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zot3-flopped · 8 days

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Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

#this review is everything #anti taylor swift #taylor swift #travis kelce #3.6 !!!#hope Pitchfork comes for her too #jack antonoff #taylor swift reviews #the department of tortured poets

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morallyinept · 23 days

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Devotion - A Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Whilst on vacation with your partner Dieter Bravo, you get snapped in your bikini by paparazzi, causing you to question and evaluate your body shape when others start to pick it apart scathingly. Dieter however, shows you that you're perfect just as you are.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. Reader has a fuller, curvier body type. Dieter is a little bigger himself in this fic too, it comes with natural ageing.)

Word Count: 8.4k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral F receiving/Dieter worships your body/angst/self-loathing/tiniest mention of being sick after eating food, but it's not an eating disorder/people being cruel jerks online/comparison of bodies/Dieter just Dietering/we love all types of bodies in this house and won't tolerate any body shaming of any kind.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The body type mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Nestled along the powdery white sands of Bora Bora's coastline, a sanctuary in an exquisite overwater villa perches atop stilts above the glistening lagoon, a retreat of luxury and tranquillity.

A private deck is greeted by sweeping views of the turquoise waters that stretch as far as the eye can see. A staircase leads down to the tranquil sea below, where one can choose to swim, snorkel, or simply float in the heady bliss of the ocean.

Entering the villa through glass-panelled doors, an atmosphere of understated elegance greets the inhabitant. The interior is adorned with natural materials, from polished hardwood floors to intricately woven rattan furnishings, creating a seamless blend of modern comfort and traditional island charm.

The bedroom, with its plush queen-size bed adorned with crisp white linens, offers a haven of serenity and comfort. A canopy draped overhead adds a touch of romance, while sliding glass doors open onto a private balcony, where champagne can be sipped under the twinkling stars.

The bathroom is a sanctuary of indulgence, featuring a deep-soaking jacuzzi tub overlooking the lagoon, where one can luxuriate in a bubble bath while watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.

And it’s here, in the giant whirlpool tub, where Dieter Bravo finds himself, biting into the skin of your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind.

His panting growls fill your ears as he fills you deep, fingers moulding into the soft curves of your hips as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

“Fuck, baby!” He hollers, as your cunt clenches around him, squealing as you come and gripping on the sides of the slippery tub for leverage.

You’re pretty sure the other guests can probably hear you in their own water villas, but you don’t care. Instead you twist in the water seeking his plush mouth as his tongue slips between your lips.

“Do that again, come on my cock.” Dieter husks, teeth biting onto your bottom lip.

He thrusts harder, wheezing at the back of his throat as bubbles and water spill over the sides of the tub. You scream louder; his awed laughter cajoling as you come again, and he soon busts a nut of his own, hollering loudly himself as he fills you up.

"Yeaaaah! Oh fuck, yeah!" He grunts, sweaty forehead lolling against yours and smiling with a blissed out face.

He lights a post-coital blunt and smirks at you as he stretches out naked in the giant bed; hair a damp, ruffled mess and a puffed out pot belly that he strokes absentmindedly, a half hour or so later. He's gloriously naked and completely unabashed about it.

In fact, he hasn't put any clothes on since being here with you; the both for you encased away inside your private villa where you can rusticate like Adam and Eve.

“I hate my feet. They look like weird hands.” He says slowly, as he wiggles his bare toes and eyes the chubby, little pinkies suspiciously.

"You have cute feet." You giggle.

"No. Yours are cute. Mine are... Hobbit feet. Look."

He nods down to his feet and you laugh. "They are a little bit. Which Hobbit are you?"

"Samwise, d'uh." He says, toking deeply.

"You look more like a Pippin to me," you grin, as you flop down beside him on the bed.

Smirking, Dieter brings his large palm down on your bare ass as you lay on your front.

He groans in delight at the playful slap rippling down your shapely thighs. The damp, sticky remains of multiple orgasms on the sheets feel gluey against your skin in patches.

“Mmm,” he grunts as you lean up to kiss him, tasting herbs and smoke around his teeth. “Hey baby,” he smiles dreamily at you with pink, twinkly eyes.

"Hey yourself," you smile, as you kiss him some more.

This is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a while, having a sixth sense for when living in La La Land gets a bit much for him.

He gets this twitchy, deer-in-headlights look about him and starts saying things like I’ve had a headache for days, I think it’s a brain tumour, or that piece of broccoli is watching me as you regard him staring at it as he moves about the room, and launching into a paranoid diatribe when he’s mixed too many substances together and doesn’t know which way is up.

That’s when you know it’s time for a time out. Whisking him away to a private sanctuary where he can detox, kinda, and eat some damn broccoli without trying to fight and chokeslam it.

Where he can indulge in some freaky sex with you, and the cute waiter who brought him a double, when he only asked for a single, and the next thing his cock is in his mouth and your fingers are in his ass as the three of you paint the room in bodily fluids.

It’s a much needed retreat for you both, adopting the mutually agreed upon rule of no phones or internet as you truly switch off and lock your devices away in the room safe, as you spend time fawning over the intimate fronds of your deepening relationship with A-lister Dieter Bravo.

Once a washed up has-been floundering in the gross LA gutter, now a three-time Emmy winner and on his way to the Oscars. Yet despite the three-sixty turn around in his career through some clever reshuffling of his publicists and agents, he still retains that firecracker ability to go off the rails on occasion, despite cleaning up his act somewhat.

You’ve been credited as the main reason for this transformation, a positive impact; a grounding force in an otherwise chaotic timebomb. The rarely seen lover, opting out of the spotlight through your own choice, and Dieter’s support of it.

Although he’s name dropped you in a few interviews when asked about his infectious happiness, snapped numerous selfies of you both loved up and nuzzling on his Instagram, and on occasion you’ll hang off his arm at an event in a dress that costs more than your first mortgage.

But for the most part, you do your own thing, happy to let him do his, and come back to the home you’ve both been curating together.

You met just like in a trashy Hallmark romance, standing in line to get a green juice in a trendy cafe in downtown LA, and it was love at first wow, as he swooned at you over the tip of his Raybans and grinned crookedly at you, gold earring sparkling like those mischievous eyes.

You’ve been hooked on this lewd rapscallion, with a heart of gold, ever since.

You had no idea who he was or what he did, and for a while, he kept it a secret; fearing that if you knew about his fame and bawdy past shenanigans, you’d disappear in a puff of judgemental smoke.

But you didn’t, instead supporting him and drawing a line between the fame and the reality, and became an anchor when he needed one to stop him floating too far adrift.

Dieter has never said the L word before, but when he did with you, around a mouthful of grilled cheese as you both sat in the dark watching Humphrey Bogart movies, (often Sabrina - it's his favourite) something told you this fuzzy-haired doof meant it.

He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing and pawing at your voluptuous curves. Burying his face in your breasts that suffocate him, and an ass that won’t quit when he fucks it and watches it ripple.

He’s always been fantastically open about how much he loves your body.

Your weight fluctuates at the best of times, growing when you’re comfy, and you’ve never felt more comfortable than with Dieter. He paints you when you’re asleep, waking to find another portrait of flesh coloured brush strokes on another canvas that’s added to the collection of worship pieces he creates.

Anyone would think he was obsessed with you, but you don’t mind the attention he lavishes, especially when he pours paint over your breasts and gets you to smoosh them into the canvas board whilst he fucks you from behind.

He’s insatiable for you, and for once you feel like you can be yourself around him, truly. Comfortable to be naked and bare with him in your skin.

You’ve spent years with your thoughts drifting inward, grappling with the complexities of your body. A regular love-hate relationship, which leans more towards the hate more often than not.

It’s no secret that you’re larger and more curvaceous than the slender figures typically celebrated by society, and the usual, skinny types that had draped off of Dieter’s arm in the past.

Your body, adorned with generous amounts of curves, dimples and soft contours, bear the marks of a life well-lived and enjoying the over-indulgence of it at times.

But sometimes, you feel a pang of insecurity flood through you; your eyes drawn to the lithe forms that grace the glossy pages of fashion magazines.

Feeling itchy inside your epidermis at the actors that flock around you both at the after parties in their tight dresses that look like a second skin, and the endless scroll of social media feeds perpetuating the allusion, that to be beautiful, you must be thin.

You feel like the “fat woman” when surrounded by slender, flat-tummied make-up artists and stylists who flood your home when Dieter has an event to prepare for. In a world that seems to worship perfection, you can't help but wonder if your own body falls short of the unattainable ideal at times.

But Dieter doesn’t see it that way.

He's continuously lavishing you with affection and love, and unable to keep his big hands off you from day one. You’ve been with him long enough now to know he’s serious about you, respectful of your choices to remain out of the spotlight and trusting that you’re not just a novelty to him.

He’s changed because of you; cleaned himself up and become a better man, and that only imbues the sense of worship he gives to you daily.

As you gaze into Dieter's glassy eyes, you find yourself bathed in a warmth that transcends the superficial constraints of beauty standards. In his unwavering stare you see not judgement, but genuine admiration - a reflection of the love and acceptance that he has for you, curves and all.

He makes you feel invincible when he looks at you like this. But sometimes, it's hard not to let the insecurities seep in.

This vacation has been relaxing, enjoying one another in the privacy of the water villa, but Dieter’s attention span can only survive in enclosed walls for so long, and soon he’s itching to get out and explore.

He suggests the nearby market for lunch and the beach, and you agree, pulling on a suitable dress over your bikini, and rolling up his yoga mat to shove into your beach bag.

You stroll hand-in-hand through the market, packed with tourists and locals. He stops at stalls to admire handmade crafts through his giant, dark Raybans, and purchases cheap beaded bracelets that he adds to the collection on his wrist, and rambles at you in great detail about the craftsmanship of them.

You stop for refreshing guava and pineapple smoothies from stall vendors, pose for selfies by a tropical flower bush as he picks one and places it behind your ear, and after a mouthwatering shellfish lunch, you end the afternoon lazing on the beach together.

He gets a little handsy when he rubs sun lotion onto your skin, fingers slipping under your bikini top discreetly to tug at your puffy nipples as he sucks the oily skin on your neck.

"D..." You whine, as he pulls them in his between his fingers and whispers in your ear how fucking hot you are. You shoo him away, grinning, as he heads into the water for a swim, and you lay back to bake in the sun with your book.

You lick your lips a little while later as he emerges from the water; pale lilac swim shorts clinging to his thick thighs, unruly greying fluff slicked back. Sea water drips from his chin down his chest, that puffs out into a little swollen tummy of his own with a slot machine belly button. Dark hairs disappear into his shorts as he pulls them up, strolling out of the waves.

Dieter’s ageing in the most beautiful way possible, broad too in every sense of the word as the sun blesses him with a gorgeous bronze tan, and he catches you staring like a drooling chimp as he heads back towards you.

He flashes you those enigmatic teeth as he approaches, sand clumped around his ankles.

“See something you like?” He grunts, as he bends down to kiss you, hooked nose all wet and dripping salt water onto your lips.

“Maybe,” you say, his crotch almost in your face as he stands.

He's already pitching a tent in them as he smiles down at you with a razor-like grin.

“Did you know a sea cucumber ejects its intestines out in self-defense? It looks like a sea dick squirting all over the place. And there's lots of it, too.”

You laugh. “Did you see a sea cucumber in the water just now?”

“No. I just remembered seeing it on Nat Geo. Fascinating.”

“You’re so random, D.” You titter, dropping your book down.

"You love it." He says, wiping at his face with the towel.

"I do."

“You know-" he sits behind you on the lounger and pulls you back against his wet chest, “-there’s nothing stopping us from fucking right here. I could easily slip my cock into you right now.”

“D, the beach is full of people.” But you groan at the thought of it.

“Yeah, but the danger, the anticipation. It’d be hot, no?” He whispers, fingers dipping into the waistband of your bikini bottoms. “Just fucking you in front of all these people and they’d never know. You'd have to be really quiet, baby...”

“Dieter!” You hiss, bringing your legs up to stop him going any further.

“Alright,” he chuckles in your ear, running his fuzzy chin against your face.

"Is that a sea cucumber in your shorts or are you just pleased to see me?" You remark at the hard bulge poking at your lower back.

Dieter chuckles, all waspy inside your ear. “I'm still hungry. Let’s go back to the villa and you can sit on my face for a while.”

The vacation comes to an end after another week of fucking all over the water villa, and you both find yourselves on the flight back to civilisation, somewhat more exhausted than when you'd set off.

You turn on your mobile when taxiing towards the terminal, back on American soil, and listen to the pings as your phone catches up with life.

You scroll through emails as Dieter quietly snores beside you, mouth open and catching flies.

Smirking, you scroll through social media and stop, immediately feeling sick when you open a message from your friend titled have you seen this?

There’s a screenshot of you on the beach in your bikini from a pap site, something that doesn't surprise you much at all - it’s bound to happen now and again when you’re spotted with Dieter, despite booking somewhere off radar.

Renegade photos of the two of you end up on the socials all the time, and you pay them no mind, choosing to abstain from looking them up.

But what you don’t expect to see is the vitriol in the comments underneath the picture, from none other than Dieter’s fans.

You read the words fat and beached whale and pity fuck, standing out like they’re flashing red neon at you.

Swallowing as your throat runs dry, it gets worse the further you scroll. They make fun of your body, make remarks about your face, your hair, sense of fashion, even your ankles of all things.

Who is offended by someone’s fucking ankles, for Christ’s sake?

Every part of you is pulled apart scathingly in deep conversations that go on and on, blurring out the compliments that say you’re a cute couple by the ones that say things like she carries it well.

Carries what well?

You’re pulled in, instantly scrolling to Dieter's own Instagram page and clicking on the most recent picture he took of you both as you watched the sunset on your last night in Bora Bora.

You have the flower in your hair that he picked and put behind your ear, and told you how gorgeous you were as he snapped the selfie, his lips pressing into your cheek. Under the photo he wrote the caption my heart.

Comparing how his belly in his swim shorts looks gorgeous and sexy and how complete strangers want to lick it, whereas your tummy in your bikini is branded hideous and disgusting.

It’s liked by over five million people, and you grimace when you realise there are also thousands of comments talking about your looks there too.

How your shoulders are much broader than his, your thighs the size of tree trunks. How you must crush him when you fuck.

Who's the whale next to Dieter?

They speculate that you’re pregnant. Some of them are calling you a cunt or a bitch because you’re carrying his fictitious baby.

The unjustified hate just keeps coming and coming.

Can't believe he's with someone so fat.

She’s so gross.

She’s disgusting.

He's fucking her for a joke.

Dude must be high AF to fuck that each night.

I've seen glory holes better looking than her face.

He deserves better.

It’s a staged relationship. No way he’d look twice at her.

You thought you looked pretty in your dress. You were wrong, babe.

You feel like you’re going to throw up and nudge him awake.

“D,” you groan.

“Mm,” he mutters.

“Dieter! Wake up!”

“Wha-what?” He jolts as he comes to, wiping his mouth free of drool. “Have we landed? Oh, we're here. What time is it? Fuck, my neck. I think I've dislocated my shoulder sleeping in this damn seat. Why'd you let me sleep for so long?”

His bleary eyes look around the cabin as he sits upright in his seat with wild, fuzzy hair. He turns to you and baulks.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” He sees you crying silently into your hands. “Hey, what happened?” He reaches for your hands, but instead you toss the phone at him.

Confused, he takes it and smiles at the selfie of you both together. “What, you don’t like it? I think you look really gor-”

“Read the comments,” you all but choke out to him.

As he scrolls through the comments, his jaw clenches in anger; his grip on the phone tightening with each cruel word. You see his nostrils flare as he breathes in and clicks the phone screen off.

“Babe,” he shakes his head. “Fuck that shit, man. Ignore it. Bitches be cray and all.”

“That’s easy for you to say, they fucking love you!” You shake your head and scramble up past him, heading for the door as the other passengers begin to disembark.

"I'll get the luggage then..." He huffs to himself.

Despite Dieter’s reassurances, the words have already taken root in your mind, poisoning your thoughts with doubt and reuniting you with that old, reliable friend, self-loathing.

In the days that follow, you find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a depressive spiral, unable to escape the relentless barrage of negativity that haunts your every waking moment.

It consumes you. Strangers, people you’ve never met and don’t know or what they look like, get into your head. You suddenly realise the power that words have.

They have jagged edges that cut into your skin and leave you bleeding, dying.

They cause your head to ache profusely and your nose to become blocked, and your eyes to itch from crying so much. You’re suddenly paranoid, of everything, everyone that looks at you. Second guessing all the time, wondering what they think when they look you over.

You withdraw from the world, retreating into the darkness of your own mind, where the echoes of cruel words reverberate back and forth like a never-ending chorus of condemnation.

No amount of love or support from Dieter can penetrate the thick fog of despair that envelopes you, leaving you feeling utterly alone and miserable.

You cancel pre-planned events, leaving Dieter to go alone, whilst you curl up under the duvet and don’t surface for days, and you realise that ignorance really was bliss.

You find yourself standing in front of the mirror naked when you finally brave yourself to have a shower, and are disgusted at what you see.

Highlighted before the glass, your reflection is a cruel mockery of the beauty you once believed you possessed. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminate every curve and contour of your body, each line a stark reminder of your perceived inadequacy.

Your gaze lingers on your reflection, tracing the lumpy ridges of your hips and the soft swell of your hanging stomach, the fullness of your thighs and the rounded shape of your ass, with a mixture of disdain and disgust.

You grab handfuls of your flesh, rolling it in your grip, shaking your head as your eyes fill with water.

Looking away, you cover yourself up with baggy clothes that aren’t flattering. You put on Dieter's green robe over the top and belt it up and climb back into bed, sobbing.

How can he possibly find me attractive? Is he part of it? Am I really just a pity fuck?

The invasive thoughts begin to chip away at the solid foundations you thought you had. Crumbling them into doubt and paranoia.

Their words haunt you, spin around your eyesight for days until you're back torturing yourself and scrolling back through them all. You shut everything out except their words - you just exist in this tormented space in the bed - refusing to entertain anyone, including Dieter - with your phone doom scrolling, and nothing but self-loathing and misery.

It lasts on a repetitive cycle for days.

You try not to eat, taking to self-punishment and abstinance, but then that only makes it worse because you inevitably get hungry and order take-out. Far too much take-out.

And then once you've eaten it all, a small comfort that is fleeting, you force yourself sick, feeling guilty and even more wretched for enjoying the food that you love.

Until Dieter’s had enough of it all.

He throws everyone out of the house on the eve before Oscar’s night, refusing to partake in any more fittings whilst he knows you’re upstairs hiding from him and hurting.

Forehead pulling into tight wrinkles with guilt, Dieter stares at the dress the stylist has brought over that he knows you’ll look incredible in.

You were so excited when you first tried it on, and now he can’t help but feel as though he’s had some part in this; coaxing you to try and be someone you’re not just for the sake of the glitz and solid bronze statues plated in 24 karat gold.

But he can't help it, he wants to share this side of him with you. Wants you to be proud of him and to show you off, because you make him so equivocally happy. And for a long time, Dieter wasn't happy. Just floundering and trying to shape himself so he could fit into their moulds too.

He said he'd keep you separate from his world if that's what you wanted, and for the most part you did, and now he wonders if it's because of this - this pressure that society puts on people in the spotlight to maintain perfection.

And he can't help but wonder if he's put that pressure on you too in some ways.

It’s like cleaning out wounds with dirty fingers, festering and making it worse the longer you're hurting and allowing them to hurt you. And now, he trudges up the stairs, woolly socks making static on the carpet, with the dress dangling from the hanger over his broad shoulder.

He misses you. Misses your smile, your smell, your warmth. Your body wrapped around his. It's not fun watching movies by himself, sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms without you.

He's given you space, but he needs you. Needs you to see how fucking beautiful you are to him. And needs you to know he's not giving up on you, not now and not ever.

“I’m not going.” You grumble with a huff.

Knuckles rap on the bedroom door and push it open gently when you grunt at him to go away.

You watch him, with puffy eyes, as he hangs the dress bag over the closet door.

You shake your head vehemently.

“You don't have to. But... you promised me.” Dieter says, as he kicks at the foot of the bed gently.

His zig-zag sweater is knitted and bobbly on the arms when he crosses them over his chest. Triad tattoos inked into his skin peep out at you under rolled up sleeves.

“You wanna see it?” He offers. "Might make you feel good to try it on again?"

“No. I’m not wearing it. I’m not going and that’s that.”

Dieter kneels on the bed slowly crawling up towards you. “It’s my night, baby, and I want you there by my side.”

You sigh. “I can’t,” you whimper, trying not to look at him.

“Yes, you can. You know you can.”

Tears fall from your eyes making warm tracks on your cheeks.

“No, I don’t.” You say, sniffing.

“I love you.” Dieter says, reaching your face and sitting over your thighs.

His thumbs catch the tears and he kisses your face. “I fucking love you. You’re so beautiful and sexy. God, you're so fucking sexy. You make me so hard.”

He takes your hand and puts it over his cock that’s indeed rock solid in his shorts.

“Yes you do, see? Even when you're crying and wearing my shitty gown. You’ve always been so fucking sexy to me.”

A renegade smile tries to break free at the corner of your lips as he starts smashing down your walls with a sledgehammer. And his aim is pretty on point.

"When was the last time you washed this? It stinks," you say, looking down at the stained softness of his gown draped over you. You don't even want to know the origin of some of them.

“That’s it, there you are.” He encourages.

“You really think I’m sexy?” You whimper. “All this?” You say, confused as you point to your stomach.

“I love your body, babe. Every. Inch. Of. It.” He punctuates each word with a kiss over your face; on your nose, your forehead, your chin.

“Why? You could have anyone...”

“I don’t want anyone. I want you. I've always wanted you.”

“Why?”

“Because I fell in love with you. Hook. Line. And fucking sinker.”

“Dieter-” You choke and snivel.

He wraps you up in his arms. “Let me show you, baby.”

He unbelts his gown that you’re wearing, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently. Your fingers tangle in his hair, silky greying fluff, as he swirls his tongue around inside your mouth.

"You taste like flaming hot Cheetos." You smirk around his lips.

"I may have eaten three king-size bags. My ass and the toilet will hate me later."

"Is that all you've eaten?"

"Well, yeah. That and microwave oven pizzas... I'm kinda floundering without you. It really is selfish of you to not come downstairs and cook for me. Baby, I'm wasting away." He pats his little belly for emphasis.

You laugh, a deep and haughty chuckle, and he smiles at that.

"You're such a doof."

"Yeah, but I'm your doof." Dieter says as he kisses you, sighing into your mouth as his shoulders sag.

He pulls away and runs his thumb over your lips.

“I love your lips,” he says, licking over them and nipping them between his teeth. “Mmm, yeah. Fuck. Love it when they wrap around my cock too,” he hums.

You chuckle through wet eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah baby, I love how you look when you suck my cock. So fucking hot.”

“How do I look?”

“Like a fucking Goddess!” He chirps enthusiastically, and you can see that he really means it. "Better than Aphrodite, Dionysus... that-that pale chick riding in the clam-"

"Venus." You hiccup through a smile.

"Yeah. They haven't got shit on you, babe."

"Dieter," you stutter as he nuzzles into your face. He slathers wet kisses down your neck as you groan.

“I love these tits… fuck,” he groans as he squeezes them in his hands, sucking on the nipples as he pushes your t-shirt up.

“Mmm, D…” you whine as he flicks his tongue back and forth over them, until they become hardened pebbles in his mouth making you shudder and clench.

"Fucking perfect tits." He grunts. He kisses and licks down the deep valley of your breasts, smooching over your sternum.

“I love this belly,” Dieter says, with more kissing, licking and stopping to blow a loud raspberry into your belly button.

You cackle as he strokes and tickles your hips.

“Dieter!” You howl as he tickles harder.

“See, stunning!” He laughs, watching you cackle and squirm as you try to bat him off.

“Stop it!” You howl. "I'm gonna pee!"

“I love these little lines here,” he says, as he runs his tongue over the crinkled stretch marks around your lower tummy.

He kisses further down into the swell of your thighs, pulling your leggings down as he goes, revealing more skin for him to lavish.

"I love this freckle right here, and this one here, and this little guy over here… But this one’s my favourite, right here. Hi cutie,” he smiles as he kisses it.

You giggle like an idiot as he kisses over each freckle, mole and dimple in and around your thighs.

“And I fucking love this pussy,” Dieter groans as he runs his tongue up the slit of you over your panties.

You watch as he hooks his fingers into the elastic and pulls them down, with darkening eyes smouldering up at you from between your legs.

His tongue runs on the skin outside your pussy lips, so close to your clit. He trails a hot, wet lap around and leaves you panting, begging. “Please, please…”

"What do you want, baby? You want me to kiss it?" He smirks as you nod, head all slack and mesmerised.

He spreads your lips and licks his tongue slowly up your slit, making you shudder as he swirls it around the bump of your buzzing nub.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans, reaching down to adjust himself. “I could just fucking come from eating you out,” his voice is muffled by doing just that.

Your head keens back into the pillows and you groan. Your fingers rummage inside his hair, twisting and pulling, as he laps you up.

He doesn’t shy away, nestling himself between your thighs so he can lavish you with deserved attention as he kisses all over your pussy.

Running his adept and hungry tongue back and forth over your clit before sucking it into his mouth and making those thighs quake and jerk around his face.

“D… Let me touch you.” You whine.

“There'll be plenty of time for that later, right now I’m happy just here. Right here..." He licks again, a long fat stripe up your seam, and you pant. "I want you to come all over my face, beautiful.” Dieter urges, rutting his hips into the mattress.

As the tension mounts within, you can feel every nerve in your body standing on edge, like a tightly coiled spring ready to burst. And then, in a moment of pure abandon, it happens. A wave of pleasure crashing over you; a surge of unfurling sensations that seem to consume you whole as you tumble through them.

He rubs over your clit, tickling it with the increasing pressure and speed from the pad of his thumb as he slips his tongue inside your hole and drinks you down. He hums around you, licking and sucking as he entices your body to just bend to his mouth.

And you do.

"Dieter! Fuck!"

Like a firework exploding in the night sky, a burst of light and colour leaves you breathless and exhilarated as he continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm.

You're a writing mess, groaning as you fill his mouth with more of your slick and clenching around his tongue as he fucks your contracting hole with it. As your body convulses with the force of your release, your thighs crushing further against his head, you feel a profound sense of relief wash over you, like a swampy weight lifting from your shoulders.

Bathed in a moment of pure ecstasy amongst the dread that’s consumed you; a fleeting glimpse into the freedom from it all.

"Fucking love this pussy," he mouths.

“Shit... I need you, D.” You gasp, your body buzzing for him.

You pull him out of his cargo shorts, hard and swollen in your palm. Just barely stroking across his soaked frenulum as he groans like he's been choked. The slick of his own drippings covering your fingers as you jerk him desperately.

“Fuck!” Dieter muffles into your mouth as you crush him in a kiss; teeth clashing with clumsiness at your haste to have him and cupping his balls.

You can taste yourself all over his furry lips and chin as he guides his swollen, weeping head inside your gorgeous cunt.

“Dieter!” You groan as he fucks into you, large hands roaming all over your body, squeezing, massaging.

“So fucking beautiful, baby.” He pants, burying his head into the ample swell of your breasts.

Your tits bounce wildly around his face with every thrust of his pelvis against yours, and he just whines and groans inside his happy place as he sucks on your nipples with eyes that stare up at you.

But it’s the love shining so deeply in his watery eyes that truly moves you - a love so profound, it seems to shimmer with unshed tears, reflecting the depth of his emotion.

“God, I fucking love your body, baby.” His words penetrate the barriers you’ve built around yourself, slowly chipping away at the walls of self-doubt and insecurity that has held you captive in a cage for days.

"I love you!" He gasps into your mouth.

As you look into his earnest eyes, you see no sympathy or pity, but genuine affection and admiration. You see a man that genuinely believes you’re beautiful.

A man that can’t get enough of your curves, and welted and dimpled thighs. Your stretch marks and tummy rolls. A man who’s not afraid to put his hands on you, who wants to show you off to the world and declare “she’s mine” at the top of his grizzled voice proudly.

You see a man who also has body hang ups of his own when he stares at himself in the mirror after hours of being preened and gussied up like a peacock for the world’s cameras.

Wrinkling his aquiline nose at his slick appearance, when all he wants to do is laze about in a grubby, green gown and broken crocs, smoke a bowl and eat bags of flaming hot Cheetos with you, whilst nestled in the comfy, safe place in your arms and cleavage where he feels most like himself.

He twists, so one of your legs is still hooked over him, his hand on your ass as he pushes into you as you lay on your sides facing each other.

And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

It’s a revelation - the realisation that you’re deserving of love and acceptance, just as he is.

His hands run all over your body, sliding up your back and fingers gliding down your chest delicately. He guides his cock back in, holding you in his other arm tight and kissing you.

Dieter whines into your face as he slips in, his eyes searching yours out to convey in unspoken words how good you feel squeezing around him.

You let your hips languidly bounce as he flexes his; both of you enjoying that heady rhythm without rush or eagerness to finish in a hurry.

“Mmm. Oh fuck, right there… oh fuck, fuck. This pussy, baby, you feel so good.” Dieter groans, eyes rolling back. “Amazing, amazing...” He babbles.

“Tell me,” you pant. “Tell me what’s amazing, D.”

“You. You’re amazing. Fuck I want you every which way. I-I want to fuck your ass again. Wanna have you in my mouth, swallow you all up.”

“Eat the world.” You grin.

“Yeah, eat the world.” He smiles. “My world. You’re my fucking world, baby.”

“Fuck, I love how you grip me so tight, baby.” He wheezes, fists punched into the pillow either side of your head as his hips do all the work.

A subtle roll and he’s on top of you again. Knees knocking your thighs open wider and sinking his cock into you deeper.

He kisses you as he slides in, filling you up with his love as you whimper into his mouth in sweet relief.

“Come on, Dieter, give me your cock. Like that, fuck yeah, like that.” You pull on his broad arms, legs wrapping around his chunky waist as his stomach slaps against yours.

Deep smacks of skin fill your ears as he fucks you harder. He wheezes as he breathes, panting into your face.

“Like this? Yeah?” He fucks you faster, drilling in quick, deep shunts; the headboard clattering against the wall loudly. "God!" He grunts deeply. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna come, baby!"

He’s weak for you. You can see it in his eyes, the vulnerability around the blown out glass of them as he comes and bites down on his lip through a laboured grunt. Spilling warm and thick inside of you, and you feel it pool and dribble out once he softens.

“Give it to me, give it to me. Give me all your come, Dieter!” You cry as you burst again - gold bokeh filling your eyes as the heat floods through your body.

Your spine twists, your back arching. Toes curling and ears ringing as you come around him.

“Baby!” He yells as he momentarily stiffens and strains before exploding inside of you.

He stays plugged in for a while, pelting your breasts with unrelenting kisses as he rubs his nose against your nipple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his tongue. Eventually finding your lips once more as he holds your head in his giant hands.

“How do you do that, D?” You ask breathlessly, afterwards.

“Do what?” He lays beside you, pants slowly dying down and nose nuzzling against your own.

“Make me feel so good?” You peep, timidly.

“The same way you make me feel so good." He hums out as you watch his eyes close, dark, fluttery eyelashes fanning out. "I’d probably still be in the gutter if it weren’t for you loving me.” He says quietly.

“Do you really believe that?”

He nods, his greying hair ruffling against the pillow. “Yeah. I do. You saved me, baby.” He says, with deep chocolate eyes lanced on you. “My brain scrambles when I'm with you, but in a good way.”

“I wish you could see yourself how I see you. Then maybe you’d believe it.” His eyes soften at you, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. "I just want you to know how beautiful you are to me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never want to make you feel like you're anything less than perfect, because to me, you are. And I know I'm a bit much sometimes... but I really do love you.”

You don't try to unpick the sweetly soft truth that pours out of him in sincere revelations, you just listen with a smile spreading across your lips.

“I love you, D. You and your scrambly brain always make me feel beautiful.”

“From the first day I met you, I’ve always thought so.” He smiles, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip. "And I'm never wrong." He grins.

A wider smile escapes you as you lean in closer, your forehead resting against his, damp with sweat.

“I’m not gonna force you, baby, but please come with me tomorrow night.” He implores with soft eyes. “You’re gonna look so beautiful and I really want you there with me. We'll have a great time, you and me.”

Your response is hesitant, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on his pudgy hip as you struggle to find words. Unable to speak, like rust clogging in your throat as your mind recalls all the nasty slurs said about you online and the panic prickles again.

You want nothing more than to carry out stringent ablutions, cleanse yourself of the tarnish they’ve left inked under the layers of your skin with all the other jibes and taunts you’ve heard throughout your life.

It's hard not to let your body physically define you when physicality is so superficial in this world. There isn't anything that anyone has said that you haven't heard before, or said to yourself in your moments of dark masochism.

You've seen all the looks people give you, like you're an exhibit in a museum to be gawked at. Heard all the whispers and mean girl things that ultimately mean girls say in earshot.

You've spent years planning routes around rooms as you step in, avoiding scenarios where you'll have to squeeze yourself through tiny gaps or past people.

Accepting the fact that the dress you really like in the shop window won't be in your size. Slicking your thighs in layers of anti-chafe balm in advance when your friends want to go for a walk and you struggle to keep up.

And words cut deep.

You try to tell yourself it's jealousy. You try to tell yourself that they’re not real. Faceless drones sitting behind a screen with nothing better to do than tear you down, because you ultimately have what they want.

They want him, Dieter. But you have him.

A woman who is so far removed from themselves in terms of looks, that it's hard for them to comprehend and accept that he could genuinely want you and love you, and get turned on by you.

You breathe in slowly, trying to push down all the negative thoughts that try to worm their way back in.

And sometimes, it's hard for you to accept too.

But then he does things like this, makes you believe and accept it, because his love for you is real. It's so fucking real that it guts you. It's all you've ever wanted, someone to see you.

Will I have to suck in my belly? Will people see me doing that? Is the dress going to cling onto my stomach and thighs too much? What if my dress tears? What if I fall? What if I embarrass him?

But then you look in his eyes keening back at you, and he has this power to get inside your head and sweep them all away again into a dark corner.

“I promise you, you won't be alone. I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way." Dieter reassures.

Your eyes soften at his words, a glimmer of hope shining through the murky uncertainty. "But what if-"

"No 'buts', candy and nuts," Dieter interjects, headbutting you gently. "You’re stunning, babe. Inside and out. And I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that."

“The rest of your life, huh?” You smile.

“Yeah. If you can tolerate me for that long.” He snickers, eye creases crinkling.

“That’s a pretty big if.” You smirk.

“The biggest.” Dieter smiles, his big browns pleading silently and soft at you, and melting you further in the process.

You nod, smiling. “Okay. I'll go.”

“Amazing.” He croons with a satisfied yawn. “We got any KitKats left?”

“In the kitchen, I think. I’ll get you one.” You smile.

“Rockstar.” He mumbles, nuzzling further into the pillow.

You catch sight of him over your shoulder, his bare, round ass naked and furry as he adjusts and gets comfortable on the bed.

You pad down to the kitchen, not bothering to dress, and catch sight of your reflection in the dark pane of the window.

A wobbly silhouette at first glance, but as you look closer, you can see the sheen of sweat gleaming on your skin, the warmth that coats it from the afterglow of Dieter’s touch.

Your gaze lingers on your shapely form, but instead of scrutinising the perceived flaws, you find yourself noticing the things you’ve overlooked - the gentle curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the fact that you’re here, naked and comfortable to wander freely around the house again, whereas only a few hours ago you were wrapped up and hiding.

As you regard your reflection, something is different. The harsh judgement and self-doubt that has plagued you tirelessly has been replaced by a newfound, creeping sense of acceptance and appreciation.

A small glimmer, but it's still there nonetheless.

You turn, admiring your shape with a small smile lighting you up at what you see.

In this moment, you realise that you’re beautiful like he says - not just because of your physical appearance, but because of the love Dieter has for you that makes you see past any self-loathing.

His unwavering affection lifts you up when you sink, helping you to see yourself in a new light, as a woman worthy of love and admiration.

You come back into the bedroom and toss the KitKat on the dresser when you see Dieter snoring gently.

Your leg hooks over his puffy middle as you listen to his heartbeat. The soft thrum-thrum emanating in the pit of his chest soothes away any worries or fears.

You feel his thick fingers twitch against your skin, a silent snuffle as he breathes laboriously, lost in sleep.

Dieter Bravo sees you and loves you for who you are, so maybe, just maybe, you should try to love yourself, too.

It's the last conscious thought you have before you fall asleep with him.

“Does my pocket look okay? It looks weird, it’s doing shifty things. I don't trust it.” Dieter asks, as he looks in the mirror and fiddles with the silk handkerchief poking out the top of it.

You can feel the nerves radiating off of him in droves. His fingers twitch, rings clacking against every surface he passes. Lips gnawed on until they’re scarlet, despite the make-up artist slicking them with balm tirelessly.

“Your rebellious pocket looks fine.” You say, as you step fully into the room.

“Oh wow! Baby. Fuck, look at you!” Dieter turns, his whole face lighting up. “You look so good in this colour.”

“Yeah?” You ask, smoothing down the dress that fits you like a dream.

It hides a multitude of sins in your opinion, as you turn this way and that in the mirror - you’re satisfied with how you look.

“Yeah, your eyes really pop, wow!” He comes over to you, all perfectly coiffed curls blown out, and crushed velvet sleeves embracing you. “Fuck…” He says, eyeing you up and down.

He makes no effort to hide it when he adjusts himself in his pants so brazenly.

“You scrub up pretty well yourself, Mr Oscar Nominee.” You smirk, eyeing how good he looks in his suit.

A crisp shirt is open at the neck revealing an abundance of golden skin you long to lick and taste. He channels Adam Ant with the eighties romance of it all; lace sleeves hanging low and unruly from his jacket cuffs, matching velour Gucci loafers on with no socks, and wearing fitted pants that finish above the ankle.

“I’m so fucking nervous.” Dieter murmurs to you, quietly in the car on the way there. He rubs at his sternum with a large palm and keeps it there. "I need an antacid. And possibly a shit." He mumbles, belching quietly into his fist. "Fuck. I should've taken a shit before we left."

You giggle. “You'll be alright. Just breathe.” You reassure him, ghosting your nose over his. "I've got you, D."

“I’ve got you too, baby.” He promises, squeezing your hand and smiling at you. "God, you look so beautiful."

The cameras are flashing in your retinas as you walk the red carpet with him. The dress dazzles back, accentuating your curves and features, and looking at yourself once more in the mirror before you left, you were awash with awe at how good it actually made you feel.

He leans in for a kiss, but belches again in your face, and you chuckle as he laughs, embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry."

"At least your breath doesn't smell like Cheetos."

"No, but my sweat does." He chuckles, then turns to you. "Please, for the love of God, don't let me shit my pants."

You remember that feeling, coming back to you slowly as you stand tall and proud beside your silly man, who won't stop discreetly belching in the back of his throat like a toad where he's so nervous.

Where did that other woman go? She was lost for a while, pulled into the mud, but she kept moving, getting herself out of it once again. She has strength after all. They won’t drag you under.

Dieter is in awe of you too as you hold onto his hand, fingers interlocked with yours tightly, with his other on his chest holding in his anxiety - and nervous burps - whilst you smile beside him and support him on his big night.

You hold each other up with words unsaid. Pillars of strength when the other one needs it. With him by your side, looking at you the way he is now, you’ve never felt more beautiful and loved in your own skin.

The paps call you to look this way, gorgeous, as they snap your picture with him whilst you pose, growing more confident as Dieter holds you close, beaming at you.

The interviewers want to know all about your dress and compliment you beside him as he talks about his film, and then forgets about it entirely and starts talking about you instead with starry eyes, when he loses his train of thought.

Interviews pop up online of Dieter just dumbstruck at you standing next to him, peppered with heart-eye emoji's and the comments flood in under the photos and reels.

Look at how he looks at her!

They make such a cute couple.

She looks so beautiful in that dress.

Aww, he really loves her!

I want them to get married and have lots of babies!!

I hope he wins tonight, he deserves it.

She's so good for him.

I wish I looked that good.

But their words, no matter how kind this time round, won't matter. Because right now, nothing anyone could say could make you feel better than he does about yourself.

Dieter leans in, his arm sliding around your curvy waist, his voice husky and pouring liquid silk in your ear.

“Later on, I’m gonna fuck you in this dress, baby.” He promises, with a shit eating grin that’s just as gleaming as the devilish gold hoop twinkling in his ear.

“You better, it’s Valentino.” You smirk. “Gotta get your money's worth.”

Crookedly grinning at you, he places a lingering kiss on your glossy lips as the paparazzi go wild, snapping pictures of Oscar Nominee, Dieter Bravo, affectionately worshipping his Goddess for the whole world to see.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Dieter, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fluff #every body is beautiful #bodies series #diversity #inclusivity #jett's writing

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 9 months

Text

Mommy!May: Essence

A siren rescues you from the plunder of a shipwreck, you're grateful for his mercy in letting you live.

But at what cost?

Content Includes: Siren!Mommy Seonghwa x sub!fem reader, DUB-CON & DARK THEMES, it's why I included the ominous blurb in the beginning, scent play, spit kink, aphrodisiacs, scratching, biting, rough sex, kissing, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, body worship, mating kink.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Disclaimer: 18 + only. I don't endorse these themes, this is pure fantasy.

Please heed the warnings, this is the darkest fic I have written thus far.

If you still feel 'called' haha to read this, enjoy :)

The waves crashed and battered against you as you called out for help, your hands and feet kicking and clawing at the ocean that was ravenous and against your favour.

‘Help! Someone help me!’

The words baffled and frothed against your mouth, you felt your lungs were drowning and your body weakening.

The imminent drag to the bottom of the ocean is close to being the untimely death of your demise.

The night sky was bright, the moonlight an ominous globe that silhouetted the hidden creatures in the water and the shrieking screams of fear heard from any direction of sight.

The ship was creaking, the fire illuminating the darkness and the smell of smoke and salt filled your nostrils.

A piece of wood peeked out of the corner of your eye, it wasn’t there before…why would it be there now?

You were too focused on surviving to care, lunging towards the wood and gripping it with what little strength you have left, hands shaking and trembling white as you gripped onto the edge and heaved your torso up onto the plank.

Coughs and gargles were filling the air as you churned up all the excessive water over the wood, your head resting against the rough material as you closed your eyes for a few moments of peace.

Just a few seconds, just give a few seconds, a few seconds of freedom, a few seconds to feel grateful for the extended life the Universe has so kindly placed upon you.

A swishing noise was heard around you, soft and mild, barely enough to wake you from your slumber, your lashes fluttered as you attempted to close your eyes and let the ocean take you away.

Until the flicker of scales shone under the water, peeking out in your periphery.

‘Wow, that’s so pretty’ You murmured in a groggy daze, unaware of the presence hovering over you, watching you, contemplating where his song would lure you.

To the ocean to feed?

His mouth filled with saliva, his body ready to pounce and the tail swished around him in a defensive stance.

Until moonlight hit the side of your cheek, glittering and gleaming against the wetness and soft droplets forming on the tips of your lashes.

Like the stars.

So precious and fragile, little human, so beautiful and weak.

A precious, little star.

His precious, little star.

A low hum filled your senses and a shiver ran down your frozen body, the melody encapsulating and the tension easing from your chest.

You followed the noise to the man floating in the water, his skin wet and droplets riveting across his bare chest and shoulders.

The illusion was too easy to believe in your breathless state, his tail deliberately hidden underneath him, gills flat behind his ears, his mouth closed and hiding his sharp and deadly fangs.

‘Please…’ You whimpered out in a croaky, gargled voice.

‘Help me’.

He swam over to you, though not using his arms, it was like he was gliding across the water, the soft hum becoming louder and making your mind foggy and head feel heavy.

A gentle stroke to your hair, a webbed finger softly prying your mouth open and a warm, sweet type of wetness was felt upon your tongue, a soft thumb wiping the excess away from the corner of your lip.

‘Shhhh, don’t be scared…I’ll look after you’ He cooed, something he mimicked from watching mothers speak to their children upon the shore.

‘Ssssssleep’ He purred, his words almost snake-like and his webbed hand stroking your back, watching your eyes flutter close and your body almost go limp against the wood.

‘Thank you’ You mumbled out before darkness took over you, the silence and the heaviness more comforting than the need to survive, to kick against the current and thrive.

The man you thought was your saviour, heart filled with gratitude and appreciation for the one thing that might make you live another day.

Was not even a man.

Was not going to save you.

He was going to be your next nightmare.

…

‘Precious…’

The droplets of water on your forehead and a cold hand running along your calf brings you to the present.

‘Wake….up’

The sound of rain pitter-pattering caused your lashes to flutter and your nose to scrunch up as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave you were in.

A soft whimper left your throat at the realisation that you were here, yet again in the rain and the dimly lit cave with nothing but your bare clothes and your sanity hanging on by an ocean’s thread.

‘Come on…there there…open those pretty eyes’.

A soft voice cooed in your ear as you felt a hand move up from your calves to your naval, stroking over the thin fabric of your shirt, motioning in smooth circles.

The touch was so gentle against the roughness and fear of the dark sky and rain, it felt familiar, nurturing almost as the unlocked fear and anxiety pushed past the confines of your lungs and chest.

‘Mommy??’

You whined, your vision becoming more clear as you reached out with grabby hands to latch onto whatever the soft touch and gentle voice came from.

‘Look at me precious…can’t you see? Mommy’s here’.

The slightest tilt to your head and a shudder of breath made your body cold and skin prickle in goosebumps at where the voice was coming from.

Seonghwa’s cheekbones and jawline were covered in silver, chrome coloured scales that ran down his neck and collarbones, his skin so luminescent it looked metallic against the moonlight beaming upon him.

His wavy, jet black hair fell just under his ears, hiding the gills that reverberated the hymn he was using to help make you lucid, pliable and compliant.

Webbed and inky-streaked fingers with sharp, pointed nails were followed by shades of silver speckled across his bare chest and torso, seamlessly transitioning from man to creature as his tail floated behind him.

His lower half was submerged in the pool of water as he perched over you on the flat rock and sticky seaweed he carefully placed underneath you, wanting to form a makeshift bed for your comfort.

The silver iris of his eyes were uncanny, bright and reflective, you could see a clean image of yourself in them.

‘It’s…feeding time…Mommy feeds you’

His speech was stunted and broken, he was obviously speaking in a tongue not of his native language but he had heard the laughs and drunken banters of humans before they turned into screeches of pain and cowardly fear.

So, he knew a little bit.

Enough to speak to you.

‘You eat…’ He spoke again, his eyes glancing from your neck up to your chin, the ends of his nails digging into the flesh of your skin as he firmly pulled down your chin, opening your mouth for him.

‘Eat precious…then…Mommy…play’

Darkness glinted in his eyes as his other hand exposed the chunks of raw fish that he had been saving for this moment, the flesh and sinew of it nudging your bottom lip before being pushed gently into your mouth.

You might have gagged at the metallic-taste if you weren’t starved enough to care, lapping your tongue around Seonghwa’s fingers, too focused on feeling sated to notice the glow of his skin.

‘Thirsty’ You croaked in a parched voice as you limply reached out to avert the attention to the pool of water.

‘Thirsty?’ Seonghwa mimicked, his gills flaring up as he looked over to the small rock pool, thoughts pondered in his head as he looked back at you.

‘Water bad…Mommy make it clean’.

His head slowly lowered into the water and his tail swished as it doused you in water, causing your clothes to be soaked even more.

His mind wandered as he swam quickly and with a need to hit his goal with hastiness.

Seonghwa needed you alive and well.

He much preferred to play with living prey after all.

You were his to play with the moment he swam up to the flat bank of rock outside the cave and leveraged you on it with his tail, picking up seaweed so you could be comfortable during your ‘long-term’ stay.

And as he stared down at your sleeping form, his tail wrapping possessively around you that he heard a slight cry leave your mouth.

‘Mommy’ You whimpered before you fell back into a state of exhaustion.

Mommy…

An endearment of trust.

Only to humans though,

To a siren, however.

Oh, the taunting was too tempting to deny.

‘There…there…Mommy’s here'.

The sound of Seonghwa’s movements in the water gave you a sigh of relief as a large abalone shell scraped across the rock with a taloned finger.

The droplets of water glitter across his scaled figure had you frozen in beauty.

He was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time, too human for a creature and too much of a creature to be human.

‘Mommy…clean water..to drink’.

Seonghwa heaved his body over the ledge so half his figure was on land, his legs and tail still submerged in water.

Your eyes widened as he brought the abalone shell towards his mouth, it seemed like he was going to swallow the contents of it.

‘No..what are you doing? I need that’

You weakly pushed yourself up on your elbows and swatted at Seonghwa to fight for the abalone shell.

‘Stop!’ He hissed out, bottom lip lined with a sticky substance, his skin now SHINY and glowing with sweat.

‘Mommy clean water’.

You watched weakly as he drank the water, a few drops of it sparkling against his skin as he crawled forward to hover over you, his tail and fins dampening the bottom of your thighs and calves.

His face was inches from you, a series of quiet chirps and clicks emanating from his throat and his call relaxed you slightly.

Seonghwa spat the water from his mouth into yours, his tongue…LONG tongue swiping the inside of your palette and you felt a pinch on your bottom lip.

He finished the messy kiss by pulling away slightly, his kindness turned to roughness when his hands gripped your jaw and made your mouth as wide as possible.

Seonghwa pursed his mouth and a long, thick and viscous string of his saliva landed on the centre of your tongue.

‘It tastes sweet’

The final thought before your head became foggy and satiated.

Heat ran through your body as a mindless sense of arousal and euphoria rushed over you, letting out little huffs and whimpers as your legs started to grind together.

Seonghwa’s silver eyes brightened with lust as his eyes fixed upon the buds of your nipples aroused and swollen, peeking through the translucent, wet shirt.

Low clicks and chirps of desire were heard throughout the cave, his saliva and the siren hymn making you feel euphoric, dazed and needy.

Seonghwa’s tongue swiped around the bud of your nipple, causing your back to arch and whine as he sucked around the fabric, scraping the bud slightly with his fang before repeating the process on the other one.

‘Mommy’ You panted out breathlessly.

‘Mommy play…play with you’ He spoke firmly, webbed fingers pushing the shirt up and over your breasts, watching you stare back at him with glazed eyes.

The saliva was working, the aphrodisiac qualities making you feel needy, pliable, horny and submissive.

Seonghwa’s hand wandered down to your covered mound, feeling the heat of it under your fingertips and the smell of your arousal filling the air.

It’s Mommy’s playtime now.

‘So little’

With one strong and lithe hand, your pants were torn in the middle and the fabric gathered around your calves and knees.

He watched your body twitch and he was hard, saliva and venom pooling in his mouth at how beautiful your cunt looked and how wet…WET you were from his saliva, staring at your wetness dripping down near the crevice of your thighs.

Seonghwa spread your thighs open roughly, a warning growl leaving his mouth and fangs bare when he heard your discomfort.

A curious lick of your slick on his tongue and he moaned, the scent of your arousal seeping into his skin before laving his tongue over you again and again.

Loud chirps, clicks and guttural moans were heard from your core as Seonghwa messily slid his tongue up your folds, sucked your clit, placed wet open-mouthed kisses against your core and licked you clean.

‘More…more’

You whined out, your body feeling limp and eyelids heavy, satiated in a daze of pleasure and being relieved of touch starvation to understand the depravity of how trapped you were by the one thing that was keeping you on that rock.

Seonghwa sucked more and more, the talons of his fingers scratching your thighs and eyes slitted, the veins on his arms shining silver and his skin glowing.

Thoughts of a different language repeated over in his mind as he sucked and licked the wetness out of your cunt,

What would taste better?

The life force he was consuming from you?

Or the softness of your skin between his teeth?

A flash of red sparked through his eyes and he pulled his tongue out to bite into the plushness of your inner thigh, not enough to bleed but enough to feel the puncture of his fangs.

Seonghwa grabbed your hips and pulled himself back up towards your face, leaving bite marks and wet trails of his saliva all over your bare skin, the aphrodisiac seeping into your skin and the pain subsiding into numbness, into lucidity.

‘Mate’

He spoke out to you with certainty, demanding and with authority.

‘Mate. My mate’

Your mouth was red, swollen and wet with a line of drool coming out from the corner of your mouth from how good the pleasure was and how far gone your mind was.

Seonghwa puckered your lips with his fingers and his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, your cum mixing with his saliva and your mouth opened freely, the taste of his spit and your essence filling your nostrils and making you squirm with desire for more.

He grinded his scaled hips over your core as he felt himself unsheath his appendage, much like a human male but thick, with a rougher texture.

‘Stay…mate you.’

With one hand on your waist and the other supporting himself up, he pressed himself against your entrance, watching your hips jolt and brow furrow.

‘Mommy’ You whined out as you gripped the seaweed below, jaw clenched from the overbearing pressure you felt between your legs.

‘Shhh’ He cooed softly, running his hands in comfort up your side as he attempted to push in further but the resistance was rough and he could feel your muscles tensing under the broadness of his hands.

He stayed still as he gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes shifting to a normal human lens as he gently tilted your head up.

A glob of his spit landed on your tongue and you could feel it trail down your throat, it was sweet, like honey and immediately your body became sensitive.

A rock of your hips languidly and your lips trailing his was enough for Seonghwa to move again, lust and desire overwhelming both of you as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling every ridge of him in the inside of your core.

‘Precious’

His tongue licked over your cheek, savouring the salt and sheen of your skin as his scales grazed over your thighs, your body sensitive and fragile like an exposed wire underneath him.

‘Star’

Seonghwa’s voice was husky, raw as he panted above you, his free hand running down the front of your body in appreciation and worship.

‘Keep…Mate…Care…Love’

He lovingly spoke to you with each thrust, his hands tangled in your hair and his spit, essence and saliva was felt on your tongue, on your lips, down your throat and in your skin.

He may be your nightmare but you were his dream.

Your body, your voice, your vulnerability, your isolation.

Did he lure you or did you lure him?

Your life was spared, your freedom? Maybe not.

‘Mate’.

He whimpered out for the final time as his hips quickened, his scales glistening and shining brighter, the low-light of silver dimmed underneath the sheen of his skin, soft eyes and wet mouth.

‘You’re Mommy’s mate’.

Author's Commentary:

If you did choose to read this fic, thank you for giving it a chance.

This did not write how I was expecting it too.

This took me weeks to write because I wanted to incorporate spit play into one of my fics after reading the kink used in a vampire!idol fic.

I am personally not into spit play myself but I've always wanted to write a siren!idol piece and it just fits perfectly.

Thank you to @byuntrash101 for beta-reading this for me and giving me the motivation to turn try something different and write a dark fic.

Hey *shrugs*, at least I tried.

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @stardragongalaxy @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @sensitiveandhungry @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @lemonhongjoong @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @aris-ink @hwalysm

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

Note

I’m so happy you’re up for writing for WTTW! It’s one of my all time faves, can’t believe it’s been a year?!

Please could I request a cute little blurb set during the drive back maybe? Something cute and loved up and maybe a little smutty (for the sluts) (aka me)

Or anything else from this AU you feel like writing!

🥰

18+

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over.”

You were on a road outside of a town in Utah, Carmel and the ocean long left behind. It was almost dusk, that golden kind of light draping over the canyons, making the desert landscape look pink, like a dream. Everything was cotton candy, soft and sweet, including the boy driving.

“D’you need to pee or something?” Steve asked and he peered down at the map that was thrown across your legs. “There should be a gas station somewhere along here if—”

“Or something,” you replied, your answer vague enough to have Steve frowning but he was already pulling off of the road, pink and red dust kicking up from the wheels.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok— oh.” He realised what was happening when you arched up, hips lifting from the seat, just enough for you to hook your fingers into the sides of your underwear and peel them down from underneath your dress. “Oh my god, okay, yeah.”

His belt was unbuckled instantly, a comical quickness to his actions, the buckle hitting the door panel with a thud and he was sliding the divers seat back quicker than he could keep up with, his other hand hitting the horn.

It was all laughter into mouths, pretty, sweet, urgent kisses over the stick shift and Steve wasn’t shy about urging you into his lap. He kissed you until you were breathless, until the sky went from pink to lavender and the clouds in the distance rolled a little closer. It wasn’t a busy road per se, definitely sleepy at this hour but headlights flashed over your both as an old truck blurred past and it just made everything a little more exciting.

Steve was making the nicest noises, needy gasps and groans as you rocked over him, his jeans unbuckled just enough to free his cock and he threw his head back at the feel of how wet you were, letting you nip and lick at his throat, his jaw.

And when he got close and the stars started to blink from between the rock formations, Steve gripped your hip with one hand and urged you to ride him faster, the windows wet with condensation, the car rocking in the most obvious way. He used his free hand to slip down the straps of your dress from your shoulders, tugged the flowery material down over your tits until you were wearing it around the middle of your waist like a belt.

You were so on show it was obscene.

“I’m close,” you moaned and Steve just thrust up to keep you, cock sliding in and out with slick sounds.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging, gazing down at him with hazy eyes. He was tanned, sunkissed and freckles with his lips pink and parted for you, staring right back with pupils blown wide.

“Christ, you’re so pretty,” he murmured and his voice was gone, wrecked. “Gonna come for me? Just for me?”

You nodded, gasping, pulling at his hair until he groaned and took over, holding your hips still so he could fuck up into you until you came, clenching down on him.

And if that happened in every place you stopped on the way home, well. That wasn’t a vacation story you needed to share with friends.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve harrington fanfiction #Steve harrington blurb #Steve harrington oneshot #Steve harrington x reader smut #steve baby blurb #wttw

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princessbrunette · 23 days

Text

playlists for the readers … ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა

bunny!reader ♡

just girly fun vibes — she likes her music catchy, pop-y and fairly relatable. rafe never lets her play her music in the car unfortunately, because he cannot be seen speeding down the road blasting the pussy cat dolls.

🎀 cassie — ditto

🎀 kali uchis, steve lacy, vince staples — only girl

🎀 frank ocean — sweet life

🎀 coco & clair — pretty

🎀 sabrina carpenter — feather

🎀 flo milli — never lose me

🎀 cassie — miss your touch

🎀 childish gambino, jhené aiko — pink toes

🎀 flo.rida, wynter — sugar

🎀 kali uchis — honey baby (SPOILED!)

🎀 angels — my boyfriends back

🎀 foxy brown, kelis — candy

🎀 lana del rey — music to watch boys to

🎀 jhené aiko — maniac

🎀 fergie — clumsy

🎀 ciara, 50 cent — can’t leave ‘em alone

🎀 shelley duvall — he needs me

🎀 nancy sinatra — sugar town

🎀 heidi montag — i’ll do it

🎀 nicki minaj, jeremiah — favourite

🎀 kali uchis — melting

🎀 lady gaga — boys boys boys

🎀 cassie — long way 2 go

🎀 the pussycat dolls — when i grow up

🎀 tom tom club — genius of love

🎀 beyoncé — freakum dress

🎀 gwen stefani — bubble pop electric

🎀 marina — primadonna girl

🎀 madonna — material girl

🎀 pussy cat dolls — stickwitu

🎀 leven kali, syd — do u wrong

🎀 kiana ledé — mad at me

kitty!reader ♡

listens to her music to feel cool n edgy. shes one of those people that think she’s a bitch but she’s not at all, just a lil grumpy. wants everyone to know she liked deftones before it was cool.

🐈‍⬛ pixies — is she weird

🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — mardy bum

🐈‍⬛ black box recorder — child psychology

🐈‍⬛ the smiths — pretty girls make graves

🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — crush

🐈‍⬛ mazzy star — she’s my baby

🐈‍⬛ radiohead — creep

🐈‍⬛ chris isaak — wicked game

🐈‍⬛ limp bizkit — rollin’

🐈‍⬛ the pretty reckless — makes me wanna die

🐈‍⬛ pearly drops — bloom for me

🐈‍⬛ deftones — root

🐈‍⬛ fka twigs — two weeks

🐈‍⬛ deftones — romantic dreams

🐈‍⬛ hole — doll parts

🐈‍⬛ margeaux — hot faced

🐈‍⬛ siouxsie and the banshees — she’s a carnival

🐈‍⬛ kip tyler — she’s my witch

🐈‍⬛ deftones — mascara

🐈‍⬛ soho dolls — bang bang bang bang

🐈‍⬛ enigma — sadeness

🐈‍⬛ DANGERDOOM, MF DOOM — perfect hair

🐈‍⬛ radiohead — idioteque

🐈‍⬛ björk — come to me

🐈‍⬛ the nbhd — fallen star

🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — crying lightening

🐈‍⬛ deftones — diamond eyes

🐈‍⬛ the smiths — girl afraid

🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — unpunishable

🐈‍⬛ mitski — townie

🐈‍⬛ gorillaz — kids with guns

🐈‍⬛ evanescence — taking over me

deer!reader ♡

she’d say her playlists are all over the place — but it’s organised mess. she has them perfectly collated and in her head they make perfect sense. don’t put her on the aux though, not because the songs aren’t good but because the vibes are all over the place.

🍪 shura — 2shy

🍪 minnie riperton — les fleurs

🍪 april march — chick habit

🍪 benee — kool

🍪 camille saint- saëns — … le cygne

🍪 the little dippers — forever

🍪 allie x, mitski — susie save your love

🍪 she & him — why do you let me stay here?

🍪 lesley gore — i’m coolin’ no foolin’

🍪 sza — prom

🍪 the penguins — earth angel

🍪 SALES — renee

🍪 cleo sol — sunshine

🍪 japanese breakfast — be sweet

🍪 kate bush — cloud busting

🍪 mazzy star — halah

🍪 the mamas & papas — dedicated to the one i love

🍪 scissors sisters — filthy / gorgeous

🍪 fiona apples — shameika

🍪 fleetwood mac — mystified

🍪 margo guryan — under my umbrella

🍪 erykah badu — apple tree

🍪 mort garson — plantasia

🍪 sza — sweet november

🍪 quadron — sea salt

🍪 corinne bailey rae — green aphrodisiac

🍪 sade — lovers rock

🍪 ella fitzgerald — moonlight serenade

🍪 cigarettes after sex — truly

🍪 tv girl — heaven is a bedroom

🍪 the velvet underground — femme fetale

🍪 clairo, coco & clair — racecar

🍪 james blake, rosalía — barefoot in the park

🍪 tame impala — nangs

puppy!reader ♡

never seen without her walkman — loves running around and dancing to her upbeat music. her playlists will remind you of days in the sun and dancing in summer rain.

🐶 her’s — love on the line (call now)

🐶 HAIM — summer girl

🐶 the la’s — there she goes

🐶 stacey q — two of hearts

🐶 faye webster — right side of my neck

🐶 bakar, summer walker — hell n back

🐶 beabadoobee — sunny day

🐶 dominic fike — babydoll

🐶 jungle — back on 74

🐶 pinkpanthress — attracted to you

🐶 duran duran — girls on film

🐶 shuggie otis — strawberry letter 23

🐶 sixpence none the richer — kiss me

🐶 matilda mann — bloom

🐶 HAIM — falling

🐶 311 — amber

🐶 earth, wind & fire — boogie wonderland

🐶 lorde — ribs

🐶 lesley gore — sunshine lollipops and rainbows

🐶 stevie wonder — all i do

🐶 the human league — don’t you want me

🐶 the turtles — happy together

🐶 pet shop boys — west end girls

🐶 clairo — bags

🐶 pat benetar — love is a battlefield

🐶 the psychedelic furs — love my way

🐶 scouting for girls — she’s so lovely

🐶 noisettes — wild young hearts

🐶 the all eyes i — beat goes on

🐶 tame impala — elephant

🐶 sublime — waiting for my ruca

🐶 mgmt — boogie down

#bunny!reader #kitty!reader #deer!reader #puppy!reader

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starrylothcat · 9 months

Text

Craving

Summary: Hunter sees you in a dress and doesn’t know how long he can wait to get his hands on you.

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. 18+. Smut, PiV, cunnilingus. Established relationship. Hunter being horny.

Word Count: 3500

Author’s Note: Wow this took me way longer than anticipated to finish! This is a spiritual successor to my Crosshair fic Handful. There was a dear anon who requested this (awhile ago, I’m sorry it took me awhile haha).

Please enjoy Hunter being horny over reader in a dress. Once again, this takes place on Pabu where everyone is happy. It’s what they all deserve, dammit! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy. 💛

Hunter was suffering. He was absolutely, positively suffering.

His grip on the supply container was faltering, his eyes transfixed on you at the end of the dock.

Hunter was supposed to be helping Wrecker haul supplies from the dock to where the festival was being set up, but he hadn't made much progress, or any at all.

You were wearing a new dress, one that immediately resulted in all of Hunter’s senses going haywire when he saw you in it earlier in the day.

You had emerged from the bedroom adorned in the lightweight sundress, rushing out the door with Omega to meet Phee at the docks to help with setup.

You had volunteered to help Phee and Shep put on a cultural festival, taking on most of the organizational tasks, so you’ve been busy the last week with last-minute setup duties.

Games, food, performances, it was going to have all the works. You wanted it to be perfect for everyone, and today was the day.

You kissed him quickly on the lips, saying you’d see him later.

Before he could even respond or compliment the new clothing, you and Omega were gone.

Hunter was left with the image of your backside jiggling under the flimsy, short dress as you shut the front door of your shared bungalow behind you.

Your shoulders and neck were completely exposed, thighs on full display. Thighs that he already knew were going to be wrapped around his head later that evening.

How you looked in that split-second has been replaying in his brain all day, waiting for the moment he can get you alone, thinking of all the delicious cries he’ll pull from your plump lips as he pleasures you beyond comprehension.

He needed to feel you under his hands and see how much more of you he can get to jiggle under that dress. Hunter needed to trace your curves and peel back the thin material inch by inch, tasting and worshiping every centimeter of your body.

“Hunter, ya need help?” Wrecker stepped in front of him, blocking Hunter’s view of you, interrupting his fantasy.

Hunter blinked, coming back to reality.

Wrecker had easily hauled his share of supplies and Hunter’s pile was almost untouched.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I’m just a bit distracted today.” Hunter huffed as he lifted the crate fully. Wrecker grabbed a few more, precariously balancing them in his arms.

“Heh, I’m excited about the festival, too!” Wrecker smiled, assuming Hunter was distracted for other reasons.

“Everyone has been working hard to make it happen. I heard there’s going to be LOTS of good food!” Hunter nodded, half-listening while watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You were inspecting a crate of unfamiliar-looking fruits, making sure they were acceptable to sell at the festival.

A slight breeze coming off the sea was rustling your dress, lifting the hem and exposing more of your thighs, giving Hunter another view that made his body burn under the already hot sun.

Hunter swallowed thickly, feeling sweaty as he walked with Wrecker, thinking he might not be able to wait until after the festival to have his way with you.

The sun was setting over the calm ocean, a full moon peeking out from behind clouds, stars blinking into existence as the sky turned a deep purple.

The festival was in full swing, laugher, music, and mouth-watering scents hanging in the air. Hunter barely had a chance to talk to you all day, since you were busy making sure the festival was going according to plan.

As he walked through the crowd, he spotted Crosshair with Omega at one of the game booths, while Wrecker was chatting up one of the food vendors.

Tech was with Phee, trying to explain in excruciating detail the significance of a cultural dance that was being performed.

Echo was sharing wine with a local artist, admiring their paintings, though his eyes were mostly admiring the artist.

Hunter smiled to himself, pleased to see his family just be…happy.

Comfortable.

Ordinary.

Hunter never imagined himself settling down anywhere with anyone. Yet here he was, with you, the love of his life, and Omega, who now has stability and can be the child she deserved to be.

Ever since you all decided to settle on Pabu, you immersed yourself with the people of the island, often helping Phee in the museum, cataloging artifacts, and helping newcomers settle into their new lives.

Hunter was proud of you, seeing how much work and energy you put into making this festival happen and knew how much it meant to you for it to be successful.

Hunter was scanning the crowd, trying to find you. You were still busy, running around and making sure all the festival-goers were satisfied.

You needed to remember to enjoy yourself, too, and Hunter was going to make sure of that.

Hunter grabbed two cups of wine, finally finding you in the crowd.

You were speaking with some musicians who were about to begin their performance, making sure they started on time to ensure the performers after them stayed on schedule.

Hunter couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful you looked in the setting sun, his heart swelling at how lucky he was to have you. Something else began to swell in his pants, watching your hips sway under the silky looking dress material. You were still wearing the dress from earlier, his fantasy not forgotten.

You heard your name, turned, and saw Hunter walk toward you, holding the wine.

You excused yourself from the musicians, realizing you hadn’t seen him all day. You felt a little guilty, smiling as he approached you.

“Everything going okay, mesh’la?”

You nodded, taking the wine you realized you needed.

“Yes, even though I just had to tell Crosshair to cool it on the ring-tossing game. You won’t believe how many stuffed tookas Omega has now…”

Hunter chuckled as he kissed your temple, his arm coming around your lower back, bringing you in close.

“Everyone is having a good time…do you have time to take a break? I’ve missed you today.”

You let out a soft sigh. “I know…you know how I can get. I just wanted tonight to go perfectly for everyone.”

You sipped the sweet wine, watching Hunter’s eyes darken as he pulled away, his eyes roaming your form.

“It is, I promise. You should be proud of yourself for organizing this. I’m proud of you.”

You smiled at his words, feeling his hand ghost across the top of your ass. “Thank you, Hunter. I feel like I owe it to the people here for accepting us so quickly.” Hunter nodded in agreement, still subtly feeling up your ass.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to watch the performance, but I think you have something else on your mind.” You raised your eyebrows at him, seeing a familiar glint of need in his eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you how irresistible you look in this dress.” His voice dropped an octave into a smokey whisper as his lips brushed over your earlobe. “I’d love to show you…if you have the time.”

Hunter moved his arm from your waist, running his hand down your side, lightly pinching at your hip, feeling the fabric between his fingertips.

Kriff, it was softer than he imagined. Hunter’s hungry eyes met yours, and you knew what he was thinking.

You sipped your wine, a coy smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you. I was hoping you’d like it. I think I do have time for a break.”

You traced your hand over his chest, throwing him a devilish look. Hunter took that as a yes, quickly taking the wine from you and setting both your cups down.

He took your arm, leading you through the crowd until you were on the outskirts of the activities. You quickly walked down an empty corridor, the sounds of the celebration fading.

Mesh’la…” He growled in your ear as he led you down an empty alleyway, smelling the wine on his breath.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer…to show you how good you look.” His dexterous fingers slid up your body, the flimsy material of the dress exciting him, knowing what lays beneath.

You shuddered as he licked your earlobe, gently taking it into his mouth before lightly dragging his canines ran down your neck.

You were trying to stay quiet, but his alluring utterances and touches forced whimpers to leave your lips.

“I need you.” His voice was ragged, breathing in the sweet arousal on your skin, mixing with the salty twilight air.

You grasped his wide shoulders as he nipped and sucked at your skin, feeling his cock harden against your stomach. You let out a whine at the sensation, your own need growing intensely.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” He husked, pulling away and looking directly into your eyes. “Every since I saw you this morning, I’ve been wanting to fuck you in this dress.” You could feel how wet your panties were now, realizing how turned on he was by your outfit.

Hunter’s lips were on yours, vigorous and all-consuming. Your knees buckled at his eager kiss as he slipped the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

“H-Hunter someone could see…” you broke away from his impassioned kiss momentarily, realizing how hot and heavy you were getting in the alleyway. His chest reverberated with a deep laugh.

“Let them see - let them see how lucky I am to have someone like you…” his lips were on you again, this time his large hands slipping over your ass, giving a hearty squeeze that made you squeal.

Hunter’s grip slipped under your thighs, hauling you up and pressing you into the wall. Your arms flew around his neck for purchase, his groin pressing hotly into your center.

“But maybe it’s time to head home, what do you think?” He sucked on your collarbone, kissing up to your bare shoulder, nibbling and sucking as he went. “We have the place to ourselves, let’s make good use of it, hm? I’ve been biding my time to get you alone.”

You nodded, remembering Omega was spending the night with Lyana after the festival.

“I don’t think we’ll be missed, we won’t be gone for too long…” Hunter stopped, waiting for your answer.

You slid your palm down to his crotch, rubbing his painfully hard length through his pants, giving him your answer. “I suppose I can reward you for your patience.” You purred, palming him slowly. “I won’t make you wait any longer.”

The second you got through the front door, Hunter was all over you. His hands roamed, bunching up the fabric of your dress, sliding up your thighs, over your hips, and squeezing your breasts through the dress.

Goosebumps erupted all over your hot skin, even in the tropical Pabu air.

Craving burned hot in your veins, your nails digging into his wavy locks. You tugged lightly, causing him to groan against your mouth, knowing he liked it when you pulled at his hair.

You don’t remember when he removed your panties and bra, or how you got on the bed, but now he was hovering over you, his clothes discarded.

A predatory look flashed in his eyes as he took all of you in beneath him.

The way the dress hugged your features, leaving little to the imagination, set his senses ablaze.

He could see your hard nipples poking through the dress, your delicious curves highlighted almost sinfully as you gazed up at him, the same want in your eyes as was in his.

The feeling of the soft fabric was maddening, greedily grabbing fistfuls of your soft flesh as his hands explored your voluptuous form.

He was still groping as he planted wet, sloppy kisses up to your ear.

“I want to take you in this dress.” Hunter licked at your pulse point, feeling your heart rate increase under his tongue.

“How do you want me?” You gasped, needing more of him by the second.

“I want you on my face.”

His voice was husky, his words thick with feverish cravings that sent lightning bolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“Is that okay?”

You nodded dumbly, your thoughts muddled by passion.

Hunter let out a low grunt of approval as he rolled off you, laying on his back, beckoning you to him. How could you deny him, especially when he looked like this?

His eyes were hooded, his breath labored, some of his curly hair falling haphazardly out of his bandana. Hunter’s control was already unraveling and you’ve barely gotten started.

“I know how wet you are, mesh’la. Let me help you. Let me taste your perfect pussy.”

A shudder ran down your spine as you you crawled over and positioned yourself over his head, hiking up your dress as your thighs surrounded his face. You braced yourself on the headboard, looking down at the man between your legs.

Hunter’s pupils were blown with wild lust as he gazed up at your pussy, his mouth watering with anticipation.

“I don’t want to-I don’t want to hurt you or-“ You whispered, trembling at his breath ghosting over your exposed cunt.

Hunter chuckled, carefully caressing your thighs, his touch gentle. “You could never hurt me. And if this is how I go, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gave your thighs a curt squeeze.

“Now sit on me, please.”

Hunter clutched the soft flesh of your ass, keeping your dress pulled up as he drew you down to his mouth. The second his tongue eagerly lapped at your folds, you let out a high-pitched whimper, your chin falling to your chest. “Hunter…! Oh, stars…”

Hunter began licking and probing, switching between fucking you as deep as he could with his tongue and suckling on your clit. It was almost overwhelming, your airy mewls becoming heavy moans as Hunter devoured you from beneath.

Hunter let out a primal growl as your arousal soaked his face. Your inner thighs were now coated in your slick, your clit swelling with every suck and pass of his tongue.

All your nerves were on fire, heat bubbling in your lower belly, the obscene sounds of Hunter lapping and practically purring beneath you was building your release quickly.

Hunter’s senses were ablaze, his hips instinctually bucking, his cock weeping as his face remained buried underneath you, intensely focused on your pleasure.

Hunter loved feeling the weight and warmth of you on his face, hearing every sweet cry that left your lips, inhaling the scent of your sex. It was almost overwhelmingly perfect. You were perfect.

He was at the core of you, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Hunter’s fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, your dress bunched in his fists as he licked long stripes up and down your swollen lips. He made sure to keep the pressure on your clit, feeling your thigh muscles constrict around his head.

“Hunter…I’m close…don’t stop…” You could barely form a coherent sentence as he continued his feast.

Your thighs were quivering, your dress sticking to your body, and you were letting the most lewd sounds escape your throat, not holding back and letting Hunter know how he was making you feel.

You were gripping the headboard so hard you thought it might crack under your grip.

Burning heat was licking in your loins, a molten coil tightening and threatening to spring loose with every move of Hunter’s tongue, his thick muscle rolling and pressing against your clit.

You glanced down, finding it tough to keep your eyes open, and the look in Hunter’s eyes looking back at you between your legs was what sent you over the edge.

His eyes were blown with lust, black and deep, a carnal determination to feel your release on his tongue and taste every drop.

You threw your head back, his name a chant leaving your lips as you convulsed over him, your muscles spasming up as your orgasm rocked your entire being.

Hunter let out a satisfied groan, keeping you down tight against his face, letting you grind and ride your orgasm against him, not slowing his tongue and lips sucking at your clit. He didn’t want to miss a single drop.

You began to relax, your thighs now jelly, trying to get air back in your lungs. Hunter’s ministrations slowed, and you slid off of him, laying at his side.

“Mesh’la…” Hunter made no move to clean off his face, shining with your juices.

“I’ve been waiting all day for that. You taste incredible. As always.”

You were trying to come back down from the atmosphere, your mind spinning with the intensity of your orgasm, but still needing more.

“Now, how do you want me?”

Hunter asked, sultry as he licked some of your slick off his lips, savoring your taste.

“In your lap. I want to ride your cock.” You knew this was one of his favorite positions since he was able to feel all of you, and it made his heightened senses short-circuit every time.

Hunter didn’t need another second to comply, maneuvering himself to sit against the headboard. “Yes, ma’am.”

His eyes flashed as you sat up, lowering yourself in his lap. “Take my cock. I’m all yours.”

“Do you still want the dress on?” You asked sweetly, sliding your still sensitive pussy against his throbbing cock.

“Yes.” He rubbed his hands on your ass, feeling the soft fabric and your supple flesh underneath, the sensations driving him mad. “Kriff, yes.”

He pressed his face into your neck as you lowered yourself on top, taking in all of him. The stretch was wonderful, finally having him inside you, hearing the hitch in his breathing as he bottomed out.

Hunter grunted, feeling your tight muscle clench around him.

“You look ‘sgood in this dress…feel ‘so good…I love you…” He slurred as you bounced on him, all of the sensations you were giving him building almost too quickly.

You grasped at his shoulders for leverage, moving up and down, feeling every ridge and vein of his thick cock against your walls, your whines and mewls matching his deep groans as you increase your pace.

You knew he wouldn’t last long like this, and didn’t want him to hold back.

Hunter clutched your waist, thrusting up against you to match yours, driving deeper into you.

Your sounds, your smell, he could feel his end building fast.

“I’m not going to last…” He rasped, now licking at your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress, adding to your pleasure. His thrusts up into you became stronger, hitting that magical spot so deep inside you, your eyes rolled back into your head.

Hunter hastily slid the straps of your dress down your shoulders once again, tugging the front down to expose your breasts,needing to feel your pebbled nipples on his tongue.

All you could do was let out breathy gasps, another orgasm building to a breaking point with each snap of his hips and debauched slurp as he sloppily sucked your tits.

“Hunter…I love you…I love the way you make me feel…oh stars…keep going…” Your words faded into gibberish as his mouth teased and tantalized your breasts, his movements becoming erratic.

“Cum for me. I want to hear you, feel you…cum on my cock…please…” Hunter’s voice was guttural, desperate, murmuring between suckling and nipping at your tits with his teeth.

You were delirious at this point, your breasts being ravished by his mouth as he kneaded and groped your thighs and ass, his cock bringing you closer and closer to the glorious edge with every frantic movement of his hips.

“Hunter…you feel so good, make me feel so good…”

“That’s right…you take me so well, you’re beautiful like this…I can feel everything…”

Not only was he feeling his pleasure, he could feel yours too.

Hunter could hear every subtle change in pitch of your moans, feel every muscle twitch in your cunt as you milked him, smell the overpowering scent of your sweat and arousal…he was undone.

Hunter let out a muffled shout against your chest as he came hard, erupting inside you. Hunter wrapped his arms around your torso, tugging you flush against him as he rode out his pleasure.

His cock twitched and swelled inside you as he frantically bucked his hips, filling you to the brim, feeling the warmth spread in your cunt.

Only you were graced with the privilege to see your Sergeant fall apart like this. He was a mess, letting out low moans as his senses amplified every sensation.

Your orgasm followed right after, his cock rubbing your clit in just the right way, still sensitive from before. You cried his name like a prayer of devotion, holding him close as ecstasy blossomed throughout your body. “Hunter…oh Maker…Hunter…!”

Hunter kept his head huddled into your neck, his breath fanning across your chest as he listened to your heartbeat and felt your wet warmth flutter around his softening cock.

Your movements slowed, basking in one another, not quite ready for him to leave you or for you to leave him.

You couldn’t help but let out a tired chuckle as he looked up at you, a small smile on his lips, his face still glistening with your juices from before.

“Was that a nice enough break?” He whispered. You smiled back at him, kissing him softly.

“Yes.” Was all you could say, still trying to catch your breath. You moved off him, laying down on the bed, already missing how he felt buried inside you as you re-adjusted your dress.

Hunter hummed in contentment, rising off the bed and heading into the refresher. He walked back moments later with a damp towel, wiping the inside of your thighs and gently cleaning you up.

“You’re a mess.” He smirked. “You can’t go back to the festival looking like this.”

You sat up, playfully nudging his shoulder. “I have you to thank for that.”

Hunter kissed you, cupping your cheek and tracing his thumb over your flushed face. “I can’t help that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. With or without the dress.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, nuzzling your face.

“I’ll have to add it into my weekly rotation.” You teased. “I’d prefer daily.” Hunter smirked, kissing you sweetly again.

Hunter laid next to you, and you rested your head against his chest, tracing your fingertips over his tattoo that ran down his torso. “We should get back soon…” You muttered.

Hunter’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow. “Mmm…yeah…” was all he could muster.

“If I’m not there to stop Crosshair from winning every game, there won’t be prizes left for anyone.” Hunter laughed, cracking open his eyes. “We better get back then.” Neither of you moved, still relishing in one another.

You hummed, thinking. “Ten more minutes won’t hurt.”

Hunter smiled. “Fifteen?”

“Omega might come back with an army of stuffed tookas by then.”

Hunter playfully sighed. “Okay, ten minutes. But only if you promise to wear that dress the rest of the night.”

Hunter may not be a soldier any longer, but his reflexes and strength still remained.

He had you pinned underneath him in an instant, his lips centimeters from yours. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

Your breath hitched at his provocative promise for later, one that he fulfilled over and over again after the festival ended, even after your dress was long discarded.

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @littlemissmanga @secretthegriffin @secondaryrealm @sinfulsalutations @anxiouspineapple99 @idontgetanysleep @wanderer-six @blueink-bluesoul @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @dukeoftheblackstar @sleepingsun501 @pb-jellybeans

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#Hunter x reader #Hunter tbb x reader #Hunter x you #Hunter tbb x you #Hunter tbb #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch smut #the bad batch #Hunter smut #tbb #tbb Hunter #starrycatwrites #clone thirsting #x reader #reader insert #sergeant hunter #tbb fanfiction

623 notes · View notes

katelynnwrites · 1 month

Text

Wondering If I Dodged A Bullet (Or Just Lost The Love Of My Life) | Laura Freigang

warnings: angst and my round and round in circles writing

word count: 2897

summary: laura leaves penn state for frankfurt, another way to put it would be that you and your girlfriend break up because she leaves penn state for frankfurt

a/n: i struggled so hard to complete this and it ended up being far from my best work but it is what it is 🙃

You are eighteen years old when your world changes forever.

It happens in the form of a blonde striker named Laura.

Her eyes captivate you the second you meet them. They’re the same colour as the ocean on a stormy day and possess the same ever shifting qualities.

She’s all confidence on the pitch and yet oh so shy when off it.

When your college coach introduces you to her, you know it is inevitable that you fall for her.

You have all your lucky stars to thank that she falls for you too.

******

It is one month into your relationship with Laura that you learn she loves back scratches.

You discover it entirely by accident, having mindlessly run your fingers across her shirt covered back while she was studying.

The happy sigh she let out had been a soft one but you’d picked up on it immediately.

It’s still early in your relationship but Laura has always been open about her body to you so it’s only with mild hesitation that you tentatively slide your hand up under her shirt, to gently scratch your nails on her bare skin.

The German girl groans immediately. It’s a sound of contentment and you adore the way she melts onto your bed.

She’d come over to study and you suspect, to complain about her upcoming psychology test.

Your girlfriend is awfully smart, being more than capable of keeping up her grades while still being a regular starter for your football team

You suppose that attaining a sports scholarship to study in Penn State should have given you an idea of just how driven she can be.

Laura’s a year older and thus, a year ahead of you. She has way more course material than you and her compromise for making sure she is able to finish her work and still spend time with you, is doing her work in your room. Often with her head in your lap.

You giggle at her protests the moment you stop giving her back scratches.

‘Schatz please don’t stop.’ She begs.

Her ocean coloured eyes have this beseeching look in them, the one that you are never able to refuse.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ You laugh, resuming your previous actions, much to the blonde’s delight.

******

One hundred and twenty one days into dating Laura, you learn that there is nothing she wouldn’t do for you.

Your girlfriend is a big all or nothing individual, that particular characteristic drawing you to her in the first place.

The German forward gives everything she has on the pitch, absolutely one hundred percent of herself regardless of the minute or the opponent.

It just didn’t occur to you that she would bring that into your relationship.

From using the little stove in the dormitory kitchen to make your favourite breakfast on game days, to carrying your bag for you after trainings, Laura is simply committed to you.

You don’t know how else to put it.

She is just an anything for my person kind of girl.

You’re beyond grateful to be her person.

The striker is stepping up her game now, video calling you from her hotel room in Germany, just so she can wish you good morning.

There is a significant time difference between Pennsylvania and Frankfurt but your girlfriend makes it work.

The blonde sets an alarm to wake up in the middle of the night, just to call you for a few minutes right when she knows you will be getting up for your classes.

‘Good morning schatz.’ She whispers, taking in the early morning sun that is lighting up your room when you pick up her call.

‘I’d say good morning too but I think wishing you goodnight makes more sense.’ You tease.

Your girlfriend giggles, ‘I’ll take anything you want to wish me. I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice.’

You’re glad for the poor lighting because Laura’s words make your cheeks turn a bright red.

‘Lau? You did not have to wake up just to say good morning to me. Rest is important for you.’

‘I know. But I wanted to.’ She says softly, adoration filling her voice.

‘Lau?’ You ask again, staring hard at your phone screen to make her out in her hotel room.

It is dark but you manage to, the weak glow of her own phone screen helping you do so.

She is tucked into her sheets, messy blonde hair strewn all over her pillow as she giggles, ‘Yes schatz?’

‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’ She breathes, a small smile playing on her lips.

Every time Germany has a training camp for their youth teams, Laura flies back to her home country to participate.

Each time, you miss her more.

Her absence is sorely felt and you’ve taken to dropping her off and picking her up at the airport just so you don’t have to miss her any longer than you have to.

‘I’ll see you at the airport in two days?’

‘Count on it.’ You promise and you blow each other a kiss before hanging up.

******

Six months into your relationship with the German player is when you find out that she has a penchant for stealing your clothes.

You have been wondering where certain items of your clothing have disappeared to and unbeknown to you, Laura has been hiding them away in her room.

Hoarding might actually be a more accurate term.

Despite how clingy you can be to your girlfriend and she to you, you don’t spend every night together.

When you do, it’s nearly always in your room because your bed is slightly bigger than hers.

It is a sore point with the blonde and she often jokingly complains that it is unfair of Penn State to give their star forward such a small bed.

Today is one of the few times you are in her room and the first time you are alone in it.

Laura’s late in meeting you and you know your girlfriend well enough to be sure that it’s because she has got a bunch of questions for her lecturer.

So you had used the spare key she had given you when you were just friends, before you’d even started dating, to let yourself into her room because standing outside it alone had been too awkward. You know she won’t mind anyway.

Tired from the day’s early morning practice, you flop down on her bed and dump your bag down at the side of it.

You absentmindedly shift her pillow to get more comfortable, only to find something beside it.

As you stare at the piece of clothing, you realise that it’s one of your missing shirts.

Lying back down, you find another of your missing shirts tucked under the other side of her pillow.

You are very confused now, beginning to wonder if you have been forgetful enough to leave not just one but two of your shirts behind, the last time you stayed over in her dorm room.

But if you were, then why hasn’t the blonde returned the shirts to you? Or said anything?

Thankfully, you hear Laura’s key in the door so you don’t have to worry about it for long.

‘Hey schatz.’ She greets cheerfully, flinging her bag onto the floor carelessly and sprawling herself on top of you.

‘Lau!’ You exclaim and she laughs.

Her hands cup your face gently and she presses a brief kiss onto your lips.

‘Hi.’ You giggle, after readily reciprocating her affectionate gesture.

‘Hi.’ She breathes.

Your girlfriend buries her face into the side of your neck, leaving more intimate kisses there.

You groan at the touch of her lips on your skin. It gives you butterflies inside but you can’t let it distract you now.

‘Laura…Laura?’

She makes a questioning noise but doesn’t slow.

‘Why have you got my shirts in your bed? Did I leave them here?’

The German girl freezes.

‘Lau?’ You prompt, reaching out to hold her hand reassuringly.

Her cheeks are rapidly turning a bright pink and she stammers, ‘I-I didn’t mean for you to find out about that…you’re going to think I’m so silly.’

You plant a little kiss on her forehead and gently tease, ‘I already think you’re silly, in the best of ways.’

Laura smiles and then shyly admits, ‘You didn’t leave them here. I kinda stole them from you because I love sleeping with your familiar smell. You always smell so good and something about it just calms me down.’

You stare at her in stunned silence.

Long enough that Laura begins to look uncertain.

Then you blurt out, ‘I love you.’

Your girlfriend lets out a small gasp, her pretty eyes shining as she whispers, ‘I love you too.’

It’s the first ‘I love you’ for the both of you and you cannot put into words how much it means.

Laura seems to be thinking along the same lines because she traces your cheekbone lightly, the action filled with adoration.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ She murmurs, in between peppering your face with kisses.

‘Love you too Laura. So much, even if you do keep stealing my shirts.’

The blonde smiles and confesses, ‘Can’t help it. I bring a bunch with me to every national camp too.’

Before meeting the German girl, you didn’t know it was possible to feel this strongly for anyone.

But as it is with Laura, you discover so many firsts.

You hope that you discover many lasts too because you want what you have with her to be forever.

Fervently, you hope that Laura Freigang is the girl you have your last first kiss with.

******

Forty five weeks of dating Laura and you decide that she is the love of your life.

Maybe it’s the good morning and good night kisses, or the way she so obviously cherishes every moment she has with you. It could even be the way she smiles.

The corners of her lips tip upwards and her eyes light up each and every time she does so.

Your girlfriend’s brother says that Laura’s smile is different when it is directed at you. He claims that it is special and you are inclined to agree.

Laura herself is special to you. Boundlessly so.

She has a new found habit of sliding her hand up and under your shirt whenever you fall asleep together.

The blonde striker craves skin to skin contact with you, loves the peace it gives her.

After your girlfriend admits why she keeps your shirts beside her pillow, you offer her a better solution.

Instead of your shirts, she can have you.

Laura takes you up on that immediately and her assigned dorm room practically becomes a storage room for her belongings.

She is always in your room because she spends every night there now.

It’s one of her favourite things to curl up beside you and rhythmically match her breaths to yours.

You are warm and oh so real, unlike the often cold material of your shirts.

The German girl can be possessive and it shows in how she holds you close, even as she sleeps.

Laura presses you into her, her palm resting flat on your back and you love it.

It has you feeling safe and wanted, two things that your girlfriend has never failed to make you feel.

You know that you are right, she is the love of your life.

******

Three hundred and sixty five days of being Laura’s and Laura being yours is when she gives you a necklace for your anniversary.

It is a simple piece of jewellery, a small heart shaped locket hanging on a delicate silver chain.

‘Do you like it?’ She anxiously asks, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

Admiring the gift, you breathe, ‘I love it.’

Gently, you kiss her to convey just how grateful you are. The blonde smiles into the kiss, her hands cupping your face instinctively.

When you pull away, you softly speak, ‘Thank you schatz. Will you help me put it on please?’

The striker grins brightly, ‘Of course.’

She makes quick work of clasping it around your neck as you hold your hair up.

Glancing at the mirror, you play with the locket and Laura prompts, ‘Open it.’

You feel a tiny latch you hadn’t noticed earlier just as she says so.

The locket opens when you press down on it and you gasp as you see the photo of your girlfriend sharing a kiss with you in it.

You pull Laura into a different kiss, deepening it to show her just how much you love her present.

‘Love you. Love you. Love you.’ You murmur, in between the kisses you keep pressing onto her lips.

Laura lets out a pleased sigh, intertwining her fingers with yours and promising, ‘I love you too.’

You squeeze her hand in yours but can’t take your eyes off the locket.

‘Schatz, this is really beautiful.’

Your girlfriend cheekily but honestly admits, ‘Like you.’

Then she laughs at the blush that rapidly appears on your cheeks, affectionately brushing her lips across your forehead.

******

Laura’s locket never leaves its place, around your neck.

Not even when you are nineteen and the blonde, twenty, the two of you unsure where your relationship is going.

The striker has got an offer from 1. FFC Frankfurt and she knows that taking it will be the best move for her career. You know it too.

It is just your fear of what happens now that makes you anxious.

You love your girlfriend, adore her so. She’s only been yours for slightly more than a year but she is the love of your life. You don’t know what you would do without her.

Your day starts with Laura’s good morning kisses, you eat breakfast together, walk each other to classes when able to, study together, go for training sessions with one another and share goodnight kisses when it is time to sleep.

For a lack of a better way to put it, you do not remember how to live your life without her. You don’t you if you can and that may be codependent of you but it is the truth.

From the way the blonde is fidgeting with her rings, you know the feeling is mutual.

‘I-I don’t want to leave you.’ She quietly admits.

‘I know.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know. And I love you too but you have to do this schatz.’

Laura’s voice is pained when she echoes your earlier words, ‘I know.’

Touching your necklace carefully, you begin to unlatch it.

The German girl inhales sharply.

‘Don’t.’

Her ocean coloured eyes are welling with tears when she covers your hands with hers.

‘Keep it. I gave it to you. It’s yours. Please, it’s meant for you.’

‘But Lau-’

Her words are fierce as she insists, ‘No! We’re not over, you and I.’

Your smile is wistful and cautious when you look up at her.

‘Laura you don’t know that. You don’t know if any club will want to take me, let alone one in Germany. The chances of me ending up in Frankfurt with you are slim if at all possible.’

The forward’s frown intensifies, ‘Don’t say that. You don’t know that.’

As much as you want it not to be, your tone is one of resignation, ‘Schatz…’

Your dorm room feels stifling in a way it never has before and even though Laura is sitting right beside you, on your bed, she feels so far away that she might as well already be in Frankfurt.

The blonde is staring at you speechlessly and you take her hand in yours.

Holding her hand is familiar and an intimate gesture…one that you know you will not have for much longer.

‘I love you. No matter how much time passes, part of me is always going to love you. But you need to stop thinking about me. About us…and move on. You are going to do so good with Frankfurt. You are brilliant Lau, please show them exactly how talented you are.’

Your words are barely audible but you mean it. You have never meant anything more. It’s with your whole heart, your breaking heart, that you tell them to the German girl.

Laura’s tears are spilling down her cheeks and she is shaking slightly when you break your heart for good with the next two sentences out of your mouth.

‘I’m your biggest fan. That’s never going to change, it will just have to be from a distance now.’

******

Maybe it was stupid of you to let the love of your life go. But you needed to, needed to learn how to live on your own and let her be a star, halfway around the world.

In a way, you dodge a bullet too because as painful as it is, you learn. Without the striker leaving, you never would have learnt.

And for Laura who has been looking sad in all the nicest places and wanting to call your name until you come back home, it pays off.

Because some years later, as crazy as it is, you are in a German cab and telling the driver where the blonde’s place is.

You’re on your way back home to her, with her locket still around your neck.

German Translation:

schatz - sweetheart

#laura freigang #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #woso #dfb frauen #gerwnt #eintracht frankfurt frauen #katelynnwrites

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extrajigs · 1 year

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NEW WORLDBUILDING PROJECT BABYYY!!!

Concept: World covered entirely in microbial mat and whose macrofauna are pentapods. One of which is a sophont.

1. The world itself is a little smaller than Earth, but is also the third planet from it’s star and has two moons. It has a pretty even climate with no icecaps due to it’s very thick hothouse atmosphere, even despite it’s p crazy axial tilt. It’s atmosphere is similar to Earths but contains a lot more water vapor and methane and less nitrogen. The surface of the planet is covered almost entirely in microbial mat, to the point where actual ground is buried miles deep and the world would be entirely covered in ocean if not for the mats. The only ‘land’ comes from mounds of organic material built up from the sea floor that have grown large enough to finally breach the surface. Names Planet: Backera Bigger Moon: Milcer Smaller Moon: Daunverr Sun: Sentil

As for the macrobiology I’m still working it out but right now there are two basic groupings of terrestrial pentapods. Subject to very likely change.

First are the Eyebacks. Who are most known for uh, having eyes on their back. They also have their gills open on their neck and need to submerge time and again in water to breathe correctly.

2. That group includes this lil beastie, the Foxtrot, who lives up to their namesake being a crafty lil ankle biter. They are a fast lil critter who prowls the coast for small fast moving prey. They are also quite capable swimmers and swap between land and sea whenever they need to grab a snack or avoid becoming one.

3. Another Eyeback is the aquatic Mynar, who uses their big ass nose horn to scrape away at the mats and stir up fresh food. Generally they stay in water only a few feet deep, moving on to find the freshest growth. Their life style leaves them with a coating of their own though, stained by the food they stir up.

Second group are the now tripodial Elytra’s, who have badass lil beetle backs, and have lifted their front two limbs up to use for object manipulation. They are terrestrial but still rely on water for their tadpole larval stage.

4. This is called a Thwap, because they are very aggressive and use those first set of limbs for smacking anything that makes them even slightly uncomfortable. These are predators that focus on terrorizing smaller prey, loosely associating in groups of 3-10 individuals.

5. The SOPHONT!! I have no idea what to name these guys, so ideas are welcome! I just knew I wanted to give ‘em big ole eyes. They are a omnivorous people descended from hypercarnivorous ancestors. Their culture is centered around large families, usually a ‘wife’ and their many ‘husbands’, but the main thing to set them apart from the rest is the amount of care put into raising their offspring. They will have large pools dedicated to their lil babies until they’re ready to be walking around. Not super advanced technologically since y’know, iron and other metals is somewhat inaccessible. But maybe that’ll change, still thinking of how I want to set up the planet.

More to come, I want to develop the biology of the mats a lot more. I got hella good ideas for some biomes I want.

#new alien time #xenobiology #worldbuilding #speculative biology #spec bio #still working on mirum n the abbys but also wanted a truly alien setting to build #aliens #pentapods #art

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sena-shi · 1 year

Text

SAGAU but with Scheming Creator!Reader Impostor AU [PT. 4]

Note on this chapter: manipulative!reader!creator is downgrading themselves just for shit and giggles

The pursuit went on for such a long time that you could nearly make out the silhouette of the sun in the distance. As soon as those who were chasing you received notice directly from the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, they immediately gave up and stopped their search of you.

You do suppose that they are all present at the place where Zhongli is enjoying himself while slowly and sweetly tending to their beloved creator.

It wouldn't even be a surprise if they started chasing after you once more at this point. But not with the intent to destroy you; rather, to capture you and adore you.

You did notice that Zhongli caught the crystal tear that you let out when you were preparing to leave the place, so it wouldn't be hard for him to convince everyone that the creator who is enjoying their time in your own throne is a fake.

Zhongli may give off the impression that he is a nice and compassionate man; however, this outward demeanor belies a murderous nature that he possesses.

Even if he has the ability to disguise himself as a mortal, he will never be able to conceal the fact that he went on a murderous rampage during the archon war.

You can't help but be reminded of the way he looked at you that night, and it's probably only a matter of time until he makes another attempt to see you once more.

“Hah. What a possessive bunch,” You mumbled under your breath as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out a contented sigh as you take in the sound of the birds chirping and begin to hum a tune as the grass gently caresses your feet as you stroll.

The rush of adrenaline that you experienced while you were always on the verge of dying away has not yet completely left your system.

The landscape in and around Liyue is breathtaking. In point of fact, it is the excellent nation in which to frolic about under the bright stars while being hunted like a rabbit.

Hours passed and the sun is almost blinding as you stood once again on top of the Guyun Stone Forest.

You are quite a distance away from the Crux Fleet, which is in the middle of the ocean; even so, this is precisely where you need to be.

Even if you have the ability to immediately teleport to Inazuma, you are not so ungenerous as to deny them the opportunity of offering you a very friendly greeting.

Exciting, isn't it? Once you arrive, will you be greeted with warm pleasantries, or will the sharp and icy blades stab you in the chest first?

From your vantage point on the stone, you surveyed the area below in the ship and noticed that they were making preparations to depart.

You are aware that Beidou is a rather laid-back individual, but there is no doubt that the other people who are boarding the ship are already aware of an imposter who is traveling across the nation of Liyue.

Thus, you used some of your spare time to search for materials that could be used to fashion something that could conceal your upper body while also not drawing too much attention to itself.

Although you prefer to be undisguised just for the sake of taunting everyone, you still need to reach Inazuma.

You can’t have them throwing you off the ship now, can you? Or maybe you do? There are countless possibilities, and all of them are very exciting to experience.

Simply taking in the sight of their enchantingly furious faces is enough to satiate your insatiable need for amusement.

You let out a bored sigh as you tugged the veil down slightly, just enough to cover your chin. At that moment, you caught a glimpse of Kazuha sitting by the edge, his stature facing you, his head slightly tilted upwards, and his eyes closed as if trying to enjoy the breeze coming to him before it disappeared.

He exudes an air of tranquility, much like Venti did in Windrise.

Your lips begin to twitch into a smile as an idea race through your head.

In an instant, you found yourself high above the clouds and falling directly towards the ship. Since you are aware that someone will catch you, you aren't really experiencing any fear at this point.

And someone really did.

The boy who had been sitting there quietly all of a sudden rose up and leaped up, giving the impression that he was actually aware of it and was very much ready to catch you.

The veil fluttered wildly, paired with the boy’s clothes dancing in the air because of the strong wind.

You could feel the anemo vision trembling and a wind coming from the boy swirling and grasping you.

All visions in the area resonated with your aura and blazed brilliantly, as if they were aware you were in danger.

You felt warm hands held your body, and the creaking sound of the wood reminded you that you had already landed.

There were a number of gasps that could be heard, and shortly after that, the sound of individuals speaking in low whispers started to permeate the surroundings. However, what attracted your attention was Beidou staring at the vision on her hips in a manner that indicated she was surprised to witness her vision reacting in such a way for the first time.

‘It appears that even the visions are strongly reacting to my presence,’ You thought to yourself, giving a sly grin behind your veil.

After what seemed like an eternity, all of the crew members of the crux were suddenly jolted out of their stupor and realized that someone had just literally dropped down into their ship from the sky.

They were about to approach you in hopes of interrogating you when Beidou lifted her hand to halt their movement and prevent them from questioning you.

Perhaps she too, is also curious of you.

Maybe if her vision hadn't been constrained by her clothing, it would have made its way over to you by now.

“I haven’t seen the captain’s friend smile like that— I mean, he does smile, but his eyes are literally about to form into a heart shape!”

“Captain even forbids us to get close to the mysterious woman. Must be a big shot, huh?”

“Or maybe it’s someone close to the captain. Well, whatever, just don’t disturb the lady. Get back to work!”

Kazuha gave you a warm smile, who was pressed up against his chest. His hands are firmly gripping you, not the least bit considering releasing their hold on you.

He felt the dull vision stored deep within his pockets burned for a moment as if trying to get out before the feeling went away once he finally caught you. This does nothing but strengthen his belief that you are the person he has been searching for all along.

"The winds have changed," he whispered tenderly as he started to move carefully to the back of the ship where there are fewer people, the genuine smile on his face not wavering even the tiniest bit.

You let out a quiet laugh, and the sound was almost like wind chimes as it reached his ears.

You gave a very tiny cocking of your head to the side, and Kazuha could almost picture your face painted with a kind smile as it always was.

Even though your face is hidden by the veil, he cannot help but feel a fluttering in his chest whenever he considers the possibility that your eyes, which he imagines to be breathtakingly lovely, are fixated on him.

“How so?”

After placing you on the ship's wooden rail, he took your hand in his and planted a passionate kiss on the back of your hand.

What a bold kid.

“Because you’re now home, my creator.”

You gave him a sideways glance while giggling quietly at his antics before responding, "I shall remember this first welcome I have received." Kazuha blinked, appearing to be puzzled. “May I ask why?”

"You were the very first person to greet me when I arrived in this world," You spoke in a quiet voice, and he could detect a trace of melancholy and yearning in your voice.

And finally, you can see that the smile that was plastered on Kazuha's face from the very beginning has begun to waver, almost as if he has come to some kind of understanding.

That’s right, no one would welcome you, not if you were being accused of being an imposter.

You kept a close eye on him, noticing how his hands clenched into a fist as he observes your tired expression. Even so, he did not display any signs of anger and instead move his gaze at your hands, which appeared to be shaking slightly.

He stood there watching you sigh, without moving as your hands moved to clasp his and slowly uncurled his fist.

"It's not good to harbor hatred in one's heart," You opened his hand and made small circles on his palm, as if attempting to calm him down. "You know that better than I do, Kazuha."

"You are too good for this world, my divine creator," he mumbled, concentrating on the sensation in his palm.

You laughed as you realized Beidou was listening in on your talk from behind a pillar.

You let out a snort. Does she think you can't spot her?

"Teyvat was simply one of the countless stars I have created; it is far from flawless, but it will always be my home."

Kazuha's attention was captured by you as he waited eagerly to hear your tale.

You turned your head to gaze at him from below as you brought your hands to rest on his head and lovingly patted the soft locks.

"Just as I desired to feel a sense of belonging in this world, I also hoped that my creations would feel the same way and make this world their home—" Kazuha misunderstood your heavy sigh as a sign of melancholy. But you were only trying to remember the garbage nonsense that the Akademiya scholars had written about you.

You are just that bored and feel like sharing that crap with one of your precious characters.

You spent your nights reading a lot of books about yourself in this world, and every single one of those books is full of meaningless rubbish. Nevertheless, you will settle for whatever you can get your hands on.

If you include a touch of angst and tragedy in your tale, you can instantly raise it to the level of art that it truly deserves to be.

However, for Kazuha and Beidou, who are currently listening in on the story, this is more than a passing feeling of sadness. They have already started to feel depressed in your place.

"When I first created Teyvat, I always made certain that the living beings in the place I created were always happy. They desired something to help them protect themselves while I am not present, so I provided them a vision with a portion of my power."

The Akademiya scholars really are imaginative.

You came to a stop for a moment when you noticed Beidou not far away, caressing the vision on her hip as if it were the finest gift she had ever received.

"I granted and they received; as long as their faces light up with a smile, then I am pleased."

"It's just— I wish I had the strength to go on. I can still do it, but I'll be too weak to even make an appearance. As a result, I vanished from the world to continue meeting their demands,"

Beidou's expression hardened as she came to the realization that while their real creator is experiencing the drawbacks of granting them the power to defend themselves, the fake creator who descended a long time ago is enjoying the benefits that are not supposed to be theirs.

You carried on despite the fact that neither of the other two responded to what you said. "I returned to this world not too long ago," You said as you appeared to be reminiscing about something as you gazed up at the sky.

“It seems like it’s time for me to take a step back and rest,” You laughed to lighten the mood, but the two people who were listening to your story did not experience any sense of relief as a result of your humor. After listening to your story, their hearts felt even heavier, to the point where it was practically difficult for them to breathe normally.

You— take a step back and rest? Does this mean that they will never be able to see you again once you have made the decision to eventually depart from the world that you have created?

Beidou was unable to stand it any longer and eventually emerged from her hiding position. As she approached you, she peered at you closely with her brows furrowed and took several significant strides forward.

“If they ever apologize to you, will you forgive them?”

You withdrew your hand and placed it on your lap, "Why would I forgive them?"

Beidou and Kazuha blinked at the same time.

"I will never be able to blame them. It is because I was lacking in some way and did not meet their expectations that they even chose to replace me with someone else," As you spoke, you let out a sigh and tugged off the veil that was concealing your upper body. At last, they were able to see the gentle smile of their actual creator, which was directed at them.

How really unfortunate. But they have no right to feel sad, not when you are the one bearing all the suffering of this world, but your people never acknowledged it and instead continued to worship someone who doesn't even do batshit.

Their divine creator is just far too merciful and forgiving of their wrong doings. They are simply far too wonderful to remain in this world, and they do not deserve the favors and blessings you are bestowing upon them.

"Perhaps, I am not a good creator. The people that live in this world deserve the best, and if they can find what they're seeking in the creator that they've been protecting, then I can't help but just be glad for them.”

If self-downgrading is an achievement, then you probably would’ve receive a customized name card for yourself by now.

Kazuha struggled to find his voice before eventually expressing himself. "That is not true; we are the ones who do not deserve you, my divine creator."

"They may have turned their backs on you, but I will stick by your side till the very end of time."

"Kazuha, you are destined for something much more meaningful. If you continue to follow me, you will only harm yourself." You made a motion with your head to indicate that you did not agree, and the youngster quickly kneeled down in front of you.

You heaved a sigh and patted his head. What a well-behaved youngster.

He is someone who obeys his creator solely for the purpose of protecting them, and not like the archons, for the purpose of having the creator all to themselves.

You gave Beidou just a fleeting look, almost as if you were about to ask for her help, and she almost laughed at how adorable you are. It would seem that their creator is even capable of experiencing discomfort when confronted with an act of genuine kindness.

Or, it's possible that you've become so used to being attacked that you've forgotten what it's like to be loved.

The moment Kazuha glanced up at you with his begging eyes, you instinctively covered them with your palm.

“The sun is bright; you might hurt your eyes.”

“I think it is lovely,” Kazuha said with a smile while looking at you even more intently with a thoughtful gaze.

In response, you let out a chuckle as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. Clearly comfortable, Kazuha let out a contented sigh as he slowly dozed off with his head resting on your lap.

You started mentally counting down from ten while humming a melody to yourself and playing with the lone wandering samurai’s hair in the meantime.

It's only a matter of time before the people who have been hunting you catch up with you in the end.

Teyvat was whispering, you sense the ground to be rumbling.

It seems as though an angry archon is getting closer and closer, and while this won't have any negative effects on you, it will most certainly have consequences for the individuals he rules.

‘You really did not disappoint me, Morax.’

To think that he would breach the contract he had with the Tsaritsa only for you, and that he would personally obtain his gnosis back just so that he could see you once more is far more amazing.

Amber eyes that shone brightly and were filled with fixation peered directly at you from a great distance away. The Geo Archon is willing to go to war with another nation simply to be able to have you in his arms.

It's likely that you went too far with your performance, and as a result, you may have caused the Geo Archon to lose their final shred of sanity. But that would just make things even more interesting, right?

You turned your head to stare at the sky, giving him your disapproving glance in response to his obsession on you.

Morax became more cautious with his grip on his weapon as soon as he noticed you looking at him in a manner that conveyed such dissatisfaction.

Simply for your own sake, he has taken this extreme measure. The nation of the Electro Archon is a considerably more hostile one, and although he acknowledges that he also failed his duty to defend you against his people, this does not mean that he will not seize the opportunity to amend his wrongdoings once given the opportunity.

The ground began to violently shake, and even the water in the ocean started to get restless. The area was quickly filled with the sound of a crowd that had gathered along the shoreline.

He is so desperate to get his hands on you that he has even sought the assistance of his adepti.

“Shit— prepare to set sail!” Beidou exclaimed.

You caught his glance, and although if on the surface you appear to be dissatisfied, on the inside you can't help but chuckle at the sight of his face.

"My divine creator…" Because of the look you were giving him, his heart aches, and in an effort to soothe himself, he absentmindedly touched the weapon that you had given him.

You don't have any resentment towards him, do you? As long as you are still alive, he has a chance to make amends and win your forgiveness.

He is eager to do whatever it takes to keep you entertained only so that you will look at him once more.

Morax fixed his hard gaze firmly on you while murmuring something to himself in a dark voice, "...allow me to be selfish."

TAGLIST: @ichiraku-verse @iruiji @ineedsleepbutirefuse @valeriele3 @i-have-a-lot-of-ocs @sleepyboi-01 @jennyzyn @existoypunto @ilysia @foggyzinemuffinhands @byakuren100 @jaxielous @enargeia-is-a-fangirl @thehoneymushroomhealer @yunareinhart @fuckingfaraway

ASK OR REPLY TO BE INCLUDED OR REMOVED FROM THE TAGLIST

(fuk i can't remember my taglist nor I remember I have a fanfic to finish)

very busy with making mommy ei come home again

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #yandere sagau #sagau #imposter sagau #sagau impostor au #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #self aware genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #creator!reader #impostor!reader #scheming!reader #grab the lore and put it on a cheese grater

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