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hope-to-hell · 4 years ago

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*heavy breathing*

I’m here salivating for some Laszlo or Schmidt throat fucking with degradation. Bitte? Alles meine Liebe für dich.

(Congrats on 800!🎉)

@feralrunaway I went with Schmidt because I don’t know the first thing about Laszlo. Advantages of Fighting, Ernst Schmidt x Reader. Smut, throat fucking, degradation. When he needs to blow off steam, you have just the thing for him.

Who cares, really? Who gives a fuck why it’s happening, only that it’s happening and Christ if it isn’t everything you never let yourself want. Just think about how your voice is gonna rasp after this, how consonants will scratch and vowels will cut, how Ernst’s biting choke on it is tinged with something more than simple anger.

He is a fiery thing, your Ernst, driven and devoted to his equations, but how easily he gets riled up. And with one too many of Volkov’s sniping remarks it was either this or a brawl. Not that you’d mind seeing either of them bloodied; Volkov for his comeuppance and Ernst for the way the smell of blood drives him shark-wild, biting, pulling you hard onto his cock like he’s trying to tear his way out the other side of your cunt.

But this isn’t about that, it’s about one of those days when the fight didn’t happen, when he turned on his heel and you followed, when you saw the set of his shoulders and knew this was a chance to get well and truly fucked. And you like it. You like it. Look at you, you’d beg if you could speak, wouldn’t you? Drool for me, dirty little thing. I want to see your face as wet as that pretty cunt.

He’d leave streaks of semen all across your face if he wasn’t so determined to come right down your throat, with the muscles working all around him and that thick length stopping up your breath. He’d tipped your chin up, before, to make you face him, and lifted his brow just a smidge; it was an out if you wanted it but damn how his smile turned cruel when you said use me, I’m yours.

Use you. Of course. What else are you good for? There’s no crooked smile, no soft half-flirting glance over breakfast; this is Ernst untethered, looking for someplace to put his anger. And he makes your throat his receptacle; he swells and pulses and his hand is heavy on your head. When I come don’t you dare spit or swallow. Hold it on your tongue. I want you to show me. Sure, sure, and you’d make an assenting groan but he moves again and the sound peters out on a thick wet gurgle.

(This is the way his fingertips brush so gently down your jaw.)

And your hands are gripping at the legs of his open coveralls; pulling yourself even closer to him, using that leverage to get him even deeper; he shifts his feet apart and to either side of you his work boots are a solid boundary. He is a solid boundary, not especially tall or strong and

(His hand is warm on your belly late at night and when the nightmares come he’s there; easy, easy, it’s only me)

Ernst is yours, thick and hot and if this is selfish then it’s selfish; if he uses you there’s just as much pleasure in the being used and is your mind wandering, sweetheart? Distracted? Am I boring you? One hand comes off his thigh to show him your upraised finger; it’s a provocation, absolutely, and he recognizes the sign for what it is;

(More, more, harder, make every breath a reminder)

It’s his cock in your throat, pushing in and in and in til you could feel the bulge of him there. It’s the spots in your vision and the soft press of his thumbs at your temples, that’s it. Take all of me. That’s good, so good, letting me use you like this. His accent thickens when he’s close, words coalescing around him in a buzzing cloud of yes and mine; the wild abandon focuses down into concentration as he chases orgasm, closer and closer and

When he comes it’s on your tongue and you’re so good; you keep it there and when he lifts your chin and presses on your bottom lip he’s so goddamn pleased to see his spend gathered there. You are a gift, he says and his temper is easing; he lifts a glass of water from the shelf and holds it to your lips. Look at you, all those tears and snot and spit. It’s beautiful, but now I’ve gone and made you dirty. Let’s get you clean.

There are no baths in space but the shower is warm and endless; he slips a lozenge onto your tongue and holds you there under the spray. Thank you he says and nuzzles at your cheek; he is soft now, languid in the afterglow, easy in the way you lean against him, breathing in and letting go.

What’s to thank? You know I love it.

I know. But it’s a privilege and I won’t forget that. Dear heart, you are all the best parts of me. This is Ernst and you and the fight forgotten; he is calmed and leveled out and through the little porthole all the stars are blinking.

#daniel brühl #my fic #Ernst Schmidt #ernst schmidt smut #ernst schmidt fic #cloverfield paradox #cloverfield paradox smut #cloverfield paradox fic #ernst Schmidt x reader #Ernst Schmidt x you

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sub-danny · 3 years ago

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Actual Volkov teasing Ernst to get pegged by you and thats actually a fact but he has no clue

What happens under the sheets

Word count: 914

Warnings: Volkov being rude about Ernst and about him being German, f!reader, pegging

A.N: A little short piece, we hardly have any sub Ernst content! (Or Ernst content in general) so it was nice to write. This isn't beta read as I wanted to get this out today.

In realising Friday was coming up, it always brought upon the feeling of irritation within Ernst. In some aspects, the day was good. It was one of the few days in his timetable where he got to work in the same room as you, and subsequentially he loved to spend this time around you. So what made this day always so bad for him?

Volkov.

You two couldn’t do anything remotely romantic or sweet; you couldn’t hold hands. You could flirt or joke, you could hardly even speak to each other without Volkov complaining about not wanting to see this or teasing the two of you relentless about it.

Some common phrases could include, “I’m surprised a german kraut could get himself a girlfriend”, “He looks like a weasel; why would you date him?” “Perhaps he is using you to get inside information and report back to the German federation. We all know what they are like.”

You would always be quick to defend Ernst while at the same time preventing him from pummeling Volkov’s face in from his remarks; this in itself would add fuel to the fire, which would blow up in proportions the following Friday.

aAs usual, the three of you were in the engine room, working on wiring, when Volkov and his simple mind became increasingly bored. He could hear quietly how you and Ernst were whispering to each other, ribbing at each other and then the quiet giggles. It irked him in some inexplicable way, and without his mind thinking much of it, he was speaking.

“Please, you are going to make me gag”, he groans, earning a harsh glare from Ernst, who had whipped around as soon as he heard the first syllable leave Volkol’s lips.

“You can easily tune us out”, you grumble, placing your hand on Ernst’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him and get him to turn back around. Volkov, however, was determined to push this further than necessary.

“Yes, let your girlfriend tell you what to do. You seem always to love listening to her and obeying her commands.”

Volkov’s eyes flicker over the two of you again, a fatal smirk settling on his lips.

“Knowing you, you let her take all of your control. You probably are on your back every night letting her push a fake cock into you.”

You didn’t have enough strength to hold Ernst back this time.

Volkov was forced to make a formal apology to both of you, between holding a bloodied rag to his nose. He claimed he was joking and that he never actually believed that you would peg Ernst.

And yet later that night, Ernst’s hands were grasping at the sheets blow him for stability, his hips pushing up in time with you, his back dripping sweat into the sheets below him. His voice rumbled from the little moans that he let out as his eyes became half-lidded.

You were between him, pushing his legs open and bent at the knees, allowing you to hold onto his thighs, and you thrusted into him repeatedly. Your eyes kept switching from his burning red face down to his ass and how his little hole kept opening for you, allowing you to push into him each time with ease swiftly. It wrapped around your strap on with ease from the amount of times you had already pushed into him.

“I wonder what Volkov’s face would be to see that he was right about you”, you groan, slamming back into Ernst, determined to hit his prostate. You must have hit your mark as Enrst’s jaw became slack as he let out a moan, and his back arched so that you could push into him deeper.

“As he sees how good you are at giving overall control, at letting me push you into the bed, making you feel good.”

“God y/n-” he groaned, his voice becomes high pitch, “Please!”

“Please what, use your words.”

His chest was heaving, and he bit down on his bottom lip as a tear few started to appear in his eyes.

“Please,” he started again.

“Please, please let me cum” was what he managed to get out from the scramble of his mind.

You pretended to ponder it for a moment, slowing your hips, but that made a mine escape poor Ernst’s lips as his eyes looked up pleadingly at you.

“Well, as you asked so nicely.”

You pushed back into him with new vigour, and quickly his thighs were shaking as he let out a series of loud moans, being just at the edge of his climax. With one last thrust into his sweet hole, his cock twitched upon his stomach, and he let out a lewd moan as rods of warm cum shoot over his chest, his hips moving up and pushing into you with every pump as he released everything in his climax.

After a minute, he started to come down from his high as you gently pulled out of him. He laid there, utterly exhausted as you cleaned him up and took care of him. As you finished up, you looked down at him as he slowly drifted off to sleep, and you found yourself so thankful to have met someone like him and that you hoped Volkov would mind his business if he knew what was best for him.

TAGS: @i-am-dead-inside-666, @scuttle-buttle, @fictionlandslanddreams, @lieutenantn, @greeneyedblondie44, @lov3vivian, @edencherries, @theartbooshlr, @somethingthatsaysbubbles @rumblelibrary @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @idkwhat-my-name-should-be @bruhlpng @everythingbeginsineternity-blog

If you would like to join the taglist, fill the form out here :)

#subdanielbrühl #sub!ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt x reader #ernst schmidt fic #ernst schmidt x you #the cloverfield paradox #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl

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anteroom-of-death · 3 years ago

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I Must Be Dreaming...

a/n: I love u angry German space man. Please punch me.

Warnings: dub/noncon, mild somnophillia, space and the horrors of it. The apocalypse...

Synopsis: what the heck? Why u in space? How to get home? Ernst Schmidt!

Five hours since your world shifted and you were launched across the cosmos. Five hours and a long queue for needed groceries on ration.

If not for the unrelenting pain in your skull and stomach, you’d half convinced yourself that you must be dreaming. “Only in my mind, not real life…” you repeated to yourself as you clutched your knees to your chest. You knew of this ship and its mission from the constant media coverage. You barely understood the science. Yet alone how the atoms being split could render reality to fall apart- as that one wing nut constantly waffled on about.

But alas, here you were. Flung violently into a corridor. Untold distances away from home.

Schmidt, the German, explained when they found you screaming and looking out a window the working hypothesis.

The crew was haphazardly falling apart. Fighting and scheming. While you backed into a corner. The numbness and fear of space creeping through you. They had barely any oxygen or food for themselves left. Yet alone you. Your heart pattered as you continued to lock your eyes on the vast harshness of space.

You were resigned to your death.

No light. No way out.

Just you and this crew. This dysfunctional, madly unbalanced crew.

Survival instincts died.

The Russian- Volkov- agonized and accused one of them of smuggling you on and using you as a treat. Hiding you somewhere in the ship and obscuring you from camera and sight.

You let your body slump. You were exhausted from your apparent travel. All of you ached. The fighting and noise all were slowly removing your energy as well. You got lead to a bed by the one known as Hamilton, but she quietly told you to call you Ava, as she laid a glass of water on the side of the bed near you.

You slipped into a hard slumber.

You awoke to a hard hand pressed on your throat, checking your pulse.

The physicist- Schmidt again.

“No, you’re not illusion.” He mused and looked at your unseasonable-for-space sundress. You were in the habits of kicking covers off in the night so your skin and thin fabric laid bare against the lights and hum of the ships spare room. You were afraid to move. He wasn’t the most even tempered of the lot. His smug and holier-than-thou attitude started two fights in the short time you were there.

“I’ve been…imprisoned with these dogs for two years now.” He mused, near silent to you. “But you? How’d you get here?” he asked in a rhetorical tone.

You shrugged a little, eyes growing in fear as you realized the lead scientist was not working on how to get you home, but was at your bed. Eying you up like the wolf to the lamb.

He let a hand go to your calf and gently trace upwards as he looked, half full of suspension of disbelief and half something primal- malignant ever so slightly.

He traced the hand up your knee, resting it partially on it and the top of your thigh. In the other he outstretched your hand and examined it. Pressing down and checking your wrists and fingers at the ready…

Even braiding the fingers in betwixt his own.

He swallowed heavily. You could tell his brain was working overtime. If smoke could pour out like a cartoon, this man’s head would be obscured by it. You remained frozen.

“Go back to sleep. You’ll conserve oxygen.” He said, releasing you. He got up and exited the room.

You were still exhausted from the jaunt to do so. It took a few minutes to slow your heart rate and calm yourself to get there- but you complied.

You woke up to him grasping your dress up and jump suit down. He went to straddle you, forcing you to comply with his oddly strong body. Pale freckled legs reflected off the dim ambient lighting of the Shepard.

“I’ve needed a hole to use.” He admitted, snarling softly into your ear. “You wouldn’t imagine how lonely you get up here…” he explained.

You went to scream but a hand cupped your face and squeezed it shut. “Shhh, none of that. There’s been enough blood split today.” He logicked to you as he parted your legs open further, thrusting into you. He removed his hand to stable himself above on a bar.

“Please be quiet. I promise to keep you safe as I can. Just give me this. I need to release…something. My brain will work better. Maybe then I can get us home...” His face genuinely looked alight with confusion and stress. His cheeks filling with a deep pink blush as he worked your cunt.

You had no choice to comply. If he was your ticket home- what would this be, but the price of fare? You looked up at him. Wordless pleading all of this. Even though you were fully resigned to your celestial death, you were oddly willing to let him try this.

Your day, couldn’t be any weirder. (Had it been the same day? Had it been hours? How long were you asleep? All thoughts that bubbled to the forefront of your mind.)

You looked this man in the eye as he took his free hand and choked you, before kicking his thrusting into overdrive. He was thinking hard. The vein in his forehead was nearly popping out as sweat beaded upon it.

It’s not like the man wasn’t pretty. He was. Poor circumstances to meet. And what he was doing blurred boundaries and crossed borders with what was legal and correct.

But this was space. And there were not rules, apparently.

You went to speak up, but before you could form a good noise, he slapped your face, roughly. “Don’t ruin it.” He bared his teeth at you.

You enjoyed that a little too much for your own business.

He closed his eyes and began mouthing what sounded like a long string of numbers every so often. The thrusting continued and you grew accustomed to it.

His eyes snapped open as he fell down on top of you, hot seed sputtering the walls of your pussy. He brought your forehead up for a gentle bump.

“Thank you, mein Schatz.” He smiled viciously. “I think I know what I need to do.” He pulled himself out and off you, “I promise, on Earth…I will make this right.“

He got dressed quickly and shook his head and cracked his neck.

“I really wasn’t joking about sleep conserving our limited oxygen…please continue to do so. I promise no more intrusions.” He smirked as he lowered the lights and tossing his undershirt towards you.

He ran off after that. Leaving you alone with both your disbelief. The feeling that this was a dream seeping back into your brain, maybe if you did sleep more- you’d wake up, back on Earth. Haunted by suspicion that the end of humanity was truly near…

Xxx

#personal #ernst schmidt #the cloverfield paradox #self insert fic #ernst schmidt x reader #daniel brühl #i am creating content that is so targeted #targeted toward me only #tw: dark content #tw: dubcon

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fuddlewuddle · 3 years ago

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An idea: Bucky, Zemo and Tony meet Ernest Schmidt, head of space research at Shield and invite him into their bed/relationship...👀💛

Sorry for the delay in writing this, but I got distracted by a lot of things.

Anyway here’s the first chapter for the new segment in the Exception husbands, bastard version series, where the boys add Schmidt to their relationship.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32828980/chapters/81460441

Hope you enjoy

#daniel brühl #winterbaron #@shirou chan12 #bucky x zemo #zemo x bucky #baron zemo #zemo #bucky barnes #ernst schmidt #the cloverfield paradox #fatws #sebastian stan #mcu #marvel fanfiction #tony balerdi #my fics

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liz-allyn · 4 years ago

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new fic art ~ liars and thieves

I’m jumpin in! Book cover art for a new story I’m going to *attempt* to write.

Liars and Thieves - a thriller, starring Daniel Brühl

“My name is Zemo—” “I don’t care,” she snapped back with a defiant gaze. She watched his lip curl just slightly into the beginnings of a scowl. He reached up and removed his glasses. Through the video screen she spotted a shift in the temperature of his eyes. They were almost black. He clenched his jaw, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Perhaps you should, Ava,” he responded with an unsettling sweetness in his voice. His eyes burned coldly. She swallowed dryly. He could definitely see her. His eyes saw straight through the camera lens, through the video screen, through her clothes, through her chest, into her soul. Into her nightmares. “Because now,” he smirked, “you belong to me.”

No man on earth is a match for the world’s most dangerous woman - Ava made sure of that. But when a hit goes south, she wakes up a prisoner in a plate glass cell surrounded by cameras. The mysterious man that kidnapped her knows exactly who she is, and intends to push her to her limits.

GOTTDAM intros are hard. I hate the assassin trope but I wanted to do something with it.

Started as a non-MCU compliant Zemo fic and morphed into something else.

Also, not to hate on anyone else's work, but I personally don’t like reading “real people” fan fiction. It just takes me out of the story too much. I can read Y/N stuff but it’s so much smoother to have a character name in place. And I tried to make this one have a personality. When writing this I’m thinking more like “this is a character I want Daniel to play.”

First chapters are up here. Please tell me what you think! Also, I might suck and this and I’m really new at writing for people’s eyes, so any kind feedback is welcome.

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #the alienist #the cloverfield paradox #tfatws #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo fic #zemo #falcon and the winter soldier #fanfic #laszlo kreizler #dedicated to the 24 other DB fans in here

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catchcrows · 5 years ago

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About your coffee thing I think it's kinda funny (not in a mean way!!) That you have clockwork regularity about stuff like your drinks, because you seem way more like a chaotic trickster god type person

you know it's incredibly weird to get this ask today just because somebody in my lab meeting said something very similar?

i walked into the meeting today and one of my labmates looked at me and said "don't take this the wrong way" which hmm what a stellar start to a sentence "but you are the most organized agent of chaos that i have ever seen"

(i’m shoving the rest of this under a cut bc i ramble and i know that can be >:/ to scroll past on a dash)

so probably bc my brain was hard-resetting from the mortifying ordeal of being known, i just stared at her gobsmacked until she explained that she's been noticing that i am a deeply chaotic trickster being who somehow still manages to play ball with Appropriate Social Mores, and some examples were:

i've never once come into the lab the same way ("way" being method of transportation, path taken, door/stairwell/lift used) yet come hell or high water i'm always in the lab by 9:30, except for the days i'm in at 5 in the morning and i have to take the back entrance but there doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to when i'm in at 5

when i come in on the weekends, i always seem to be in the foyer to use the weekend sign-in when the security cameras are doing their random automated update, so while my name appears in the ledger and my keycard shows up in use in the building, there's no record of me on the cameras

in our small lab meetings i never sit in the same chair twice but i always have the same drink, and in big institute meetings i'm always sitting in the same chair but have different drinks in different mugs

my cells always seem to be confluent when i need them to be, regardless of basic biology (found this out when my cells went from being split and processed to fully confluent in the span of hours, a process that normally takes like two days, just in time for somebody's experiment to fail out of nowhere and them to need a quick back-up of cells)

nobody's ever actually seen me with my hair down, but always seem to see me in the halfway through the process of braiding it, and different people have seen me putting up my hair different ways that don't overlap (person A only sees me putting up style 1, person B only sees style 2, etc)

there were a lot more and let me tell you it's really weird to find out that the people i've been working with for like a year have been slowly compiling and comparing evidence about my being an eldritch creature. but ig the only answer i've got is that in my own head things make perfect sense and i have a really straightforward system of running odds and making decisions to streamline my day that looks like ridiculous batshit chaos from an outside perspective?

that being said it's very flattering to hear i have trickster god energy and i'd like to say it's something i cultivate but i think that would automatically render it void

#one of these days i'll be able to answer an ask in less than three paragraphs but god it's not today #today i am going to do absolutely nothing but attempt to watch the cloverfield paradox all the way through on netflix #having said that i did end up adding 1k words to an outline of a fic while on the bus today #to the OUTLINE #fuck me running when i actually start writing the damn thing #anon

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whatevermonkey · 3 years ago

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I can’t feel my legs. Crops WATERED skin CLEAR. If I can read nothing else forever I’m glad I ended on this. FUCK

Hiii Rose! For the smut prompts, 8. and/or 43. if you feel so inclined? Your choice of character, though I would of course love someone from the Danny bunch 👀

a billion imploding stars

MY MASTERLIST

pairing(s): ernst schmidt x fem!reader

summary: Passion does not exclude tenderness. Your relationship with Ernst is a testament to that.

words: 1.1k

tags: explicit (18+ MDNI), smut, overstimulation, vague hinting at subspace, squirting, spit kink, reader is down bad, cockwarming

additional notes: started writing it, had a breakdown. bon appetite

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

There are times when the exhaustion creeps in, and collapsing into each other is the only way to get a little bit of respite at the end of the day on the Shepherd.

It’s not always a fiery inferno of angry taunts, teeth on skin and chests pressed against cold metal while Ernst fucks you into the wall. Sometimes it’s tender, it’s slow. Feeling the heat rise between you and the warm touch of his skin on yours. Times like this are your favorite, even if you wouldn’t tell him so. He’s so gentle with you when he wants to be, he makes you feel so loved. It’s enough to make you forget what the hell you’re doing here, for a time.

Hovering so far above creation, there’s no other way to feel home than to be wrapped in Ernst’s arms, your thighs on either side of his hips and his mouth on your neck. Nails digging into his shoulders, your hips picking up and falling down on his again and again, in a repetitive and desperate attempt to lose yourself in him. Because he’s so good at helping you do it (lose yourself, that is), until everything around you fades away and it’s all just him.

“Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers to you, so gentle while you’re whimpering into his neck with increasing fervor.

“I know you’re not,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You try to slow your movements, try to draw out the long glide down onto his cock and savor him filling you, but it only makes you want to move faster again. Chasing euphoria, you guess. As if it’s not enough to have him here against you, licking at your neck and holding you steady, tethering you to his reality.

Drawing your hands up his back, your fingers find their place in his hair. He smirks, seeing the cracks in your veneer. He knows what he does to you.

You let out a quiet grunt when he hits something inside you that makes your cunt tense up, rocking forward again almost immediately to find that feeling again. His cock drags through you, so thick and perfectly angled, and your mouth latches onto his shoulder as you feel a gush of wetness slipping from you, coating him, dampening the sheets beneath him in the process. You’re sure you sound like a wounded beast, keening against his skin and clutching at him like he’ll betray what he just told you.

“Good girl, let it out, just like that,” Ernst murmurs to you, a note of awe and a smile in his voice.

Your legs seize up, stopping all movement to let the overwhelming pleasure pass while your muscles scream in your hips and your thighs. Ernst waits, not until you’ve finished pulsing on him, but until you aren’t actively biting down on his shoulder before he scoops you up and lays you down on the bed to continue.

He drags his cock out so slowly, giving it to you so gently, and still it’s almost too much. You smack at his arms, whimpering even as you lock your legs tight around his waist.

“Ernst, please.” You gasp for air like you’re drowning, clawing at him while he keeps going steadily and slowly, filling you and pulling back, ensuring that you feel every bit of it and letting the pleasure drip over you like molten gold.

“‘Please,’ what, darling? Use your words.” He smiles affectionately down at you.

“Please, just don’t stop. Don’t let me go.”

He shushes you, dipping his head to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. He whispers something along the lines of, “Of course I won’t,” but you aren’t exactly listening. You can’t. Not when you’re so close to losing your mind at the building pressure in your core, and he’s the cause of it. Your face turned slightly to the side, your eyes squeeze shut like you’re unable to process anything else around you.

“I… oh god.” He’s like some sort of reckoning, some apocalypse of biblical proportions that you’re having to take into your body and make sense of before he destroys you entirely. You can feel your mind going blank, your head spinning and everything around you fading out of existence in its wake.

Ernst catches you gently by the chin, coaxing you to turn your head back toward him. “No, no, you’re going to stay with me. Look at me, now.”

You whimper, blinking your eyes open and finding his, so dark and eclipsed by the same black holes that he studies so vigilantly. You manage to choke on a sob while you’re at it, some pathetic noise from deep in your chest like you can’t handle what he gives you. (But you can. You both know it.)

“That’s it,” he breathes, a lock of his hair scraping against your forehead from how close his face is to yours. His fingers prod at your cheeks, until he says, “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

So, you do, and he spits onto your waiting tongue.

You mindlessly swallow, your head reeling. He kisses your lips, feeling so right upon them, so perfect.

And when you come again, it’s with the fire of a billion imploding stars.

Ernst is always quiet when he comes, and there are times when you lament it. Not this time, of course- his body speaks for him. He hisses through his teeth, and he spills within you with a rush of heat that warms you and makes you melt within the inferno of his embrace. He shudders, nearly convulses atop you, his hips stuttering and his head falling onto your shoulder. You don’t need him to be vocal, necessarily, but you always delight in it when he is. When he loses himself as much as you do and his moans ring around the dead silence of your cabin (because make no mistake, space is a fucking desolate wasteland in terms of sound).

Here, he slumps over you, a whisper of praise on his tongue, vibrating on your skin. You can’t make much sense of it now, but you will later. Something about how much of a good girl you are, how you’ve taken him so well, how you’re so wonderful. Words he’s said to you before, and no doubt will say again. The value of them is not lost to you, of course, but there’s not a whole lot going on behind your eyes currently, other than Ernst, body, nice, warm. Your hands sifting through his hair like it’ll ground you, somehow, on a fucking space ship.

You still have the presence of mind to slam your heel against his ass when he tries to pull out of you. You know, just to keep him there as long as possible.

The bonus is that it finally makes him grunt in your ear.

#ernst schmidt x reader #ernst schmidt #the cloverfield paradox #daniel brühl #fic rec #I….#ghdndnf

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six-demon-bag · 6 months ago

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parallax

Pairing: Ernst Schmidt/Volkov

Fandom: The Cloverfield Paradox

Summary: Schmidt and Volkov’s mutual antagonism at work unexpectedly turns into sex, and then more sex, until they’ve been caught in each other for over a year. Schmidt tries to make himself okay with it being nothing more than hidden hookups, unwilling to upset the balance, but the arrival of a new hire seemingly throws it all off and he doesn’t know why.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, oblivious schmidt, jealous volkov, Pining, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, like absolutely nobody can communicate in this, for smart people they are all fucking stupid which is actually canon, Rough Sex, Tender Sex, idiot plot, Happy Ending

Word count: 11705

Link: parallax

Excerpt:

Schmidt is in danger he didn’t even know was possible, and it’s only getting worse. He’d known Volkov was an expert in this particular subfield, but he hadn’t known he’s the expert. Schmidt’s always had a competence kink a mile wide, unable to resist that blend of confidence and skills that comes together so rarely. He’s not modest, he likens it to himself, but he hadn’t realized Volkov is his counterpart in all of those things - irritatingly competent, even more irritatingly aware of it, and just as full of sharp edges and impatience as Schmidt. He’s pretty sure he’s cursed, even if the science is going beautifully between the two of them. That’s about the only thing that’s going well.

#schmidtkov #i will give me everything i want forever #ernst schmidt #volkov cloverfield #the cloverfield paradox #sixdemon fic

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orions-quiver · 2 years ago

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Daniel Characters I Write For

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Alexander Kerner (Good Bye, Lenin!)

Andrea Marowski (Ladies in Lavender)

Checo (Paradise Mall)

Dirk (All Together)

Erik Jan Hanussen (The King's Man)

Ernst Schmidt (The Cloverfield Paradox)

Father Antonio (Intruders)

Fredrick Zoller (Inglourious Basterds)

Helmut Zemo (Captain America: Civil War and The Falcon and The Winter Soldier)

István Thurzó (The Countess)

Jan Weingartner (The Edukators)

Laszlo Kreisler (The Alienst)

Niki Lauda (Rush)

Paul Krantz (Love in Thoughts)

Tony Belardi (Burnt)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

List is subject to change as I consume every film and television show that Daniel is in that I possibly can. Requests are open, just send an ask! They can be a full fic, some Danny Bunch headcanons, or even individual headcanons! I also write any genre with any form of reader (male, female, gnc, gender neutral, trans, ect)! Just let me know for anything specific!

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hope-to-hell · 4 years ago

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Fuck, he’s a wild thing with Shepard’s hum like fire in his veins. Every cell is crying out to make, to create. You feel it too, don’t you, sweet? Lord knows I’m going to make a mess of you.

Okay. Okay. That’s it, that’s perfect, right here in the control room with that lavender hum against the glass, like those lightning balls we played with as kids— press your hand against the glass and watch the current crawl across it. Only— only— this is your whole self against the glass, feeling that buzz across your face, your chest, everything that’s touching and so much of you is touching.

He knows, Schmidt does, in the way that deer follow water; he finds himself giving in to the instinctive drive to claim, to fuck, to breed. He feels that need to bury his teeth in the back of your neck and so he does. And his words are muffled by the grip he had on you but the sentiment is clear. Mine. Mine to have. Mine to breed. Mine to keep.

By the time he got you bare, his own clothes were beyond him so he’s still in those scratchy coveralls; you’ll have a zipper-shaped bruise along the curve of your ass, right beside the teeth marks and adjacent to those fingertip bruises. Every mark deepens his claim and you know he’s gonna fuck his scent into you so deep you’ll never get it out.

Mine, like I said. And doesn’t it feel good to take me, sweet? He feels it too, this need beyond need; Shepard’s hum is in his blood, his bones; he’s following its sound into your core and crying out somewhere between a growl and whine because it pulls come out of him in ribbons and still he’s hard. And it’s like that for minutes or hours or days more; you come and pull him after, or else it’s the other way around. And still the violet hum has him pinned inside you; it says give and take and take and take.

He’ll take everything but it’ll be with your yes in his ears, with slick and come mingling and making the most obscene sounds as he moves. It’s not like him but it’s not unlike him either; that fire is always just below the surface, that fierce and biting need, but now it’s free, it’s out, and he has his claim on every part of you.

#daniel brühl #ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt fic #ernst Schmidt smut #cloverfield paradox fic #cloverfield paradox #Cloverfield paradox smut #my fic #we’re doing breeding kink again

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therenlover · 4 years ago

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Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong.

Laszlo Kreizler

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist.

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour.

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple.

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions.

That’s where the problems would begin.

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine.

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry?

Oh it would be over for him.

The yelling would never end.

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling.

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm.

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back.

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert.

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be.

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college.

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation.

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again.

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother.

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor.

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight.

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad.

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family.

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend.

Niki Lauda

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons.

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties.

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey.

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door.

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal.

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette.

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most.

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature.

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings.

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps.

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual.

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help.

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it.

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no.

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation.

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it.

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it.

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud.

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never.

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake.

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks.

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father.

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him.

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time.

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin.

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music.

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin.

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige.

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along.

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family.

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier.

Ernst Schmidt

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory.

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings.

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family.

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could.

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually.

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit.

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues.

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist.

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on.

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing.

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house.

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally.

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other.

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family.

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one.

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him.

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18.

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either.

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t.

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first.

Oh how they’d learn, though.

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone.

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces.

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults.

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else.

And that something would be my flirty aunt.

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way.

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long.

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him?

That’s even more difficult to deal with.

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions.

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them.

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone.

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances.

For now, though, he’s safe.

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #niki lauda #andrea marowski #ernst schmidt #laszlo kreizler #alex kerner #jac rambles #imagine #the danny bunch

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