everybody in town (slowly at least) and your very friendly neighbors, who you think are way too friendly or you're just socially anxious and not used to small town kindness. You cross paths with Natasha Romanoff and her roommate Wanda Maximoff, they live in the same house together, just not in the same room she explains but everyone else calls them roommates.

Wanda wasn't there when you introduced yourself shyly to Natasha, she was supposedly out doing whatever she was doing (to quote Natasha's exact words) the mayor has expressed how fond of them he was, even first mentioned it to you the day you had arrived in hopes they'd be delighted by your presence.

It seems as though getting to know Wanda was gonna be a hard one...

But you weren't the one to hide away from a task.

Natasha herself didn't look all too interested in the new farmer in town, she kept on muttering about meeting up with a friend, Carol you think her name was, there was a Val to? You weren't sure. Maybe you should pay attention more often if the girls you didn't meet weren't so damn gorgeous you couldn't stop staring.

Weeks passed, soon it was your first month staying in this town. And you had gotten your very own cat!.

It was very unexpected the morning you heard your door knocking and you opened it, revealing Natasha's roommate, Wanda, who was more shy than you had imagined, you thought she'd be more confident, like her roommate in a way, guess she was kind of like you, introverted, quiet. You couldn't help but stare at her more than you should as you took in all of her, the skirt she was wearing, the long boots, the leather jacket and loose shirt, it almost made you feel like a damn creep staring especially when her cleavage was almost poking out.

Despite how intimidating she looks, she was actually really nice to you, she apologized for not being there when you first came, she was busy with her online classes to which you had asked about her interests and was intrigued about it, she seemed to really like that.

Was every girl in this countryside small town this damn beautiful? You thought, trying to keep it together as you probably looked like a flustered mess in front of this woman.

"um, where was I..." Wanda chuckled, looking around the front of your farm house, you smiled, letting her take her time to gather her words. "Nat and I like to go to the saloon on Fridays, she does, I mostly enjoy spending time in my room, but if you wanted to join us, you can."

You couldn't help but notice how red her cheeks got when she was trying to ask that question. God it was adorable.

You nodded.

She looked surprised.

"you'll be there? Oh, cool! I'll let her know and all, I'm happy you came here, dunno why, there's not much happening- okay maybe there is and I just don't go out as much but that's just me okay I'll leave you be I'm starting to ramble now."

You were beginning to love this town a little more.

[sanarsi]

Flying days and nights

ex-boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

Summary: You and Dieter broke up because of his addiction. Despite that, he's going to do anything to have you in his arms again. Warnings: pure angst (but with happy ending), reading offensive comments, self-hatred, mention of drugs, addiction, drunk!Dieter, toxic relationship, mention of suicide, emotional instability!reader, mention of rehab, sub!soft!Dieter Wordcount: 5,4k An: This is pure angst because I've been feeling like shit lately and I wanted to lash out :) Enjoy reading now or later when you're in the mood for some sadness xx Music I worked with: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Masterlist

Everyone already knew.

You and Dieter broke up.

It shouldn't have surprised you, because you knew who your ex-boyfriend was, and yet, you were shocked by how many things had appeared about you on the internet in such a short time. It had only been two weeks, how on earth had everyone found out about it?

Stupid question.

You knew the answer very well.

You were furious. At yourself, at him, at the whole fucking world that judged you even though it didn't understand. You had been through hell for the last few months of your relationship, and now you were going through another because you had become the villain in this whole story.

You didn't know why you were doing it.

Maybe to finish yourself off? Maybe so you could be even more furious at him.

But you were fully aware that you were sitting through another evening with wine, reading more nonsense about your relationship.

"I would never leave him."

Oh, you're sure they would not. His fans had an unhealthy obsession with him.

"Everyone knows that Dieter has been taking drugs for a long time, so she definitely knew what she was getting into."

Of course you knew, despite what the whole situation was about, that's how you two met. At one of the parties. He snorted coke off your stomach and then proposed to you to marry him. Romantic and that's what he was like from the start. Sweet, a little naive and so damn in love with you.

An unwanted smile spread across your lips at the memory.

"Stupid bitch. Instead of helping him, she chose to leave him. Have y’all seen recent pictures of him? He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks."

You saw it. How could you not?

He looked like a wreck.

Shame that people only saw it now and not a few months ago when it all started like you did. Everyone had a lot to say about how awful you were for not wanting to help him with his addiction. But how long can you beg someone to go to rehab only to get a contemptuous look and have them swallow a few more pills right in front of you?

Yeah, that's what you've been going through day in and day out for months.

But who would know that?

"Dieter, I would treat you better than her."

You snorted dryly and took another sip of wine.

"Of course you would," you said sarcastically under your breath and locked your phone before throwing it on the table. You felt so fucking empty, and your rage was the only thing that kept you from going crazy.

Life suddenly became too calm.

This whole toxic world had sucked you in too much for you to be able to snap out of it just like that. You felt downright uncomfortable, being in silence, alone with your thoughts. You were very aware of what you were going through in that relationship, and yet, you missed him.

It was stupid because you left on your own, you decided to leave him because you were sick of him, you were tired. No, tired is the wrong word, you were exhausted.

Constantly fighting with someone you love is the hardest fight and no one blamed you for having had enough of it. All your friends showed you support, understanding. Hell, even his mother said you were too good for him, that you deserved better.

So why, despite all the bad that was happening, there were only good moments in your memory? Moments that made you start to miss him.

His laughter, movie nights together, the next time you cried while playing ‘The Last of Us’.

That's why you felt like shit and deliberately beat yourself up by reading random comments. You wanted to be bad, you really did, but only because the old Dieter was still alive in your head. Your Dieter.

Your crazy Dieter, who could scream in the middle of the street how lucky he was to have you.

Your lovely Dieter, who took you to every gala and meeting, bragging that he had the most beautiful girl in the world.

Your sweet Dieter, who loved to cuddle you because ‘you are so soft’.

Your fucked up Dieter, who dressed up as Cupid for Halloween and shot you in the ass to spend the whole night in the hospital with you.

You hated him.

You hated him for what he had done to himself, for putting drugs above what you two had; and what you had was so fucking special. You hated him for loving him so fucking much. It hurt the most when you realized he didn't love you half as much as you loved him.

You cursed him and those damn drugs that had taken your sweet Dieter and replaced him with a vile son of a bitch who would call you the worst names while you flushed his stash of cocaine down the toilet.

You shivered at the bad memories and finished the rest of your wine. You didn't want to think about it anymore, your therapist told you to calm down for at least an hour before going to bed, and surprisingly, he was right.

You put down the glass the same moment your phone started ringing. You looked at the screen with a smiling photo of your ex and all your insides twisted painfully. Cold sweat poured over your body as you stared at the screen as if frozen. You didn't know what to expect.

Why would he call you?

He was probably stoned and barely conscious. It's possible that he even forgot that you broke up.

The flood of thoughts kept you from answering, which disappeared the moment when screen displayed a message about a missed call. You swallowed hard, finally noticing how fast your heart was pounding. Despite the alcohol in your blood, the feeling of panic only grew.

Even though your phone had long since gone black, you continued to stare at it. He hadn't spoken to you in two weeks, so why did he do it now?

Had he run out of drugs? Did he want to apologize? Did he want to call you names? Maybe he wanted to ask if you were back to your senses and wanted to come back to him? He would have welcomed you with open arms to his apartment, which was probably in ruins now. He was just doing drugs and you were cleaning. Since when were you gone? All that was left was him with his shit.

The screen lit up again with a new notification. You sharpened your gaze, reading the text of the message.

Dieter: Please, can we talk?

You stared at the jumble of words, unable to think about anything. He was sober, that much you could deduce from the fact that he didn't make a single mistake and used punctuation marks.

He wanted to talk and he was sober.

It sounded pretty impossible, so out of pure curiosity you decided to reply.

You: Still on drugs?

Three dots appeared in the corner so you patiently waited for his response.

Dieter: Baby…

Dieter: Just please, hear me out

An uncontrollable snort escaped your lips. Of course, what else could you expect?

You: Then we have nothing to talk about.

You angrily threw your phone on the table when it started ringing again and just went to take a shower.

When you went to bed, your phone already had a few missed calls and a dozen messages. You held back your curiosity and simply closed your eyes, wanting to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Forget about the fact that he wanted to contact you and wake up in the morning knowing that peace still reigns in your life.

Knowing your luck, you barely managed to drift off to dreamland and the persistent banging on the door, perfidiously brought you back to the real world.

With a loud growl, you looked at your watch and groaned agonizingly when you saw that it was well after midnight. Who in their right mind would decide to knock on your door at such an abnormal hour? You wanted to ignore it, telling yourself that it was probably a mistake, but the knocking did not stop and instead turned into an annoying tapping rhythm.

Barely able to see anything in the darkness, you headed towards the front door. You turned on the light in the hallway, wincing at the glaring brightness, and looked through the peephole in the door. The staircase was dark, yet the quiet knocking did not stop.

A feeling of anxiety went through your body, waking you up a bit from your sleep. You didn't want to spread unnecessary panic, but you immediately thought about calling one of your friends to come and check what was going on.

You would have done it if you hadn't been stopped by a quiet voice calling your name.

Without thinking too much, you opened the door and left the apartment. The first thing you did was look towards the floor, where you always found him. As usual, you were right, he was sitting against the wall with a misty gaze and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. You'd be lying if you said you were surprised at the state in which he came to you. Honestly, you were more surprised that he managed to come to you at all.

"Dieter, what the fuck?" you snapped, seeing the state he was in. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, slightly sunken cheeks and a wrinkled shirt with poorly buttoned buttons. Still, one of the better forms you'd seen him in recently.

His lost gaze fell on your angry face and for a moment he just looked at you as if he hadn't seen you in at least a few years. It was possible that two weeks on a constant high lasted that long for him.

“I called you,” he managed to choke out.

“Yeah, and I didn’t pick up.” Your sharp tone clearly upset him, so you sighed loudly, trying to control your nerves. “Dieter, what do you want?”

“I want to talk.”

“You’re drunk,” you announced, as if that would give him the answer to everything.

And it did.

“I know, but—”

“Come when you’re sober.”

You didn’t want to repeat this pointless dance again. There was no point in even trying to talk to him because he’d probably forget about everything within a few hours. You didn’t have the strength for that, especially in the middle of the night.

“Please, can I…” he began uncertainly, catching your attention. “Can I sleep here?” You immediately wanted to say no. You could have called a taxi, even waited for one of his friends to come pick him up, but then he added in a breaking voice, “I don’t want to be alone in that apartment again.”

You would be fooling yourself if you turned around then, closing the door in his face. You wouldn't be able to even sleep a wink, knowing that he was sitting by your door, drunk and with tears in eyes.

You were angry, you hated him and wanted to say many unpleasant things, but you were human, and he was important to you. And despite everything you went through, you felt sorry for him when you saw him in such a state, even though he brought it on himself.

You sighed loudly and rubbed your tired face, knowing that you were doing the wrong thing. "But first, go wash yourself," you barely said resignedly, and Dieter was already standing on his own. Gratitude lurked in his gaze as he smiled sadly at you.

Without a word, he pressed a bottle of alcohol into your hand and entered the apartment, immediately heading to the bathroom. You stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the interior of your place, wondering what you were actually doing with your life.

Relationships like yours had no right to survive, at least not in the long run. You knew that, and yet you didn't want to face reality. You wanted everything to be like it used to be, when you were happy, in love. But what was the likelihood that your desires would come true whenever you wanted them to, he didn't.

Tightening your fingers around the bottle, you went back to your apartment and the first thing you did was pour the rest of the whiskey down the sink. You watched with satisfaction as the amber liquid disappeared down the drain while the shower water could be heard in the background.

The desire to sleep faded away with every minute you walked around the living room, preparing a blanket and a few pillows to make the sofa suitable for sleeping. You didn't even glance towards the bathroom as you walked past, heading to the bedroom.

You don't know what possessed you to leave the door ajar and only then lay down in bed, reaching for your phone. Since the situation was already what it was, you didn't see why you should hold back from reading his message.

Dieter: Baby, please

Dieter: I know you're mad at me, I don't blame you

Dieter: But it's been two weeks now

Dieter: I want to explain and apologize

Dieter: Can we, I don't know, meet up and talk?

Dieter: I don't expect anything from you, I just want to see you

Dieter: I really miss you.

With each message it was harder and harder to read. You had no idea if it was because of tiredness or what was happening now, but you were overcome with emotions that you didn't want to feel because they were the reason you were so damn exhausted lately.

The next messages were over two hours apart.

Dieter: Im so sorry

Dieter: For evrythin

Dieter: I know its all m fault

Dieter: I was horrible n I treated u even worse

Dieter: shouldnt be surprised that u left

Dieter: But goddamn I really miss u

Dieter: I am drunk n its so fuckin stupid but I even miss the fact that u would shout at me rn bout how irresponsible I am

Dieter: wish u were here.

Dieter: u probably sleepin by niw

Dieter: God

Dieter: I miss sleepin with u

Dieter: I hate bein alone in that fuckin bed

Dieter: Sheets still smells like u.

You felt your stomach tighten uncomfortably as you read each word. Unwanted tears welled up in your eyes so you quickly chased them away and only then did you notice the last message.

Dieter: I signed up for rehab. Im leavin on monday.

Your heart beat faster but you didn't know if it was because of the content of the message or because Dieter suddenly appeared in your doorway.

You looked in his direction not being able to tell if he was talking to you or not.

"You have everything in the living room," you said the most obvious thing that came to your mind.

You couldn't see him very well in the darkness but you knew that the silence between you was starting to drag on. You didn't want to hurry him or chase him away.

You actually didn't know what you wanted.

"I saw," he said quietly, uncertainly.

"So what do you want?" you asked more sharply than you intended but you weren't going to correct yourself, he should know that you were mad at him.

You are, or at least you were a moment ago, until you read that damn message. You wanted to believe it was true but it was more likely that it was drunken babble so you didn't get your hopes up.

"Can I sleep here?"

You frowned when the screen turned off by itself so you could see him better. He was wearing boxers and a t-shirt with some character from the game. Of course you didn't get rid of his stuff, you simply couldn't.

"I already said—"

"I mean here, with you."

You fell silent for a moment.

Did he really have the nerve to show up at your door in the middle of the night, ask to stay and now force himself into your bed? Of course he did, it was Dieter.

“No,” you answered seriously.

“Please.” He didn’t give up and despite your words, he entered, closing the door behind him.

You tensed as you watched him slowly approach the bed. “I said no, now get out.”

“You know I hate sleeping alone.”

“Sounds like not my problem.”

Your sharp tone didn't stop him from lifting the sheet and sliding in next to you. The bastard had known you too long not to know that beneath that mask of rage was just a little girl. A little girl that he had hurt and wanted to make amends.

“Dieter…” you said warningly.

“Please, just for today.” You clenched your jaw tighter, trying to stop yourself from telling him what a selfish asshole he was. You were too tired to start an argument that would lead to nothing good. “I won’t touch you.”

“You better not.”

With those words, you simply turned your back to him and pulled the sheet closer over you, as if it would protect you from feeling his presence. Despite the raging and conflicting emotions inside you, you forced yourself to close your eyes. Your attitude made it clear to him not to talk anymore and to just go to sleep. And you were honestly grateful that he was holding on to the other half of the bed.

But despite the minutes maybe even hours passing by, you realized how much his messages were bothering you.

What if they weren't just drunk words or an attempt to extort attention. What if he really decided to start treatment?

You couldn't believe it.

Because how on earth did you not manage to talk him into it, but breaking up with him did the trick? After the way he treated you, you were supposed to believe that he suddenly missed you? That he wanted you back? Bullshit.

„I’m sorry.” His quiet words pierced the space between you.

You listened but didn't intend to speak. Still, he knew you weren't sleeping, if you were, you'd probably be cuddling up to him by now. It was in your nature to like to cuddle up to his side, wrapping leg around his waist and hide face in the crook of his neck.

So you could deceive yourself but not him.

"I fucked up," he continued despite your silence. "I don't know how to explain myself because I don't know what was on my mind at the time. I just wanted more and more."

Sadness settled in your heart.

So much bad had happened and in return you got such damn poor words.

"And suddenly I woke up in the middle of the night all alone."

You didn't want to hear it.

You didn't want his words to have any effect on you, but you couldn't stop pinching your nose from holding back tears.

"At first I wondered where were you. Maybe if it’s me who forgot that you went to some friend, or maybe you were sitting in the living room late reading another romance." You almost let a small smile creep onto your lips. "And only after a moment did I realize that two days earlier you left the apartment saying that you wouldn't witness my suicide."

Just thinking about that day, something inside you broke again.

You had shed way too many tears that night.

"I didn't realize the meaning of your words at the time. But then it hit me. Hard."

Well, it was good that he understood at all what you were talking about considering the state he was in at the time.

"You had been fighting with me for months. You were with me despite the state I could sometimes get myself into, how I could treat you even though you only wanted to help me. And for that I want to apologize and thank you. If it weren't for you, I would wake up in my own vomit every other day."

These were the things you tried to forget about. Life with him had turned into a living hell.

Looking at it from where you were, you wondered how on earth you had managed to survive so many months living like a private nurse.

Sometimes you wonder if it was still love or a desperate attempt to save someone you once loved.

"I haven't been able to take anything since then." Those words surprised you enough to make you shiver uncomfortably.

He hadn't taken anything in almost two weeks? It was hard to believe after the state he was in when he visited you today.

And as if he was reading your mind, he continued, "I decided to clean up the mess I made before I could even try to look you in the eye. And—" his voice broke. You resisted the urge to comfort him. “And it took me longer than I thought.” You heard him swallow hard, trying to control the tremor in his voice.

You didn't even want to remember affairs that you took care of for him during his drug streak.

From an ordinary girl you became an actor's girlfriend, his lover, best friend, then manager and then executioner and nurse.

Life had a way of surprising, but you never thought it would be to such an extent that you wouldn't recognize your reflection in the mirror.

"And today I finally got to see you, but you didn't want to," he said sadly. You barely held back a snort. "I'm not surprised, but I still hoped you'd at least want to hear my apology."

Maybe you wanted that, but not when you were still a mess and wanted to see him on his knees, begging for forgiveness. You didn't want to talk to him while still under the power of negative emotions.

You were a fan of resolving issues through calm conversation. And you were doing just fine until you met him and your arguments could be heard by your neighbors a few floors down.

"I took it a little hard," he admitted, embarrassed. "Being sober and under constant stress, and without you, was fuckin’ hard."

You could hear in his tone how tired he was of it all. But for him it had only been two weeks. For you? A little longer.

You felt sorry for him, you really did. But you also felt sorry for yourself.

You put him first for so long that you forgot that you are also a human being, that you have feelings and needs, that you also have the right not to be strong.

"And after everything, you didn't even want to talk to me. It's just," he sighed heavily, "it kind of killed me. So I'm sincerely sorry for showing up at your door in the middle of the night, but I couldn't stand being alone in that apartment."

Well, the only silver lining, if you could call it that, is that the last two weeks haven't just been tough for you.

You had been together for so long that suddenly being alone felt strange, alien.

And maybe it shouldn't, but you took comfort in the fact that he missed your presence too. As stupid as that might sound after what had happened.

The silence on his part began to drag on and you didn't know if he was thinking about his next words or waiting for any reaction from you.

His heavy sigh convinced you that he was waiting for your words that never came.

"I don't know if I've ruined everything to the point where my words mean nothing to you and you'd love to throw me out the door, but I want you to know that I'm truly sorry for what I've allowed myself to become. That it was more important for me to snort coke right after waking up than to tell you that I love you while eatin’ you."

At those words, something dangerously boiled in your lower abdomen.

You didn't want his words to have that effect on you, but your body knew better, feeling the hunger for his touch.

You couldn't kill the feeling of longing that grew with every word he spoke.

You were weak.

For him.

Because of him.

You didn't know the difference.

“And even if it doesn’t change anything, I wanted you to know that I’ve checked myself into a three-month rehab.”

You stared blankly into the dark space, trying to catch the slightest sign of whether or not he was lying. Surprisingly, he sounded serious, even a little scared at the thought of what he was talking about.

Another prolonged silence almost convinced you to answer him. Almost.

"And I’ll understand if you say no, but I would like to know if maybe you want to visit me sometime," he said hopefully. The feeling of sadness only grew in your chest. "The resort is in Switzerland, that's why—"

"Where?!" You opened your eyes wide and sat up in surprise, turning towards him.

Dieter was slightly shocked that you decided to speak, so for the first few seconds he just looked at you with his mouth parted.

"In S-Switzerland," he repeated uncertainly.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I have to fly to Switzerland several times a month just to talk to you for like… probably half an hour? Do you know how much it will cost?” You frowned, hoping that this was some kind of bad joke.

This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting. Seeing your face, he realized that he had probably assessed the situation a bit too optimistically.

“But we’re rich. I don’t see—”

“You are rich, Dieter,” you corrected him sharply, “not me.”

Your words hit him harder than either of you could have anticipated.

He blinked a few times, staring at you as if he was seeing you for the first time in his life. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't expect things between you to be in such a bad shape.

"Baby, I know things aren't great between us," he began, also sitting down. Slowly as if the slightest overly aggressive movement could scare you away. “But nothing has changed on my end. I love you and I want to fix everything,” he said confidently. “Or at least have a chance to fix it.”

“I fucking hate you, did you know that?” you said with audible sadness that made him look down.

Now that he was sober and could see what he had gotten you into, the guilt was eating him up inside. He hated it when you were mad at him, and even more so when you looked at him with such hurt eyes. It made him feel like the worst bastard in the world.

“I figured it out when you left me,” he whispered.

The sadness in your chest turned to sorrow as it became harder to hold back the tears with each passing second.

You weren't ready for this conversation, but would you ever be? Was it even possible to be prepared for something like this?

“I know it’s fuckin’ selfish of me,” he began, sighing heavily as he gathered enough courage to look you in the eye. “But I want to know if you’ll at least wait for me.”

He was serious, you could see it in his eyes. He really wanted you to stay with him.

He had the courage to ask you to stay with him, to wait.

You stared at him without a word, but this time he patiently waited for your answer. He was sure that he would succeed. He wanted to get better, for you, for himself. He was determined to get back the life he had. Because he was damn lucky to have you in his life and he only realized it when he woke up without you cuddled to his chest. He woke up way too late but he couldn't turn back time, he could only fix the present and take care of the future.

He wanted so bad for you to give him a second chance and you wanted to give him one. You weren't able to cross him out of your life. He was one of the most important people in your life. There was even a moment when you realized that you wanted to spend the rest of it with him. But things got fucked up quickly.

The worst part of it all was that even if something like this happened again, you would be willing to forgive him. And you were afraid that it could be your undoing.

“Of course I'll wait for you,” you said, losing all strength to fight.

Dieter looked at you for a moment as if he couldn't believe that such words could come out of your mouth. He looked as if he was speechless and unable to process the information correctly and if it weren't for the context of the situation, you would have laughed. Instead, to convince him of your words, you smiled crookedly and shrugged. It was as if it woke him up from hypnosis, he blinked a few times and snorted in disbelief.

“Really?” he asked hopefully.

You shrugged again and let a soft smile permanently grace your face. Thanks to him, you realized that love could be pretty messed up.

“Well, a few years ago, I was shot by cupid and I think his magic is still working,” you said seriously, and his face was priceless when he realized what you were talking about.

“Well…” he started to say but instead burst out laughing. “Yeah,” he nodded, shaking his head in amusement. Just a silly sentence was enough to make his eyes sparkle again, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. “I missed you.” He smiled shyly and you knew he was still testing the waters.

"I know."

"Don't say it back, huh?" he asked with a smirk, even though he knew the answer and wasn't going to force you to do anything.

"You didn't deserve it."

Despite this, your gaze was still full of warmth, but he knew that to get back what you had, he would have to try really hard.

"Fair enough," he nodded, not wanting to argue because he knew it was true. He didn't even know how he deserved you. “Can we cuddle now?”

You had to admit you wondered how long it would be before he asked that question. The little boy inside him was just waiting for you to give him a sign that he could touch you, so when you barely reached out your hand towards him, he pulled you to him in a second.

You moaned as your lips crashed painfully together. You couldn't fight his longing kisses because, damn, you missed it yourself. You placed your hands on his cheeks and allowed yourself to slow down a bit. He didn’t object, he never did. He just luxuriated in your soft lips and delicate tongue, and it wasn't until he could melt under your touch that he realized how much he missed you.

“Don't ever do this to me again,” you whispered against his lips.

“I won’t,” he gasped, stroking your back. “I promise.”

Tags some babes who might enjoy @bbyanarchist @axshadows @lover-of-books-and-tea @jhiddles03 @tobethlehem

[bimbo-baggins17]

KINKTOBER REQUEST!

hear me out:

incest, boot worship, and rape (I forget the numbers oops) with Kurt Matheson.

the idea in my head was that you're his sister or daughter. because of his untreated issues and very sensitive mental state, you visit him often to check on him. you end up staying over one night, nd during that night, it became unsafe to go outside, so you're stuck with him until further notice.

he confides in you about how long it's been since he's had a woman around him, and you get weirded out and ask him to stop, which bums him out.

in the middle of the night, he comes onto you, babbling about how desperate he is and how pretty you are and how much he needs you. ofc, he's a vet and works out, so he's much stronger and can easily overpower you. you wake up out of your sleep screaming and crying, and he ends up raping you.

finally feeling some sort of control, he tells you to worship him - his body, his voice, his very being - and he starts with shoving you down onto your hands and knees, one booted foot heavy on your spine while you're forced to lick at his other boot, cleaning away the dirt and grime.

I KNOW I JUST WROTE THE WHOLE DAMN THING OUT, BUT IF ANYONE CAN WRITE THIS, IT'S YOU!

I’M POSTING THIS ONE EARLY BECAUSE I CANT KEEP IT TO MYSELF ANYMORE

I know I already told you in our messages how much I loved this but OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. YOUR BRAIN IS BEAUTIFUL BNUUY. Hands down my favorite request like EVER. I went with it being his daughter. Definitely more of a fic than a drabble. Oopsies.

TW: DDDNE!!! Rape and incest!!! Don’t like, don’t read.

One of the only times Kurt would make an exception to answering the door is when he knew you were expected. Every other week, like clockwork, you’d come with some groceries and necessities for your mentally unstable father.

“Hurry. Come in, come in.” His voice is gruff as he quickly ushers you in out of the storm before locking the door once you’re barely past the threshold.

You take a moment to look around his dimly lit space, discarded food cans litter the floor. You sigh as you set the bags of groceries down before stooping to try tidy clean some of it up. Kurt turns to come over to you, his eyes drifting to your ass as you do.

“You know, if you kept your space clean, it would probably help you a bit mentally.” You say with your back still to him. Honestly it probably wouldn’t do much to his fragile mental state but you still tried.

“You worry too much.” He says dismissively coming up beside you.

With a sigh, you straighten up and look at him, “Maybe you don’t worry enough.”

He huffs out a laugh, “You sound just like your mother. Trust me. I worry plenty.”

You shake your head but drop it instead, not wanting to argue. It was draining with him and you were always walking on egg shells. You opt for putting away the items you brought. “I’ll get these put away and then I’ll head out. I can’t stay long this time, sorry dad.”

He exhales and rubs a hand over his stubble. “Can’t give your old man a couple more minutes?”

“Sorry, not tonight. But I’ll be back next week with your med refills.”

He waves a hand at that, “Don’t. Theyre useless anyways.”

You stop and look up at him. “Are you implying you aren’t taking them anymore?”

Kurt looks away, shaking his head. “They don’t work anyways.”

“They can’t work if you don’t take them consistently. We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah you really sound like your mother now.”

You give him a look, unamused by him. “I only say that because I care.”

The lights flicker and both of you look over to the window seeing the storm has gotten significantly worse in the short amount time you’ve been here.

Your dad looks back to you again, “I don’t think I’m comfortable with you out in the weather like this.”

And that’s how you get roped into staying the night at your dad’s. You knew he worried. God he worried about everything. What led to your parents’ divorce was that exact reason. His PTSD got worse and worse until he was unable to leave the house for fear of the end of the world.

Both of you sit on the floor with a lantern between the two of you, barely giving off enough light. The sound of the storm outside drowns out the scraping of utensils in the cans you were eating from.

“How’s school been? I feel so out of the loop anymore.” Kurt speaks up, trying to make conversation.

You shrug lazily, “Alright I guess. You’d be in the loop more if you had a cellphone like a normal person.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll ignore that comment,” He mumbles. His eyes move slowly over you again. He’d be lying if he didn’t think you were beautiful, the way your curves filled out more over time, the way your breasts seemed to nearly double in size over the last year. His chewing halts for a second as he feels a familiar twitch in his pants, one he hadn’t felt in so long. “You got a boyfriend?” He questions after a moment.

You stop and look up at him, shaking your head, “No.”

Slowly he nods his head. “You should. You’re beautiful.”

You shift a little where you sit, uncomfortable with the compliment. Sure it was normal for a dad to compliment his daughter but not your dad. “Um. Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re looking more and more like your mom did in her prime.”

You look up at him again, “Uh..yeah I guess so.”

“Filling out like her too. Getting her curves.” He continues on. He probably should stop but it’s been so long and yeah it’s probably wrong but he’s so starved for pussy, he’ll take whatever he can. It’d be a waste of a perfect opportunity if he didn’t try.

“Dad?” You question with your eyebrows furrow together tightly.

He sighs and hangs his head. “Sorry. It’s just,” Kurt sighs once more and shifts a little closer to you placing a calloused hand on your leg. “It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman and I-“

“Oh my god, dad. Gross! Stop it!” You shove his hand off of you and quickly put some distance back between you too.

Kurt’s hand clenches into a fist as he brings it back to his lap. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He tries to suppress the disappointment in his voice.

“I’m going to bed, I just..ugh.” You were unnerved to say the least. You get up off the floor, leaving the half eaten can of food on the ground.

“You-uh..you can take my cot.” He calls after you before he’s mentally beating himself up again. This was going to be a long night.

Kurt tosses and turns for what feels like hours on the floor, his cock so painfully hard. He sits up a little to look at you on his cot. You looked so peaceful while sleeping, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with each breath. It was pure torture to have a woman so close but not being able to do anything about it. Any rational part of his brain was gone years ago so his conscience wasn’t telling him to stop as he got up off the floor, slowly making his way over to your sleeping form.

He reaches down and brushes some hair off your face, “So beautiful,” He murmurs, letting his hand move off your face, slowly tracing down your neck over the pulse point, then your collarbone before he’s allowing himself to squeeze your supple breast. He bites down on his lip to keep from making any noise noticing you weren’t wearing a bra to sleep. His cock throbs.

Kurt palms himself to try and cause any kind of relief this way as he continues to knead your breast, feeling the pebbled nipple poking his palm. He lets out a shuddered exhale. His eyes trail down further seeing the hem of your shirt bunched up a little. A peek wouldn’t hurt right? Not like you’d know. Slowly he inches the shirt up until he’s able to see at least one of your breasts. Leaning down slowly, he presses an open mouthed kiss to it.

You stir a little in your sleep but don’t wake up. He freezes for a second to make sure you stay asleep before he envelopes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, releasing it. Making a bolder choice, he lets his hand continue its decent to the waistband of your pants before he’s slipping it in, finding your cunt with his fingers. He draws in a shaky breath feeling how you were wet. “What’re you dreaming about babygirl?” He whispers into the dark.

Against anyone else’s better judgment, he eases your pants and panties down, revealing your core to him. He hesitates for a second looking at it, imagining how tight it would feel wrapped around his shaft.

“I’m so sorry baby. Just been so long..and..and it hurts. You know I love you. You’re my beautiful little girl. I know you’d forgive your dear old dad for this.” He rambles quietly before he’s easing onto the bed between your legs as he bends them. Quickly he fishes his leaking cock out, running it through your folds.

Time isn’t a luxury he has right now. As much as he’d love to savor this, he can’t so he pushes into you, keeping his eyes on your face to make sure you aren’t waking up. Slowly he starts to rock into you, biting back moans that threaten to spill out.

“Oh sweet girl..so good to me.” He pants out, rocking his hips into you faster as he chases his much needed release. The caution he had at first is quickly abandoned as his thrusts grow harsher.

You’re stirred from your slumber feeling something that you most definitely shouldn’t be. Hazily you try to make sense of what’s going on as you come to your senses. Quickly you put together that your father is on top of you fucking into you. “Wha-? S-stop! Stop!”

Kurt’s eyes fly open and land on your face seeing you’re now awake. “Shh..it’s okay baby. I know. I know. Just couldn’t help myself-“

You claw at him to try and get him off, shoving at him but he doesn’t budge. “Dad! Please stop!!” You cry.

“No. No. Just-..nghh..be good for your dad.” He grits out.

You continue to squirm and try to fight which only serves to irritate him. He can’t have that. The years of working out and military training served well and he’s able to easily over power you, pinning you down tightly against the cot. “I said, be good.” He continue to pound into your poor pussy, taking what he wants and not caring about your protests.

“Stop! Please!” You keep repeating the words through far tears that roll down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry baby. You’re helping out your dad.” It’s his attempt to console you. As if reminding you it was your father who was fucking you would somehow make it better.

Your protests soon die off, continuing to cry and sniffle under him.

“Good girl. Such a good girl.” He coos before he’s cumming into you. He leans down to press a wet kiss to your chest. “Now tell daddy thank you.”

Quickly you shake your head. The worst was over, so you assumed. You’d leave after he got off of you. “What? No. You’re sick. Sicker than I thought.” You sniffle.

Kurt leans back, a scowl on his face. “Ungrateful brat.” He spits the words out.

Your eyes widen. You’d upset him, that much was clear. You shake your head again, taking back what you said for the sake of not having him rape you again. “No. No wait. I’m sorry..I’m sorry I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh yeah? You’re sorry, hm?”

You nod your head. “Yeah. Yes, yes I’m sorry dad.” It made you sick to call him that now.

“Show me then. Worship me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “W-what?”

“I said, worship me. Make your dad happy.”

You don’t even know where to begin, how to lie that well. Kurt is unhappy with how long you take. Slipping out of you, he quickly yanks you up and shoves you onto your stomach on the floor before you can process what’s happening, his one booted foot shoved directly into the center of your back while the other one rested by your head on the floor.

“Lick it.” He instructs.

“What? Lick what?”

He huffs in frustration, “My boot. Lick it. Show your dad how much you love him.”

You start to protest despite your compromised position, but Kurt presses his boot more firmly into your back. “Lick. It.”

You shakily raise your head and stick your tongue out, giving a little kitten lick to the toe of it.

“More.” He encourages, adding more pressure. “Clean it with your damn tongue.”

You sniffle but oblige him, knowing you weren’t getting out of this without doing so. You run your tongue along the toe of his boot, moving to the front of it, dipping down to the sole of it.

“There we go. Much better.” He praises, “Now tell me you love me.”

You suck in a shaky breath, “I-love you dad.”

He hums happily, “Good. Now my voice.”

“I..love your voice.” You sniffle.

He releases a little of the pressure on your back, “My body.”

You fight the urge to recoil at the words he wants you to speak, “I-…I love your body.” You want to puke.

“Mm. There we go. You made your dad so happy, little girl.” He praises softly, “That wasn’t so bad, yeah?”

You shake your head for the sake of appeasing him, “N-no..it wasn’t.”

“Good,” He takes his boot off of your back but then places it down infront of your face. “Now lick this one.”

[bloggingboutburgers]

cw: discussions of bullying and aphobia

Hearing aroace peoples' existential crises over their friends discussing crushes, as someone who was socially isolated and severly bullied for their whole childhood and most of their adolescence so had NO friendgroup until adulthood and NO community or inclusion in literally anything (and when it came to sex and romance the other kids explicitly considered my potential involvement in either to be impossible / laughible because of how "weird" they found me (my autistic traits before I even realised I'm autistic)), felt like starving while listening to someone else complain about the food they're actively eating.

Food intolerances and dislike of different foods (as metaphor for being aro/ace) ARE important and difficult to grapple with when you're expected to eat specific foods in specific proportions at different times - but man did it sting until I realised why I felt that way and gave myself a talking to since my trauma doesn't justify belittling the very real struggles of aroace people.

I guess since the choice between 'stay alone or conform' was never really a choice because I was rejected no matter how cis straight or allo I was it taught me to go "fuck it" and accept myself regardless of what other people do or say (which ironically has lead to me becoming dramatically popular all of a sudden at uni, which has been weird to get used to since I have literally no experience with any of this - platonic or otherwise - which did lead to some advantage being taken of me but f*ck it we ball ^^'). And I guess it's just been difficult understanding why anyone would care so much about whether they're "normal" or not? You really have nothing to gain from that, safety is not guaranteed in conformity so best to live aroace and damn all aphobes to hell if they have a problem with that.

It's a mindset I'll never understand and that's only ok now insofar as that lack of understanding no longer results in misplaced anger at people who, for a time, I had once considered spoilt, ungrateful and out of touch. Basically, I'm full of sh*t and to every aroace person reading this you deserve good friends that actually respect you for who you are and do not even TRY to get you to change your mind about sex or romance. Have a lovely day x

Sincerely,

An aggressive emotional support anon

I'm genuinely sorry for all the hardships you went through. I don't mean to equate at all, truthfully from reading you and considering I WAS asked some of those questions as a kid regardless (the "who's your crush" bullshit and whatnot), it definitely sounds like I had it less hard than you did, but... I was bullied in elementary school and middle school, also not necessarily because I was aroace (I don't know why it happened really, I don't know if anyone ever knows, I boil it down to... me being me and there being something fundamentally wrong with me ig), and I definitely also get some of those feelings of "oh boo hoo you call that struggle" boiling in me when people discuss their own past struggles sometimes, so... Yeah, every one person's experience is unique, but I can at the very least very much sympathize.

I think a way it manifests in me is that I now have that compulsive, debilitating fear of being "othered" in any way, shape, or form, so I guess being aroace doesn't help my case. But at the same time... Well, like you brilliantly put it, when you're in a situation like that, no matter what you do, you won't be accepted anyway, and having that knowledge back then is probably also what lead me to figure myself out as aroace so early in life. Because I was treated as this much of an outsider, I ironically had that much room in my own head to form my own identity, far apart from others and the need to conform. Yeah, that identity may include a "piece of shit that doesn't deserve to be supported of part of a group" side that's been forced in, buried deep down and can't be erased, but... It also includes asexual and aromantic, and it's been cemented so hard from so early with such self-affirmation that later down the line, it saved me from a lot of stuff. I never had to force myself into a romantic or sexual relationship because I was undoubtably aroace – and people saw me as an outsider and an eyesore anyway. I spent years of being scared to go to school or out in the street every day, but later down the line, somehow, I feel it saved me from doing so many things I wouldn't have wanted to do.

...Bleh, sorry, didn't mean to turn this into me-me-me crap when you had the courage and sincerity of not only showing your experience, but finding the strength to show more love, understanding and support than a lot of people probably cared to give you for so long, despite all the pain you felt for so long. I guess I just wanna say... This take is definitely inspiring, so thank you on behalf of myself and others I'm sure, but also... I hope that, for yourself, you're also managing to own what you lived through in a way that allowed you to affirm yourself more strongly (it sounds like you are, I hope it IS the case), and most importantly, I hope you're in a much better place in your life now and you'll never have to return to that level of loneliness again.

[banqanas]

oh man the way reo refuses to hold a mic on stage and just screamed his lungs out saying his introduction

and even when he wants to rile up the audience he goes down on the floor to reach the stage microphone instead without ever holding a mic on stage

idk what a performer soul is but i think i see a glimpse of it from reo's showcase

[puppyeared]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[tapewormsoda]

breakups are so fucking weird. three years and just like that it's gone. huh

[gu6chan]

maybe its sample bias but i think it's kinda funny how most people I've seen who've played drakengard because of nier are making ending e THE endgoal and more often than not the main if not only reason they're playing the game at all and when they finally get it they're like "this is it the single most impactful, greatest moment of all gaming. im wiping tears from my eyes this is it" and then you see the drakengard fans who've played drakengard because they like drakengard and you ask them about ending e and they're like "eh. it was okay, i guess"

[royalberryriku]

My dad, jokingly: "I'm badman"

Me: "haha sure" (not thinking he's anything like batman)

My dad: *left/ separated from my mum when I was a teen, started a GTA gang that helps bullied kids, ended up emotionally adopting like 8 kids and helped them through bullying, suicide, abuse, etc.*

Me: *was hurt by an abuser and had to deal with said abuser being forgiven by family around me*

Me: *gets into Batman lore*

Me: ...

"Wait a second..."

[windupaidoneus]

this need for approval is a fucking disease it is absolutely mind boggling that i need feedback on what i say & post or my mind decides everyone takes a look at it & goes yep here goes this annoying freak again talking about his annoying freak things. & im not even like that with everyone. it literally does not fucking matter oh my goddd grow UP! im normal now. i understand my minds machinations. misto is nodding in approval at me

[lynxalon]

HOLY SHITTTTTTTTTTTTT THAT CRITROLE EP WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!! im SO glad we had the set up of the last one so we could have the big thrills of this!!!!!!!!! this had everything!! it had ira's bad (and good!) decisions! it had sam's out of pocket wacky can shenanigans!! it had deception and sneaking! it had badass plays and some.. eye-catching talents 👀 it had gross shit that's kinda actually sad if u think about it! it had walking (running) away from explosions (NOT a sunglasses moment this was a loserfail) it had .. terrifying parents. it had imodna momence !! :D it even had some unprecedented wins for our typically fighty/flighty adventurers!!! i will ABSOLUTELY be watching that again come monday!!!!!!!!!!

[rosicheeks]

10, 27, 50🥰

10. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Nah. Like you said there’s infatuation at first sight.

27. Has someone ever written a song or poem for you?

Yes 😭 I’ve had a few poems sent to me on here either through anon, DMs or posting one and saying I’m the inspiration behind it.

50. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?

That’s pretty complicated lol

[hecksupremechips]

Girl help I keep thinking about freaking persona 4

[crave-mp3]

.