#and I have no idea what kinda lots I wanna build yet

[mocuna-sims]

So... I wanted to start the new year by playing a Legacy Challenge (surprise!). And for that, I decided to make a custom hood, so I've been filling this lovely terrain with deco and some maxis houses.

Got a suburbs and an urban area separated by the river, there's also a rural part off-screen.

Next step is building up community lots.

[itwasmagic]

does anyone recommend any games on steam for a beginner? i dont know what i like so im open to any genre of suggestions

[lazyjellyfish300]

Gentleman part 3 🌼💌

Geneticist CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Intern College Student!Reader

Synopsis: your relationship with your new sugar daddy progresses, but meanwhile your jealous sorority members plot against you. Word count 5.5k

A/N: so I know at first the idea was to make this a situationship to lovers but I actually completely forgot about that lol so I'm just rolling with whatever this is that this has turned into. 🫶🏽🖤 This art by blahhberry on insta is Dr. O'Hara's face claim if you wanna see. ;)

TW: MINORS DNI, SUGGESTIVE, MASTURBATION ALLUDED TO BUT NO EXPLICIT SMUT YET (NEXT CHAPTER HEHE), SOME ANGST, LONELINESS, BULLYING, SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND ASSAULT (A GUY NEARLY GROPES YOU AND YOU GET PEER PRESSURED), BAD DRUNKEN BEHAVIOR, YOUR ROOMMATES SHOW THE WORST SIDES OF THEMSELVES, IT MIGHT BE KINDA TOUGH TO READ, TAKE CARE WITH THIS ONE IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE❤️ SUGAR DADDY RELATIONSHIP, (BOSS/EMPLOYEE) don't condone this IRL, maybe OOC Miguel, age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-27, Miguel is mid-late 30s), mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

-------

Once you got back to your dorm, you ran upstairs to your room, kicking off your shoes. You fixed your hair and held your bouquet, angling your phone for the best lighting and took a selfie, sending it to Miguel along with a quick text: 

You: Thanks for the flowers. ❤️💐 You made my whole day! 

A couple minutes later: 

M❤️: You're very welcome. You look so beautiful. I hope you had a good day. 

You: Thank you❤️❤️I did, a lot better thanks to you. 🥰

M❤️: I'm so glad. 

You sat there, trying to think of what to say next. 

You: So, when can I see you again? :)

M❤️: Well, my flight gets in Friday afternoon, however I will most likely spend the rest of the day with my daughter and my mother. Would Saturday work for you? 

You smiled and texted back: 

You: Saturday works perfectly! What did you have in mind? 

Miguel smiled from his high up hotel room in Chicago, looking out the window and thinking for a moment, then typing back. 

M❤️: How does going to the Hamptons sound? There's a waterfront restaurant that serves some of the best food on the East coast, and the views are lovely this time of year. 

You smiled widely at this, appreciating that he came up with an actual date idea that sounded incredible and not just defaulting to whatever you wanted. 

You: That sounds incredible! I'd love that. ☺️ Thank you so much. ❤️❤️

M❤️: You're welcome. Have you ever been to the Hamptons before? 

You: I haven't, no. 

M❤️: I will have Noir take you shopping this week. 

A ding went off on your phone, and your mouth fell open. $500 was just sent to one of your money apps from Miguel. 

M❤️: Use that wisely to pick out an outfit, or a few.  You'll want to dress semi-warm, as it can get a little chilly in the evenings. But we'll only go for the day. I'll have you home at a reasonable hour so you can rest. 

You just had to shake your head and bite your lip. This truly was the best thing ever. 

You: You are seriously so sweet...thank you. ❤️Really, you didn't have to do that. 

Miguel smiles, laying back on his hotel bed with a hand behind his head as he texts you back. You're so humble, it's adorable. 

M❤️: You're very welcome. But, I insist. You deserve it for all your hard work and for what you've had to deal with lately. I hope it gives you a little something to look forward to this week. ❤️ 

You can't help but kick your feet at his message. 

You: I sure do, I'll be counting down the days. ❤️ 

Miguel stood up, a little smirk playing on his lips. Man, it felt good to have a special lady in his life again. But, he had more business to get to first. And he knew he couldn't rush this. He did have hopes that this would become something more serious than just a sugar relationship. 

Still, he had to ride that fine line between building something longer lasting, without creating friction between you both at his hang-up when it came to the institution of marriage. That almost always ended up being the reliable nail in the coffin for his previous flames. But that was a future problem to worry about. 

M❤️: What are your plans this evening? 

You sat up, chewing your lip at the sight of your backpack, knowing you should probably get a head start on the ample workload you were issued by your microbiology and health science professors. 

You: Just homework for the most part. 😮‍💨 I have soo much this week. 

M❤️: I'm sorry to hear that, cariño. The sooner you get to it, the sooner you can rest. ❤️

Your heart fluttered a little. 

You: Miguel, what does cariño mean? 

M❤️: It's a term of endearment, such as sweetheart or dear. Is it alright if I call you that? 

You bite your lip and feel a heat in your cheeks coming on. 

You: Absolutely, I love it when you do. It makes me feel special.❤️ 

M❤️: You should feel special, cariño. Because you are, very special to me... ❤️ Did you eat dinner? 

A grumble in your stomach answered his question for you. 

You: No, haha... Not yet. 

Miguel pauses, dialing Noir while he stands up, crossing the room, trying to secure a pair of cufflinks onto his dress shirt as he reaches for his suit coat that's hanging from the coat rack by a large TV. 

After he hangs up, he texts you again while checking his reflection before he leaves. 

M❤️: Noir is bringing you dinner. Please text him and let him know what you'd like as soon as you can, okay? I will also have him grab groceries for you tomorrow. Be sure to also send him a list of things you need when you get the chance. 

Your heart swells with gratitude and your mouth waters as you envision your favorite pizza from your favorite local joint which sounds perfect right about now. This might have been the most you ate in weeks, as a matter of fact, all thanks to this angel of a man. 

You: Thank you sooo sooo much Miguel 😭❤️

M❤️: You're very welcome, cariño, just want to make sure my girl doesn't go hungry. ❤️ I have to go to a business dinner right now, so I won't be able to answer any texts until later. When you're done with your studies, give me a call? 

You: Okay, I will. ❤️ 

M❤️: Good. ❤️ Talk to you soon.  

----- 

Noir was on your doorstep a short time later with your pipping hot, favorite pizza, a side order of some gooey, cheesy garlic breadsticks, a side salad, a huge bottled water to keep you hydrated, a brand new luxurious fluffy blanket in your favorite color, matching fuzzy socks with your initials, a pumpkin vanilla scented candle, and fancy moisturizer that wouldn't irritate your skin. 

"Here you are, madam. The doctor wanted to throw these in as well, since it gets drafty up here in the dorms, and since you deserved a little something to pamper yourself." 

"Oh my God, thank you sooo much, Noir!!" you gushed. 

Noir noticed the snide looks coming from your bitter roommates as he handed you your food and presents, but he decided not to say anything about it right now. "Can I get you anything else tonight?" 

"Oh, no, no, that's okay Noir...thank you, you're the best." 

"Course, it's my absolute pleasure to serve you ma'am. The doctor has totally changed my life and given me everything I could ask for, so working for him and making sure his woman is taken care of is the least I can do to pay him back." Noir says with a bow. He tips the brim of his black fedora.

"Enjoy, madam. I'll be here for you at 7:30 am tomorrow morning, be sure to write up your grocery list, too, you hear?" 

You nod and smile and thank him enthusiastically again, walking quickly back upstairs to your room, trying to ignore the hateful stares of your bitter roommates. 

------

Heather shakes her head as she waits for her lean cuisine to finish heating in the microwave. "Y'all, I do not fucking get it. At all." 

"Me neither," Vivian scoffs, taking a bite of her salad at the table next to Isla. 

"I give it a month, tops." Heather replies, opening the microwave. 

Isla is staring off when an idea comes to her. "Why wait a month?" 

"Huh?" The other two look at her with curious stares. 

"Seriously, do we really wanna let this get worse than it already has?" Isla asks. 

The other two shake their heads, remembering all the extra labs they had to do that Dr. O'Hara issued them, no doubt as punishment for messing with his woman. 

"She's gotta go." Vivian agrees. 

"But how?" Heather asks. "She's literally fucking the boss. He's not gonna break up with her so easily..." 

Isla smirks. "But the university might if she makes a fool of herself at the football game." 

----

As you worked on your homework, you looked at your closed door at the sound of your roommates laughing hysterically behind it, half slightly peeved by the loud noises while you were trying to work, half feeling that nagging loneliness you felt in your heart. 

The truth was, even though the trio drove you nuts and could be quite mean, you don't know why, but you still cared about their approval. All you wanted was peace between you four while you shared the space. Deep down, you felt left out and sad at their exclusion of you. You knew you could be quiet and awkward, at times, but you missed having girlfriends.

Getting ready to go out on Friday nights, doing your makeup while crowded around a smudged mirror in your jammies while one of the girls played music on their phones, talking excitedly about the night ahead and complaining about the boys you were talking to. Sharing clothes, studying together, slumber parties, talking about things that would be considered TMI with anyone else. Girlhood. 

You just wanted to belong. Just wanted someone to talk to and have your back. Sure, you had Miguel now, but you needed space for friends too. You were starting to get worried at how much you craved the sound of his voice and his company. How much you started to rely on him mentally and emotionally. You knew he was a busy man and he could only be there for you so much. 

Suddenly you're a little girl again on the playground during recess, wondering why nobody wanted to be your friend. Wondering why you weren't interesting enough or why you were so weird that you couldn't make people stay. 

You felt a lump build up in your throat as you tried to work in the darkness of your room while they laughed together outside, holding back tears. 

---

A quiet knock comes at your door and you clear your throat, trying to dry your eyes. "C-come in!" 

The trio enters your room. Isla's eyes land momentarily on the new bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk but move quickly back to you. "Hey girl." 

The other two sit on your bed. 

"Are you crying?" Heather asks in a concerned tone. 

"N-No..." You sniffle. 

"Aw, girl..." Vivian pouts, putting a soft hand on your shoulder. 

Your lip trembles as you try to fight off your tears unsuccessfully. 

"Hey, we were hard on you, and we wanna apologize." Isla says, plopping down on your bed, the others hum in agreement. 

"Come to the football game with us tomorrow night!" Vivian says, piping up. "It'll be fun." 

"Yeah we can start over, have some girl time. A couple of our guy friends are coming too! It'll be chill. And we're getting milkshakes afterwards at  Caddy's diner like we always do."  Heather says with a smile. 

"Please?" Isla asks, giving you a grin. "Whaddya say?" 

"O-o-okay..." You manage a weak smile. "Thank you guys...I, I don't want us to fight either, *sniff* and I'm so sorry if rubbed any of you the wrong way about anything or offended you." 

"Of course not!" Isla says with a wave of her hand. "Seriously, I mean, look, if you're dating Dr. O'Hara, good for you. Get that bag girl." She utters the last sentence with some difficulty, but her tone remains light and friendly, you don't notice. She flashes her lovely smile at you. "We'll get ready in Vivian's room around 4, then we gotta be ready to leave by 6." 

"I have a really really cute shirt you can wear!" Heather offers. 

"Um, who's all coming?" You ask, sitting up. 

"It's us, you, then Heather's boyfriend Chase, and Chase's friends: Jaden, Alex, and I think his name is Will? Yeah, Will." Vivian says with a smirk.

"He's so hot..." Isla says biting her lip. 

"Girl, he is your ex's cousin, sit down!" Heather throws a pillow at Isla. 

"Oh my goddd let me liveee, dammit!" Isla giggles throwing it back, the pillow hitting you in the face on accident. "Oops! My bad girl I'm so sorry!" Isla pulls you into a hug, catching you off guard as Sexy Angel perfume from Victoria's Secret assaults your nostrils as she hugs you. 

"Okay, anyway, see you tomorrow girl. Remember, 4pm, my room!" Vivian points at you as she follows Heather and Isla out, shutting the door behind her. 

You feel a little uneasy but you feel the most hope you've felt in weeks after all the tension. Finally, maybe you could be chill with your roommates, and even make some new friends. 

------

Miguel waves his room key in front of his lavish hotel room door, entering it with a sigh as he loosens his tie. He smiles widely at the incoming call from you on his phone. 

"Hey," he says with a smile. You can hear the warmness in his voice from over the phone, the sound alone causing you to feel tingles all throughout your body. 

"Hi, Miguel." You say with a smile, laying back on your pillow. 

"How was your day, did you get all your work done?" 

"Yee-up." You say, popping the "p" at the end of your sentence. 

"Good girl." 

Oh God, that was hot. 

"How was your day, Miguel?" You ask him, trying to keep the conversation flowing and give you something to focus on other than his tantalizing voice. 

"My day wasn't bad." He admits. He starts to unbutton his shirt, putting the phone on speaker.

"Just had a productive chat with a few stakeholders about some investments. I admit, I'm not one for social events." He chuckles. 

The corner of your mouth twitches. "Haha, me neither. Guess we have that in common." 

"Guess we do." Miguel agrees with a hum. 

You smile, fiddling with one of your hoodie strings as you continue to talk to him, "Well, the trio invited me to a football game tomorrow night." 

"Oh?" Miguel slips out of his pants and lies down in bed with a small grunt of relief. "I thought you four didn't get along?" 

"I thought we didn't either." You admit. "But they apologized and invited me. They admitted they don't mind my relationship with you and wanted to start over fresh." 

Miguel nods slowly, feeling a little suspicious about this. He's seen how ugly people can be to one another, particularly if the nasty feeling of jealousy is involved, taking nothing off the table of the lengths someone would go to get what they wanted. 

"Just, be careful, cariño. I don't want to see you hurt. If they treat you poorly again, you're to tell me immediately, understood?" 

"I'll be okay, promise." You try and reassure him, but Miguel doesn't feel too convinced.  

"I trust you. I'm just not sure I trust them." He tells you gently. "You deserve good friends who are supportive and lift you up, not tear you down." His eyes fill with compassion as he speaks to you on the phone, a little astounded at how you manage to tug at his heart strings even hundreds of miles away, a feeling of needing to protect you and make sure you were safe, even if he couldn't physically be there. 

"Would you let me have Noir drive you? You're welcome to invite your friends to ride with. I'll just feel much better about it if he's there to keep an eye on things." 

You hesitate, but think about it. This might be a good way to get on the trio's good side, if you can let them into your new world of luxury a little bit. It kind of felt wrong to use Dr. O'Hara's wealth to win the favor of your roommates. But he was offering, and you'd do anything to improve your living situation at this point. 

"Okay...yeah, that works." You answer. "I'll tell them he can drop us off and pick us up. Thank you, Miguel." 

"You're welcome," Miguel says quietly with a smile. "Have fun tomorrow, and be safe okay? Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself." 

"I will, I will." You say with a smile, brushing him off. 

There's silence on the other line for some time before Miguel speaks again. 

"Well, I wanted to talk some more tonight, because there's still a lot that I don't know about you yet." 

You sit up a little in bed, "Y-yeah, of course...ask away." 

He asks a few questions about your family and your childhood and you answer them honestly, finding yourself turning into an open book as you give him your life story, telling him all about your parents and siblings, your theories about why your upbringing may have effected your personality and so on. 

And he listens quietly and intently, all of his attention undivided and owned by you completely in this moment. A small feeling endears himself closer and closer to you with every word you speak. You're so enriched with everything you have to say. You're insightful and intelligent and interesting. You doubt yourself. You're a pure soul who seems to feel lonely sometimes like he does, empathizing for how difficult it can be to relate to others and how the weight of becoming an adult and trying to support yourself through school was much more staggering than you expected. 

You're a selfless, kind woman who would even give away the last of what she had to a man like him who had the world at his disposal, reaffirming that his choice to make you his was a resoundingly wise one. 

A match between you two that was even more well suited for one another than he anticipated. Nevermind the difference in your ages, nevermind that you were originally an employee. There's something special here that he underestimated. It's jarring and it's refreshing. 

It's eerily perfect, even causing himself to re-evaluate his wishes from the beginning to not even think about brushing shoulders with the question of matrimony. He's dizzy with all of these sudden epiphanies he's experiencing within just a hour or two of talking to you on the phone. Then, you say something that causes you to laugh loudly. 

Miguel feels a warm feeling in his body at the sound of your laugh. It's infectious and hearty. And he'd be lying if he said the dimming lights of the city outside his hotel room and the sound of your voice weren't making him feel...a little needy by this point. 

What, with how physically attracted he already found himself to you in the beginning, now you've revealed the contents of your soul to him and in turn demonstrated you're nothing like anyone else he's been involved with in the past. It was too easy not to find himself agonizingly tempted by simple desires. He's only a man. 

"What are you up to this evening, my dear?" He asks in that rich voice of his. 

"Just laying in bed..." You say, stifling a yawn. 

Miguel hums. You bite your lip. Something about his voice had you missing him. You just poured out your heart to him, pulling yourself closer and closer to him with every layer of yourself that you stripped away and revealed to him. You find yourself comfortable with him, desiring him more than you already had, maybe even letting you toy with the idea of putting a more intimate physical relationship back on the table, knowing that Dr. O'Hara was the kind of honorable man he was. You'd love to give yourself to someone like him. 

The sun was well below the horizon at this point, the darkness going straight to your head and traveling in a more sensual, suggestive direction. 

"...and missing you..." You add with a little smirk. 

"Mmm..." Miguel sighs. 

Oh boy.

"Yo tambien te extraño..." (I missed you too) His voice is dripping with something suggestive, almost sly. 

"What does that mean?" You ask breathlessly, playing with your necklace pendant. 

Miguel smiles. "Means I've missed you too..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mhmm...." 

"Mmm..." 

"You teasing me, cariño?" 

"Teasing you?" You bite your lip. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Careful..." 

"What?" 

"Heh...well..." Miguel looks around, despite being the only soul in his hotel room. "You're making me feel a certain way." 

"Like what?" You bat your eyes innocently. 

"Don't play coy." Miguel says firmly. "Like..." he sighs. "You're making me feel like I want to break those damn rules in the contract." 

You relax your shoulders and exhale deeply out, the ache between your legs only growing more and more demanding. You really wanted it to continue, "I don't mind..." 

"I'm serious, cariño." Miguel warns. "I'm not going against any boundaries we set together. Not unless you're completely sure..." 

"I'm sure..." You whisper quietly to him, a faint groan rolling off your tongue as you draw out the last syllable. 

"Ay por Dios..." (Oh my God) Miguel chuckles, turning red and biting his lip, hundreds of miles away. "Are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?" 

"Maybe..." You tease, enjoying this effect you're having on him. 

"Not tonight, baby..." Miguel says gently. "Not tonight..." 

"Miguel..." You whine, your body still hungry, begging for some form of release, your desire hanging untapped, parched for his loving attention, the low timbre of his voice driving you mad. 

"I wish you were here with me..." 

"Oh cariño..." he groans, unable to disguise his mutual craving. "I wanna be there too..." He slowly licks his full lips. "I'll make it up to you, baby."

"Yeah?" You whisper. 

"I swear." He promises you. "It needs to be special and perfect the next time we're together. We'll take our time but I won't hold back as long as you're completely comfortable and okay with it." 

You giggle, biting your cheek and clenching at the thought. "I definitely am..."

 

"Beautiful..." He murmurs. "You've given me something else to look forward to all week." 

"I don't think I can wait that long..." You say breathlessly. 

"I don't think I can either." Miguel admits, letting out a chuckle of his own. "Oh....the things you do to me. You've no idea... Get some sleep now, yeah?" 

As soon as you hung up you both fucked yourselves to oblivion in your separate beds, minds completely drunk with only thoughts of the other hundreds of miles away. 

-----

You're all smiles as Noir picks you up the next day, barely able to function during work, only thinking about Miguel and the fun night you have planned with your girlfriends at the college football game as you sip your large iced coffee and munch on your heated pastry Noir bought you that morning, courtesy of Miguel's Platinum American Express. 

Your heart does flip flops when you find your newest surprise from him in the backseat of the car after work: a Pandora bag with shimmery tissue paper and a lavender bow, eyes widening when you pull out a gorgeous white gold charm bracelet, complete with a crystal heart dangling from it with a note from Miguel. 

 

Can't let those boys at the football game think that you're not taken. ❤️ Be safe tonight, and I'll see you very soon. Thank you for being so open with me last night. I love where this is going. Call me later. 

You haven't left my mind once since the day I met you. 

Love, Miguel

------

"Nuh uh!!! No freaking way!!" Heather, Vivian, and Isla squeal as they run towards the Mercedes, hand in hand while Noir held the door open for them with a humble smile. 

"I always wanted to ride in a G wagon..." Heather's eyes dart around the interior, feeling the leather seats as though she needed to physically touch them to believe they were real. 

"Ladies." Noir says as he comes to the door, holding a box of large, gourmet cookies nearly as big as your hand with frosting that matched your college's spirit colors, along with elegant glass bottles of sparkling lemonade. "A little game day treat for you from the doctor." 

Your face erupted into a grateful smile as your friends gushed and raved about the snacks, relishing the bite of the warm chocolate chip cookie that practically melted in your mouth and the refreshing lemonade that left a little fizz behind on your tongue. Miguel was so damn thoughtful. 

Once you arrive at the game, Noir helps all of you out of the car. "Anything else you need, miss?" Noir asks you as he shuts the door. 

"Um, no, I should be good. Thanks Noir!" 

"You're welcome. I'll be waiting out front for your entourage when the game is over. Have a good time, miss. Call me if you need anything." 

You smile and turn, jogging to catch up to the others. Noir nods and drives off, parking the car only a short distance away in Miguel's designated VIP parking spot in the front row of the stadium parking lot, hanging a special tag in the window. 

Noir gets out, pulling his collar of his trench coat little higher up on his neck in a semi-incognito fashion. You don't know he'll be watching you, and he feels a little bad about that, but, at the same time, he can't say no to the boss. He had good reason to keep an eye on you anyway. Your friends seemed too good to be true, and he had kind of a bad feeling about tonight, their jealousy at not being chosen by Dr. O'Hara rendering them blind. 

As you find your seats, you're sat in between Isla and Will, a friend of Heather's boyfriend, Chase. Will is tall and muscular, a lacrosse player according to Isla. His green eyes lock onto you immediately, a fact not gone unnoticed to Isla's dismay and simmering jealousy. First Dr. O'Hara and now Will? What on Earth was so special about you? 

Will keeps trying to make small talk with you. You try to discourage him with one word answers but he doesn't seem to get the hint, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders when he notices you shivering with the dropping temperature in the stadium. You immediately thought of Miguel but you were utterly freezing, so you decided to accept the gesture for now, praying that he'd take it as platonic. 

Isla seeths quietly when she watches him give you his jacket. Time to put her idea into motion. 

"Hey!" She smacks Heather who's getting handsy with Chase on the other side of her, handing her a bottle of vodka. You feel your blood run cold. There were strict no alcohol rules in the college stadium. The consequences ranged from ejection from the game to as severe as possession charges, intoxication, or even explusion from the university. 

Heather giggles and takes the bottle, looking around and taking a generous shot before passing it to Chase, who passes it to Vivian and the other two guys before it travels back to Isla. She takes a shot, throwing her head back and wincing as she hands you the bottle. 

"N-No thanks." You push the bottle back towards here. 

"Dude," she hisses. "Come on, don't be a little bitch." 

Will interrupts, taking the bottle from her and taking a shot, shooting you a playful wink. "Don't be shy." 

You feel your cheeks get warm under his gaze, Miguel's face coming to your mind again and immediately shaking your head. "No...no thank you." 

"C'mon." Will smirks. "Cute girl like you doesn't like to have some fun?" 

Isla's face is boiling but it melts into a cheesy grin when you turn back to face her. "Right? She's just  adorable huh? Little goody two shoes we like to call her." She elbows you playfully. 

You're getting quite uncomfortable at this point, your eyes searching nervously all around the stadium, trying to make sure nobody around was catching wind of what your group was doing. 

"We all took a shot, now you have to!" Vivian leans over, shaking your knee. She starts chanting your name in a sort of taunt. The guys quickly hopping on the band wagon, hooting and egging you on. 

You're a nervous wreck, just wanting them all to shut up before all of you get kicked out of the university for good, starting to shiver nervously as a couple people nearby you turn around to see what all the commotion was. 

"OKAY!" you snatch the bottle from Isla, bending over and sliding off your seat, taking a quick shot with your head down. You wince and cough uncontrollably as your erratic movements caused some of the alcohol to go down the wrong pipe, wheezing for a moment as the liquor stings and burns down your throat and lungs.

"There ya go, good job." Will pats your back and offers you a sip of his soda to chase it down. You grab it from him, taking several generous gulps without thinking, nearly sputtering again when you discover it's not just soda, but a really strong mixed drink. 

Oh no. 

Will smirks. "Well damn, girl. Slow down." 

You feel your eyes watering up, starting to stumble a little. You hardly drank, so you had absolutely no tolerance, the alcohol flowing and dragging you down like dead weight in the water, a fuzzy feeling in your veins and the outside starting to get real shifty. 

You can't make out much of what's going on around you but it sounds like Isla and the girls are taunting you again and making jokes at your expense, trying to dare you to flash your tits to the guys.

 "C'mon girl, no balls you won't do it!" Heather and Vivian taunt, the guys around you looking at you like fresh meat.

You're utterly sick and confused and drunk, wanting nothing but Miguel to come in and sweep you away from this madness. Confused why your supposed friends were throwing you on display like some sort of sick circus act, expecting you to act like a slut just to appease their disgusting guy friends. 

"S-stop..." You slur, falling backwards as Isla grabs at the hem of your shirt, trying to lift it up. 

"Don't worry, I got you." Will mumbles. You stare up at him in horror and cringe as you smell the strong stench of alcohol on his breath as he's practically putting you in a headlock, one of his hands tries to grope your clothed breasts. 

"N-No!" You whine.."Please!" 

Will is suddenly yanked backwards. Noir flips him so Will is facing him before he utterly decks him in the nose, Will letting out an inhuman noise as he falls to the ground. Noir looks at him like he's scum on the bottom of his shoe before landing a nice kick into the middle of his stomach. Will lets out a large grunt, wheezing pathetically on the stadium floor. 

By now, everyone's looking at you. You're disheveled and terrified with your clothes askew. Noir wraps you in his arms, scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

"You alright, doll face?" His eyes search you with worry. 

You don't answer, just whimper with a trembling lip, shaking your head no as you hang your head in shame, resting your forehead against his chest as you shudder with a sob. 

Noir shoots a glare at your group of so called friends. "You will be dealt with accordingly," He threatens with a growl before getting you out of there.  

The stadium police come swarming, ignoring Noir because they recognize him as one of the assistants of the most powerful man in Nueva York (and the university's top donor). They surround the group, pulling the girls out of their seats and putting Will in handcuffs before ejecting the rest of them from the game. 

-----

Noir tucks you in the backseat of the Mercedes, giving a soft pat to your hair and several murmured apologies as he speeds quickly away. He dials Miguel, and you can hear Miguel's enraged voice booming through the speakers. 

"Bring her to the estate immediately. I'll meet you there." 

"Yes boss." 

"I need the first and last names of EVERYONE involved in this fucking mess." 

"Y-yes boss. Don't worry. Campus police are aware and they're handling it as we speak." 

"Not good enough!" Miguel hisses. I will be handling this now." 

"Yes, doctor, understood." 

"Get her to me safely, Noir." 

"I will, doctor." 

"Thank you." 

Noir hangs up, taking a deep breath.

Those people picked the wrong man to fuck with this time. Miguel would make them pay for what they did to you. 

"I feel sick..." you groan. 

"Hold on, madam....it's alright, we're almost there." Noir eyes the speedometer as it's pushing 110 miles per hour, the countryside zipping past the windows in what seems like mere light seconds. 

You whimper and hold your head in your hands, trying so hard not to vomit as Noir drives furiously towards Miguel's mansion in the countryside. 

----

Tags🖤🫶🏽

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[redflagshipwriter]

check yes to go on a date w a dead guy ch 4 progress

next chapter here

(masterpost with this story here)

It took a minute for Jason to recover from that realization. He kept the anger he felt off his face. Danny didn’t seem upset about dying young, but that didn’t mean much. It wasn’t an appropriate topic to prod about on a first meeting. He’d get there eventually.

Jason stilled. Ah, shit, he still didn’t have a plan. Just eating together was too short and too boring. He needed to have something better than that.

Fuck, what were they going to do next? 

Jason strained for ideas. What was a good date? Normally, he'd know more about a person before they hung out romantically. 

Well. Actually, normally he hung out platonically with someone a lot before he started to feel interest in them. This was all kinds of backwards: but he didn't want it to end yet. 

“So, uh, what do you like to do?” Jason asked. Masterful. So smooth.

Danny scrunched up his nose. “Lately my afterlife sucks,” he groused. “I am drowning in paperwork and busy stuff.” He slumped over. “I miss being in high school,” Danny sighed. He drew his knees in and rested his elbows on them, then squished his cheeks with his palms. “I guess I used to just hang out, you know?” He shrugged. “Played a lot of video games. I miss that.” 

“Of course,” Jason said, despite never having hung out and played video games in high school. He'd been an overscheduled nerd in junior high school and then been too dead for high school. “That sounds fun. Wanna go back to mine and play something later?”

Danny lit up, blue eyes sparkling in the fading light. “Yes! That would be great.” He straightened his legs and kicked his heels against the side of the building. “Wait, can we do the whole grungy high school hangout thing with pop and chips and dip and pizza and stuff?”

He almost said “we literally just ate”, but what the hell. “We'll hit the store next,” Jason said. He couldn't say no to that face. Look at ‘em. He was so excited.

'Ugh, god. Danny died in high school,’’ Jason realized. He'd already known Danny died young but it still stuck in his stomach like a rock. 'No wonder he misses what he did then. He's interacting with the physical world now but if he died, he probably went to like, dead land immediately.’

But, uh. Video games. He could do that. He kept up a conversation as his mind churned, asking Danny what kind of games he liked.

The thing was, Jason didn't really play video games. He had a console at his place and if he was hanging out with Roy or Dick there, they'd bring a game over. He owned like, two games. 

He considered popping by the store and just buying something. But that would be weird and intense. He'd probably freak Danny out if he went and dropped money on a game just to play with him. 

Ok. Well. He'd get someone to drop off games before he and Danny could get back to the apartment. Jason sneakily got out his phone and strategized. 

Steph? No. Terrible. He couldn't let that girl know he had a date until the poor bastard really liked him for sure. She'd either chase Danny off or somehow orchestrate the two of them getting engaged. 

Tim? God, no. He'd definitely own a lot of games but they'd all be for the PC, and he'd hang around and smirk about Jason meeting up with Danny.

Dick? Too far away, and way too smug. He'd take it as an opportunity to tease.

Oh, wait. He had it. Jason opened up a message to Duke and sent out a quick “I want to bribe you. Homemade pizza? Artichoke dip? Fried oysters???” 

“Did you take a life?????” Duke shot back. Then, “pizza! What do you need?” 

“Get to my place with a bunch of video games that'll work on my tv in less than an hour and I'll make whatever you want.” 

The three dots indicating typing popped up. They stayed there for a weirdly long time. Then, Duke said, “Can I stay and hang out? 🥺”

Adorable little bastard. Jason typed out NO and then hesitated, feeling kinda bad.

“Who's that?” Danny prompted. 

Ah, shit, he was being rude. Jason flushed. “Asking a little brother to bring over a game,” he admitted. “He wants to stay.” 

Danny laughed. “That's adorable,” he announced. “It's fine by me. Lots of games are better with more people, anyway.” 

Well. If that was the case, Jason was fine with it. He sent Duke an OK and then put his phone away before the inevitable “I AM THE FAVORITE SIBLING” fireworks started. 

[mcondance]

other side of the game; hobie brown

summary // hobie swings by when you’re cleaning your room, and you know exactly what he wants.

cw // dubcon-ish (you say stuff akin to no but like.. you want it. it’s just a game you n hobie play), they talk a lot of shit, missionary

extras // you and hobie r Black so i don't wanna hear anything abt the grammar i used! "it's supposed to be doesn't" kill yourself idc, the song has. nothing to do with what happens in this fic btw it just.. it makes sense when you read it and it helped me write

wc // 2.6k

song shoutouts // special thanks to other side of the game by erykah badu and i get lonely by janet jackson

signing off // thank you to poetnon for this idea i hope you like this <3

.

.

.

you know the second you hear the knocks at your window that you won't be getting anything else done today. he does this every fucking time.

walking across your room, you unlock the window for your boyfriend, eyes meeting his as you psyche yourself up for what you know is coming.

you return your attention to your desk, and with your back turned to him, you hear him slide his lanky body through the frame, landing softly on your carpeted floor.

"you busy?" he muses pointlessly, already shrugging his jacket off and reaching down to untie his boots. player one, ready?

"yeah," you hum pointlessly too, hands fiddling with the trinkets on your desk. maybe if you don't look at him, you won't cave. player two, ready?

"what you up to?" his voice grows closer. you close your eyes, breathing deep and slow to try to build your resolve, but you can hear him inching towards you, the clinging of his belts giving his movements away.

"cleanin' my room." you spin around, figuring you'd face your doom instead. his shoes are off now, placed up against the wall under your window. and now the game has started.

"mhm. well don't let me stop you," he smiles, and you wish you could say that it didn't put another dent in your already rusty resolve, but it does. with shaking hands crossed in front of you, you push yourself up and away from your desk and move across your room to your pile of clothes, folding shit hastily, already so fucking nervous.

he takes your place leaning against your desk and scans your room, taking in how much you’ve already gotten done. it makes him feel a little less bad about what he’s going to do. “looks good already. how long you been cleanin’?”

“since like, 10.”

“mhm. ‘s 2:24 now. think you’re ready for a break?” you snap your head towards him, rolling your eyes and screwing your lips up at the implications of his words.

“not the kinda break you’re talking about,” you sneer, rolling your eyes again as you return your focus to the meaningless pile of clothes.

“and what kinda break is that?”

“the kinda break when you end up inside me. i don’t have time for it.” you don’t face him as you speak. you can’t. if you do, it’s all over. you don’t want it to end just yet. it’s fun. it always is.

“what, you think ‘m just tryna get in your pants? i jus’ think my girl should have a little rest, yeah?” at his words you drop the shirt in your hand, switching gears to organize your nightstand instead.

“you’re lying. you always do this.”

“do what?”

“this. you come here and sweet talk me and the next thing i know i’m under you and my room doesn’t get cleaned. i’m not doing this today.”

he’s silent— your brain isn’t. you know it’s only a matter of time until he’s doing exactly what he’s doing now.. wrapping his slim fingers around your waist and pulling you back onto him.

speaking directly against your ear, he finally comes out with what he wants. “take a break, baby, lemme make you feel good." his lips meet your neck, ghosting over your heated skin.

"can't, hobes, i gotta clean up,” you whine, but it's futile at this point, cause you're already leaning back onto him, already tilting your neck to the side to give him more access, already dropping the half-empty water bottle in your hand.

"you sure, love? y'can clean up after we're done, hm? i'll help you.” he sounds earnest, like he really cares. you shake your head no, but you let him pull you away from your desk and turn you around. "gotta clean," you repeat, but you let him push you down onto your ruffled sheets.

"then clean." he’s standing over you now with his hands tucked into his pockets, and he motions towards the pile of clothes with his head, knowing eyes fixed on your frame sprawled out on your bed. from here, the light frames him perfectly, and he looks so damn pretty. maybe you'll blame what you do next on that. doesn't matter now, though. eyes meeting, you both know you're not getting up— seconds pass with you both staring, a silent confirmation, and hobie knows your answer.

shrugging, he leans down with his hands still in his pockets, placing a damning kiss on your lips, murmuring "gave you a chance, baby. knew you didn't give a fuck about cleanin'." and he's right, embarrassingly so, so you roll your eyes, channeling your faux-frustration into a rough kiss, curling your hands under the straps of his t-shirt.

he falls forward, hands flying from his pockets to balance himself on top of you. smiling against your lips, he speaks again, “see. . you want it. you’re desperate.”

his hips start to rock against yours, stacked belts clinging against your dangling legs. hands finding the side of his face, you huff at his irritating need to almost shame you, to show for some made-up record that no matter how much you turn him down, you want him. you need him.

so you push your hips against his, humming at the groan that flies from his lips. tapping your thigh, he ushers you up the bed, your bodies turning until your head is laid on your pillows.

he reaches down between you two, sliding your shorts to the side to rub his fingers against your already sloppy cunt, smiling when he feels and sees how wet you are. “cleaning my ass,” he jokes, kissing you before you can get upset again.

sliding his fingers up, he brushes the pads of them over your sensitive clit, swallowing the pretty moans that start to flow from your spit-slicked lips. hobie knows you like the back of his hand, knows just how much pressure you need, how tight his circles have to be, knows how to make you cum hard, and cum fast.

it’s always like this when he comes by with the goal to distract you— you always end up under him with whatever you have on pushed hastily to the side, fully clothed and his hand between your legs, shaking arms wrapped around his neck. it’s desperate, really, both your need to get off.

though you try to remain steadfast, try to act like you don’t want this, the way your hips move against his hand gives you away. “did all that sayin’ ‘no’, bu’ look.” he points his eyes down, towards where his hand is hovering above your cunt, fingers glistening.

“‘course ‘m wet, don’t mean shit.”

“it don’t? that’s wild, love,” he slides two fingers in without warning and presses his thumb against your clit before he starts his circles again, other hand moving to hold you in place when you thrash against him, “cause last time i had t’almost beg. ‘n the time before that, i did beg.”

you know what he’s trying to say, and it makes heat rise in your face and makes your eyes close, cause you can’t face him. no matter, though, cause he grabs your face, spits, “open your eyes. look a’me.”

you open your eyes and meet his low ones, ones that are always black with lust, ones that bore straight through you and make you feel so small and dirty underneath their gaze. he nods at your obedience, and then his fingers catch that spot inside you, and the licks of flame inside you morph into something like a fire, lighting you up with pleasure. you’re close, so close.

“you’re gettin’ easier, baby. act all you want, you’re desperate.” that sends you over the edge, and it’s embarrassing. it’s filthy, how he just has to talk to you a little mean and you’re cumming on his fingers, shaking as you choked out sobs of his name, like you weren’t just telling him to leave you alone 10 minutes ago.

before you even come down he’s kissing you, pulling your shirt up to free your tits.

"fuck you." you spew as you separate, but you still pull him closer, position him where his clothed dick rubs right against your cunt, kept away by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts that have almost rolled back into place.

"you will, in a second," he bites back, a wicked smile plastered across his ethereal features— features that are driving you fucking insane.

you’ve grown sick of his mouth— fisting his hair, you yank hard, drawing a pained moan from him and another drag of his cock against you. “you keep talking all this shit, but you’re the one who came up to my window looking for some ass. i don’t wanna hear it.”

“yeah? and you’re the one who kept going on about havin’ to clean your room, but i got you in bed so easy. we’re both fucked.”

and it’s true. the statement grounds both of you, and you both realize just where you are— inches apart, seconds away from what you both want. snapping out of it at the same time, your hands tangle together as you reach for each other’s bottoms, you freeing his pretty dick and him ripping your shorts right down the middle.

you laugh at his haste, his deep chuckles mixing with your giggles, foreheads meeting as you both calm down after your frenzy.

“‘m sorry. still forget how strong i am.”

“‘s fine. just fuck me already.”

“ehhh,” hand around his cock, sliding his tip up and down your waiting cunt, he teases once more, “y’sure you don’ wanna clean? room’s still a bit messy.”

“hobie, i swear to god, if you do not put it in me now i will pin you down and take it.” reading your eyes, he can tell you’re dead serious.

“‘s much as i’d love that,” he slides in with a pretty groan, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a throaty whine, “i want you like this.” pushing his hips up, he seats himself inside you.

breathing heavy, you both just take a second to calm down, to bask in the feeling of being intertwined with your lover again, no matter how annoying they can be. with closed eyes, you throw your head back, resting on your pillows. hobie takes that as a sign to spread kisses down your jaw, grinning when you smile.

“move,” you breathe, shifting your hips to give him better access.

that first stroke always drives you both crazy. the slow pull out, faces contorting in pleasure, bodies getting closer and closer until the next best thing is merging together again, you pushing down and him pushing up and then his cock takes its rightful place inside you, sensitive tip leaking against your cervix.

“‘m all the way in, love, can feel the end of you,” he murmurs against your neck, and you nod, curling your arms tighter around his neck. then, he just grinds, circles his hips, just barely pulling out.

it’s perfect, the way your bodies move against each other, giving and receiving pleasure at the end of the game you both love playing. with fluttery glides and soft slides, and pitchy whines and deep groans, you dunk yourselves into that familiar pool of feeling, let it fill up your noses and mouths until it’s spilling over, your bodies shaking and jerking against each other.

blissed out of your fucking minds, your lips meet the others, lazy connects of your lips that you can just barely call kisses. they’re slack-jawed and sloppy, spit-swapping, the lewd smacks filling the air, mixing with the harmony of fucked-out sounds.

slowly, hobie starts moving his hips around differently, on a mission now, one that has you tensing up, cause it never takes him long to find it, that sweet spot that has you—

“fuck,” you drawl, throwing your head back, and hobie just smiles and keeps his hips moving that way, keeps his cock kissing that same spot.

"that's it?" he hums.

when you try to articulate what you're feeling, try to tell him "yeah", the words never come. instead, he's raising up to spread your legs and balancing himself above you, switching from slow grinds to deep thrusts that have him pressing against that spot even more now.

now, with him slapping his hips against yours and his thumb on your clit, the sound fills the room, skin against skin. jolting against him, his eyes are still trained on yours, fixed on the furrow of your eyebrows and the o-shape your lips make, focused on how pretty you look when he fucks you.

your choppy moans fill his ears, the background to his barrage of words that fill yours. sentences about how pretty you look, how good you feel, how he just wants to fuck you forever, and then for the second time without warning, you cum again, right when he says something about wanting to keep you fucked and filled, "'s why i keep comin' over, cause i wan' you full of me all the time."

it's gentle, this time, streams of feeling flowing softly through you. hobie makes sure to keep his pace steady through it all, makes sure he prolongs it as long as he can.

when you come down, you're pushing up on his hips with shaking hands, nodding your head and telling him to move. he doesn't waste a second, lifts up and grabs your headboard with one hand to give himself some leverage, his other hand resting on your calf. this time around, he's forgotten all that slow shit.

he rocks his hips hard and fast, jolting you up, and your back rubs against your sheets, your hands fly to your thighs to ground yourself.

"keep 'em open," he slurs, eyes fixed on where he disappears inside you, on the way you cream on his cock, his pretty dick painted white. "watch," he tells you, "she swallow me up so nice." his tone is awe-filled, brown eyes lit up at the visual of you taking him so well.

your eyes roll back in your head, another wave of arousal overtaking you and you can't watch any longer or you'll go crazy, so you watch his face instead. watch his pretty fucking face contort in pleasure, watching his eyebrow piercings dance in the light, watch his sharp jaw clench when you clench around him.

and god, it’s building up again. how could have ever even thought you’d clean up today, when this is so much better. “you gonna cum?” he asks, cause he knows your tells better than you do. you nod shakily, hands gripping onto your thighs so hard you swear you feel your fingers going numb.

“then do it.” it’s an order, really, and you know what he means. hand flying to your clit, you rub messy circles, and hobie moves his hand from your calf to your thigh to keep you open for him. nodding with wild eyes, he watches you make yourself cum, watches your circles became sloppy side-to-side motions while you whine and almost fucking cry, watches your cunt clamp down on him and suck him in “like she don’t wanna let go.”

through the mind-fuck in your head, you hear him groan loud, and then he’s cumming too, gripping your headboard so hard you swear you hear a soft crack, but fuck the headboard, cause hobie looks so pretty when he cums that it don’t even matter.

laughing, blissed out of your minds, hobie lays down on top of you, breathing hard and sweaty as shit, just like you are.

“i really did need to clean my room though, hobie.” you hum, turning your head to face him.

“i wasn’t just tryin’ to get in your pants, love, i was serious about helpin’,” he mumbles against your neck. and he does help. by the time he’s sliding back through your window and kissing you goodbye, your room is perfect.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Scars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader Genre and warnings: angst, lots of it, hurt barely any comfort, allusions to sexual assault, past trauma, graphic description of torture, kidnapping, blood, violence, set in act 3, mention of death. Notes: not proof read ngl, i wrote it after dreaming it, and i didnt even wanna read it again, i cried like a bitch cause it’s kinda like…. past experience projected? just yeah dont ask if im ok after writing this, the answer is no lmao... also just a side note since it’s the first time im posting on this profile, but english is not my first language so please be mindful about it. Edit 10/06/23: i finally went through it end edited it.. i hope i catched all the errors cause idk if i'll ever be strong enough to give it another read ahah

Getting so close to someone meant so much for Astarion, and the more he cared, the more new fears would swim through his brain. 

Since you arrived in the lower city, and his bed was no longer cold at night, a new nightmare snuck in.

The idea that Cazador would be able to get to you, and weaponize you against him, made his cold blood run even colder. Several nights you woke up to a trembling and sweating Astarion, as he was begging for mercy. He never explained too much about these nightmares to you, just letting you know it was about Cazador again and again, but he left out the haunting possibility of you getting hurt because of him. On the other hand you believed it was because you were getting so close to the Szarr palace, and Cazador knew about it just as much as Astarion did.

It was the middle of the night when the sound of a broken glass stirred you awake. You looked around you, Astarion still deep into his meditating state, while the others were asleep as well, none of them reacted to the sound like you did. Maybe you just had a light sleep, you thought, and someone in the tavern dropped a few glasses or something. It was when hands gripped your wrists that you jolted up, looking behind you. It was too dark to see, and all you could spot were the deep red eyes, like Astarion's, though they lacked the warmth of his.

A shiver ran through your spine as you realized what was happening, but when you tried to call for the others, you realized how deep in shit you actually were: no sound would leave your lips, like you were silenced.

"There's no need to be afraid, Tav." A deep cold voice whispered so close to your ear. "They can't hear you".

The voice chuckled at your failed attempts to call for Astarion, Karlach or anyone, as tears were starting to pool at the edge of your eyes.

Another pair of hands took hold of Astarion, magical shackles fastened around his hands and feet, just as they did to yours, and then they started dragging you both away.

The deep voice spent the whole travel taunting you with stories of Cazador, how cold blooded he was, and just how much he enjoyed torturing his victims. From one point of view you were already accustomed with such stories about him, but from the other, the idea of Cazador getting hold of Astarion again, made your blood freeze again. You were not going to let Cazador hurt him again. You were set on the idea.

When you reached the corridors of Cazador's palace, the silencing spell finally wore off, though Astarion was still not moving. Terror flashed through your eyes as you wondered if they had already…

"What did you do to him?!" You breathed out as you tried so hard to keep your calm in front of the spawns that were dragging and pushing you through the dark hallways.

The spawn scoffed as he pushed through and through.

"Don't worry, he's not dead" You could feel his eyes rolling at the question, like it was some dumb question you should have known the answer to. "..yet" he added at last.

You couldn't stop your mouth from twitching, between the state of rage that was slowly building up, or the terror of them hurting Astarion.

"What's going on? Can i know that at least?" You wanted so bad to cast a spell on him, charming him into freeing you, but without the use of your hands, you were useless.

"Cazador wants to give you a warm welcome into Baldur's gate" He giggled, as the smell of old blood mixed with the sour taste of the bile threatening to spill from your lips, and you couldn't hold it anymore, and your feelings started spilling out.

You couldn't help then to try and get Astarion free at least. You wanted to shake those hands off of you, to wiggle out of the shackles that bound your magic, but no matter how much you tried, you were like set in stone, unable to do anything but move forward, shed tears, and talk. Or more specifically, beg.

Beg them to hurt you, instead of Astarion. 

Beg them to keep you here, and let your star free.

Beg them to turn you if needed, but spare Astarion's life.

Anything, if it meant not hurting the man that stole your heart with a dagger to your throat.

Quickly you were tossed in a cage, adjacent to Astarion's, and locked in.

The shackles that bound your feet dissipated, as the cage started ascending upward.

It halted in front of an altar, you guessed, that directly faced into the chasm you ascended from. Other spawns, around twenty you were able to count, started taking seats around the edges, sitting all in religious silence on their knees.

Astarion was still passed out, cradled on the floor of the cage, both restraints still tightly bound to him.

"Please, please, please" You cried out as the last bit of your strength was going to be dedicated towards trying to get Astarion free, far away from this place. "Let Astarion go, i beg you" You repeated your plea again, as you saw all those spawns stir from their seats, they wanted to turn their heads, to face whoever was foolish enough to beg Cazador for mercy, to trade spots with Astarion.

Everyone in that room knew what was going to happen, he was going to show them what happens when you disobey, when you run away thinking you can escape him. Instead you were so foolish and blinded by love, that you wanted to take Astarion's place, unaware of the extent that Cazador would go to. Yet you didn't stop, you kept begging and begging until a voice, the voice, echoed through the altar's walls.

"Tsk you just gave me a wonderful idea" the man hummed as his scepter started glowing, and Astarion started stirring awake, he looked around him, his tired eyes quickly widening as the reality around him had set in his mind.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch" Astarion growled as he stood up so quick, and gripped at the iron bars separating him from Cazador. 

"Touch her and I swear I'll spill your guts right here" He spit out of the cage, a symbolic spit cause you were too far away to reach him.

"My, my, our dear Astarion has forgotten all the manners" He cooed as his lips smacked together, his voice so honeyed it was bringing you to the verge of vomit.

You wanted to reassure Astarion, let him know that you were going to do your best to free him, that you were both going to be out of there alive soon, but could you? Could you lie so much to the man you loved? Words were stuck on your tongue, making your throat drier and drier.

You guessed you zoned out for a few seconds as your head was flooded with thoughts, missing the hate Astarion was throwing at his master.

"Ah sweet Astarion, your dear Tav has given us a great idea though, it would be a shame to let it go to waste" He hummed, as the staff light up again, the lock on your cage fell down the chasm, as your trembling body was slowly being dragged out of the cage by magic.

"No, no, no, no" Astarion reprated as his eyes locked on you, falling on the long streaks of tears running down your cheeks as you tried to offer him a sad smile, your lips muttering an "it's going to be okay" while his body was about to give in to desperation, loud sobs echoed from him, as your heart broke at his sight: he was barely standing up now, his hand gripped tight as he screamed through the hall to let you go, to not hurt you, to stop. "This is just a nightmare" He fell on his knees as you were slowly dropped on the cold floor, barely keeping your head up as you realized you were still in his shirt, the one he loved on you.

"Oh dear Astarion" Cazador cooed again as he kneeled in front of you, his cold fingers getting ahold of your chin, to tilt your head towards his. "This is not a nightmare, this is real" His words were like cold daggers through your chests, you knew that whatever was going to happen, it was not going to be fun.

Before you could say anything, Cazador's hand slipped to your waist pulling on the shirt as you flinched away, disgusted by the touch of the vampire in front of you.

But he didn't care, he was swift in removing it, leaving you bare in front of dozens of eyes.

You could hear the rattling coming from Astarion's cage as he attempted to break free over and over again while his chest was about to explode.

He didn't have the right to undress you in front of everyone, he didn't have the right to touch you at all, not when he prayed every night to have the chance to see you bare, to hold you. His thoughts were swinging back and forth between desperation and deep seethed rage.

"My, my I can see why our Astarion has fallen for this little creature" Cazador's compliment almost made you retch as you stumbled back a little. "She even puts up a fight" He chuckled as he lunged forward just enough to grip at your wrist and whipping you on your feet.

Every inch of your skin was visible to everyone, from the battle scars you got through the years of adventuring, to the teeth marks on your neck, down to the stretchmarks that lived on your hips.

A shiver ran through your spine as Cazador’s fingers grazed over the two marks on your neck. “Mh, your blood seems to be sweet enough, right Astarion?” His cruel words hit Astarion through the chest. He was one word away from a breakdown as he couldn’t do anything but witness his nightmares coming alive, not his Tav, not when he would be so careful to cradle you and comfort you to his chest whenever he'd drink from you.

Whatever he was screaming was incomprehensible to you, as all you could feel was the way Cazador gripped and pushed you towards a plush chair, where he sat with legs wide open before dragging you on his lap. You felt so nauseous as he bent you towards the arm rest, making you face the cold grey floor.

You wanted to hear the taunting explanation of what he was going to do, but all the sounds were drowned by the thrumming of your chest and the desperation in your own thoughts, repeating over and over that you were going to find a way out, trying to convince your brain to shut off and dissociate as you were there, like you were just in a nightmare, and you’d be awake soon.

All you could gather was few words like “knife”, “mark”, reminder”, and then “Astarion”. He was torturing him through you, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The worst part in this, was that you were the one that gave him the idea, cause you wanted him to free Astarion, and instead he let it all out on you instead than on your Aster, as a punishment for you both. You cause you were so careless to offer yourself though you didn't know the risk, and Astarion for being reckless and disobedient. Right there, as the dagger pierced your spine, you regretted not whispering Astarion how much you loved him, while you were tight against his chest, when the world around you was asleep, and you had a corner of peace. You always knew what you felt for him, from that moment on the beach, at the shipwreck, and yet you just wanted to tell him in the right moment. But what was the right moment? You might never know, as a broken scream broke through your lips, salty tears flowing free, so much that you thought for a moment that you might have died of dehydration, if the knife wasn’t going to do it first.

He carved and carved over your back, intelligible lines and symbols as you finally understood what Astarion meant when he told you how he got his scars. How gut wrenching the pain was as he couldn’t move, and how Cazador didn't allow a break, and retraced the lines that were wobbly if he moved too much.

“You know?” Cazador asked, as everyone’s eyes were on what he thought was a work of art, your carved skin, while Astarion’s plea echoed over and over in the room. “Our sweet Astarion used to whine just like you” He hummed. “Just a pathetic little child” He spit out like venom as you could barely breathe out few words along the lines of “you disgusting monster”, though you were not sure you actually let them out until, Cazador’s laugh filled every corner of the disgraced altar. Your tadpole writhed as another line was cut at the height of your hips, before, Cazador started retracing the lines and pulling away the skin, exposing the deepest layers of your flesh, the pain was so deep your vision blurred, and you were so close to passing out right there.

You don’t know how long you sat there, you slipped between pain and numbness as Cazador slapped you back to consciousness whenever you'd slip away, you had to endure the agonizing scarring and remember every second of it. He decorated with bloody lines almost all over your body.

You didn’t know what was worse between laying on the raw scars of your back, seeing your own skin being peeled away or the cries and sobs coming from the man you loved. You had to find a way, you couldn’t give up, you couldn’t allow this monster to walk the earth again. You had to do it for Astarion.

You were not sure when he dropped you on the floor, your body barely able to hold itself together as finally you could look around you and towards Astarion. Every face around you was stoic, like they were used to witnessing such spectacle, and they knew what was going to happen next.

You wanted to reach for Astarion, to take him away from the revolting scene in front of his eyes, you wanted to take away his pain, give him the last bit of hope you had, but when you were about to link your tadpole to his to do it, you hesitated. Connecting your minds meant he would feel how dirty, wretched and lost you felt, along with the gut wrenching pain ebbing through your body.

You could barely make out the words Cazador said as his nails dig through your skin again, even when he pulled your eyes to his you could barely read his lips as he said words you just wanted to cancel from your brain. A broken sob regurgitated from your throat as he was going to take the last thing you had. You just had to let your brain go, right? To ignore the teeth dipping in your throat and the putrid hands slithering down your skin, taking away enough blood to barely keep you alive as he took you in front of everyone.  It was no longer just physical pain, it was the way you felt your own body being stolen away and used in way no one ever dared before.

Numbness was all that was left of you after a while, of your barely beating heart while more hands crawled their way through places were you never wanted anyone to touch, then, in that moment, you realized you were free of your shackles, because you were so drained and broken that you could barely do anything. You could barely by aware of your surroundings, of how many bodies were preying on you, as you could barely manage to move inches.

Your vision was all but clear, you could make out the outline of Cazador as he was buttoning up his blouse again. Then you could see Astarion, still caged, struggling to stay sane as he wanted just to take you away from the monsters abusing of you, abusing of the fact that you were powerless in front of them. His eyes were a bloodshot, he was so hurt that he resorted to supplicate for mercy, to let you go and just kill him, whatever that could stop the agonizing pain. You didn’t have much strength left, maybe if you put all of yourself, you could muster two spells before passing out again. 

It took all you had to even raise your hand towards the lock that sealed Astarion’s crate, you mustered all your willpower to cast that knock spell, just enough to let the damn lock fall down. Astarion instantly turned to you, to your teary form still being touched by unworthy creatures, noticing how your hand barely held up, as you tried to cast one more spell, just for him, before another broken scream echoed in the room, bouncing from wall to wall till it reached Astarion's core. The kind of scream that should never be drawn by someone, nevertheless by you.

The radiant dagger materialized in his hands, and for a moment he didn’t notice it as he was fixated on the broken look on your face, encouraging him to end his master, although you suffered right there, paces away. “I love you” You mutter barely, you wanted to let him know before you could draw your last breath, then everything blurred.

Everything was muffled, you couldn’t see what was going on around you, you just felt all the presences around you disappear, while Astarion’s voice was crystal clear through the excruciating pain.

"I'll kill you, then I'll bring you back, and kill you again.” He shoved Cazador on the floor, just like he did with you, to remind him how he hurt you, how he used you, how he touched the only person he should have never laid hands on. “I’ll do it over and over again until you have suffered a tenth of what you did to her. Then I'm going to gut you one more time, and paint this shithole with your putrid blood. The halls of this place will reek with your disgusting blood, to let the whole city be aware of your death and from which the hands it came from” His hands were shaky, but he had to do it. For him, but mainly for you. All that was left of him was you, and nothing could ever be enough to vindicate you.

The shiny dagger stabbed over and over again through Cazador’s chest, while Astarion cursed him, every thrust of the dagger through the heart earned a new mocking insult, a new reminder of what he did, while all of Astarion's anger was channeled into annihilating him.

You just laid there, all you could do was listen to the grunts and the hate slipping from your lover’s lips as he dipped that dagger in the gutted body. You didn’t even realized when he dropped the disemboweled body on the marble, you weren’t even sure you could breathe, at that point.

A pair of shaking arms wrapped around your drained body, Astarion’s shirt was used again to cover your skin, as he picked you up, trying to be as delicate as possible. His salty tears fell over your body as he carried away from the nauseating scene, you frail body barely shivering, and your chest barely moving. He was muttering something to you, but everything sounded foreign at your hear.

He had to move quickly, find Shadowheart or Halsin, or anyone to heal you, to keep you alive. It was in this moment that he wished he could beg a deity to keep you alive, but he didn’t trust anyone else to tend you. He needed to rush outside of this place and get you to safety. 

He didn’t expect to see everyone outside the locked ballroom door, as they fumbled to open the door. They were taken by surprise at the sight of Astarion cradling you to his chest, all covered in blood, while his eyes were a pit of pain and tears.

Shadowheart didn’t hesitate to heal you right there before they all guided you towards the tavern you've been resting. They all offered to carry you, to make Astarion breathe a bit while on your way back there, but he refused. “I can’t..” He mumbled. “I don’t want..” His voice was just a whisper, broken. “I need” He wanted to break down again with you in his arms, but he had to lay you down first, to let you rest in a warm bed, he had to bring you to safety again, away from anyone that could pose any harm to you. He needed to see that smile again, cause no power flowing through his veins could have replaced you. He failed you once, he was not going to do it again. You saved him, twice, he had to do it just once for you. He had to thank you, and he had to tell you how much he loved you.

[stcrgazings]

like a tattoo ➳ (c.l)

part two is up and you can read it here

note: sooooo I literally wrote this out of nowhere, but i like how it turned out, it’s nothing like the song really buttt it has some of its lyrics so it only seemed fitting to name it that. thx to my girly @hey-kae who was my beta reader, and convinced me to post this, love ya. happy reading and don’t be a ghost reader!

pairing: charles leclerc x female reader

summary: in which you’re having a very hard time trying not to think about your ex-boyfriend charles, and with his dnf in the first race of the season, everything seems to remind you of him.

warnings: use of alcohol, lots of swearing (mostly fuck), a very heartbroken reader, mentions of a dick-ish charles, smoking ¿?? kinda

word count: 1,5K (it’s a shortie but I promise is soooo good)

“and it’s a Ferrari slowing down guys, and it looks like it’s Leclerc” the commentator in the tv says and your heart immediately drops.

Yes, you hate him, and don’t even wanna look at his face ever again but your heart still aches for him and the way his team is failing him yet again in what is barely the first race of the season.

Your model friend turns to look at you as the stylist sips you up over the black tube dress and fixes your hair in the tight ponytail that adorned you head.

“That’s karma” says the girl besides you, as you inevitably roll your eyes.

“That’s one way to call it” you say and everyone in the room that was starting at you bursts out in laughter.

You wanted to hate him, you really did, but you couldn’t help but wanting to text him after that awful race for him.

But fuck him, right?

He had a championship to win, at least that what he said when he broke up with you cold blooded, so yeah, fuck him and his stupid unreliable little red car.

you look at yourself in the mirror and smile at the reflection, you’re pretty, the most wanted model of every single luxury brand, and you eventually will get over him.

So you say your goodbyes as you exit the Prada building after signing yet another contract to add to your portfolio, your girl best friend hooked in your arm as you both giggled softly about where you both will be partying that nigth.

“But in Monaco right?” She asks as you both enter the limousine waiting for you at the front.

“Yeah I guess” is all you answer as you manager turns to look at you both.

Your hand lingers through your phone and eventually Charles contact, you wanted to text him, but at the end you decide against it, but something in the back of your mind tells you to unblock him and so you do.

Maybe some vodka will give you the courage to text him, or at least to hook up with someone else to forget about those haunting green eyes.

“We’re going to a club” you answer, finally lifting your eyes from the device your managers face quickly going pale.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” He asks serious, you roll your eyes.

“Why?” You play dumb as your friend besides you giggles.

“Bella don’t support her!” He complains.

“I’m actually curious why not?” The model asks again, also playing dumb, the man in front of you squeezing his fists as the both of you gang up on him.

“You going out partying and getting hammered when your ex just got his ass kicked at the race, how do you think the media would react to that?”

you meant this with absolutely every bone of your tiny body, when you say this;

“Do you really think I care what the media thinks? Fuck them for all I care” You spit and Bella besides you claps and cheers and picks a fight with your manager who is clearly unhappy with your plans of the night, he lists all of the cons and the reasons you should stay at home tonight.

“It’s a Sunday y/n, for gods sake!” He says but you didn’t listen and truly did not care a bit.

This is what you’ve been doing for the pasts weeks to try and cope with what he had done to you, and you hated yourself for not just getting over him.

Because it’s not like he was boyfriend of the year when you two were together, in the last months of your relationship he barely even acknowledge you, and he had dump you over call after what it was the biggest fight of your relationship.

Because you had exploded out frustration from his constant indifference, and dick ass attitude, and then ditched the apartment you both shared together.

So naturally when when he called you hours later you thought it was maybe to fix the things between the both of you.

But boy were you wrong.

Somewhere along the lines of “you’re just a model you don’t understand anyway” and “text me when you come get your things” the person you had love the most for the longest time broke your heart and didn’t looked back.

And so you went into self defense and destructive mode and if he didn’t looked back neither did you, blocking him in every social media known to men.

And like that you were strangers with who one was your favorite person in the entire earth.

And so if you wanted to go and get completely hammered after he lost a stupid race you would.

(…)

The Weeknd was playing as you downed another shot with people surrounding you as they cheered you on.

you were pretty wasted, but you still couldn’t get the Ferrari driver out of your mind.

All that you could think about was him, how much you missed him, and how much you wanted him right now.

As you danced with strangers hand all over your body you couldn’t help but remember his.

You remembered his hands, the way you would squirm under his touch, how he would show you how the stars looked like with just his fingers, the way his hands fit practically like they were meant to be holding yours, how good it feel when they were wrap around your neck, and how he would woke you up with them as he tickle you in to his arms, the way he held you at night as you both talk about your days and how much you missed each other.

Suddenly it all feels like too much, you pushed the stranger away from you, his grab in you becoming overwhelming and you need air, a single tear running trough your cheek and you can’t breath and it’s so unfair.

It’s unfair because you’ve had the worse months of your life and he had just moved on, with who used to be one of your best friends.

(Or at least that’s what every single media outlet said)

And you probably shouldn’t believe it but you still remembered the bile coming up your throat as you stared at the pictures of them at the Paris Fashion Week.

So you sit with your head thrown back in on of the sofas of the private booths at the club, and as the air conditioner hit your face, you remembered his hands and the way the mountains looked when you took that trip to the French Alps last Christmas, and you wanted to sob because of how awful it all felt and how much your body ache for him, you close your eyes and take some deep breath, and you can almost feel his lips against yours, you can almost see the life shooting diamonds from his eyes, his beautiful eyes.

The ones that would haunt you at night when you couldn’t sleep because all you did was think of him, how he was doing, if he missed you as much as you did him.

“You want a cig? Looks like you need it” a stranger asks in front of you, you mumble a no as you can, being so lost in your own head.

For the longest time Charles was by far, in your books at least the best person in the world, always so happy and perky, his smile lighting up your days, and nights, always so hungry for life, wanting for you to know the world the same way he did, always so passionate about the things he loved, always so passionate and loving of you.

You can’t help but wonder when it all went wrong, maybe somewhere between France and Abu Dhabi, the last being the last time you remembered being genuinely happy beside Charles, because yes he had come second in the championship but you remembered the way he held you up and kissed you in the hotel room and for a moment you thought you both will be fine.

But when you reach the top, it comes the fall.

And it was all fighting and misunderstandings and misery because you just wanted to be with him but he just wouldn’t let you.

Now you were there, still falling, wanting to forget about those times when you were happy with him.

He moved on, why couldn’t you?

Sitting there you beg for the universe to help you, to give you a sign, anything really, that eventually things would change, that you would stop feeling this way, that the hole inside your chest would disappear and finally the air would feel the way it’s supposed to and breathing and waking up in the morning wouldn’t be as hard as it had been lately and happiness would return your way and things would get better.

Obviously the least that you expect is your phone screen lighting up.

Especially with the name of the one that hadn’t been able to leave your mind in the entire night.

Suddenly and “I miss you” text from Charles hits you out of nowhere like a brick in the face.

Maybe you’ll take that cigarette now.

[dinogoofymutated]

I've seem nothing on Gladiator and I NEED CONTENT PLZ!! I'd love seeing him go to Earth with his preaching "humans are crazy, useless, etc" and then just falls head over heels for a Mutant. Like he acts stoic and all but he's just smitten and what that would look like

SFW! Gladiator/Fem! reader! I want you to know that this ask has had me in a CHOKEHOLD!!! Parings where couples are opposites like this have my heart. I know I usually try to make my fics and headcannons Gender neutral, But i was listening to the waitress soundtrack when an idea for this hit me and I couldn't help myself. This might actually be a contender for my Favorite fic of the week! -Ps- for anyone wondering about my finals, I've done good so far? I don't wanna jinx it tho. eesh. TWS: Kallark be kinda judgy at first. Mutant discrimination, Building fire. Violence, head injury.

Kallark does not like earth. He can't say that he had ever enjoyed his brief visits there, but if the empress commanded his presence on the planet, who was he to refuse?

He respects Professor Xavier, although he doesn't necessarily agree with him. The X-men, although his allies, he does not care for very much. He thought them a little foolish, and was not interested in many of the things they invited him to experience.

As fate would have it, the one thing he had eventually agreed on was going to a Terran diner. He thought it was a little greasy in some spots, and didn't understand why anyone would want to be able to order breakfast food 24/7, but he assumed that there had to be a reason the team enjoyed going here so much.

Turns out, it wasn't just any Diner. This was one of the very few places that catered to mutants, although it wasn't advertised as such. Rouge had excitedly told him that he would "Just love" the waitress that would be serving them, a mutant in her own right.

He obviously hadn't believed forming deep emotions as such was possible in a short time span, but then again, he hadn't met you yet, had he?

Kallark was absolutely taken by you the moment you met. It didn't make any sense to him. How was he so infuriatingly, naively taken by simple Terran? A mutant nonetheless? He had met a handful of Terrans, all of which had been either crazy and idealistic, or scumbags and bastards. But you? He just didn't understand it. He thought for sure that you had to have some sort of power over him. Some bewitchment or spell that certainly had to be related to your genuine smile, or lighthearted laugh.

He was in trouble, and he had to find out why.

"Back again I see!" You chirp, smiling brightly at Kallark as you lead him to a booth, the only seat where he really fit due to his stature and build. He nods in a greeting, following you to his seat quietly. He visited the diner often after that initial time here with the X-men, always seeming like he had a lot on his mind every time.

To be honest, you enjoyed seeing him. He had become a regular of yours, and commonly came into the diner during the graveyard shift. He always sat in your section, being polite and patient with every order. You were sure he'd be tired of the greasy food by now, having tried just about every item on the menu, but here he was. Part of you wants to believe he comes in to see you specifically, blushing at the thought. Of course, you were just about always here, preferring to take late-night shifts as that was usually the time Mutants would come and visit. You made the diner a safe space for a lot of people, and that was a fact you took pride in.

Kallark is quiet every time he comes in, simply telling you what he would like to eat, and thanking you when prompted to do so. Sometimes he would speak more, asking questions here and there, but conversation was usually barren, consisting mostly of a comfortable silence between the two of you. Today was similar. It wasn't until you gave him the check that he asked you a question you didn't quite expect.

"What do your mutant powers consist of, exactly?" He asks. It's a simple question, but you cant help but blush at the sound of his voice- finding it unfortunately attractive. You try to shake it off, smiling at him politely.

"What, is this an interrogation? Hope you're not here to arrest me, Officer." You joke. He doesn't laugh, and you cringe at yourself a little bit. "...Maybe it's best if I show you." You settle on instead, walking over to the glass desert cabinets. Kallark watches you closely as you carefully cut out a slice of a creamy lemon pie, and plate it. He cocks an eyebrow at you as you bring it to the table, and hand him a fork. He does not understand where you are going with this exactly, but he takes a bite anyway.

A feeling of elation takes hold of him, happiness to an extent he's not sure he's ever felt before. You watch as his face shifts, giggling at his pure confusion.

"It's not drugged, I promise. My powers aren't exactly the most useful in a fight, but I can say that they pack a tasty punch." You wink. "It's all about the energy I put into something while I bake. If I want breakfast muffins to make people more energetic, it does. If I want a slice of lemon pie to make people happy, well," You motion at the pie, smiling brightly.

"So you do this with the other food as well?" Kallark asks. You shake your head.

"Ha! No. I'm not very good at cooking. everything else on the menu is made by Terry, our nightshift cook." You nod towards the kitchen, where Kallark can see a green-skinned mutant mutant pass by the open door briefly. He furrows his brow. He really though he had it for a minute, thinking that he had fully figured out where these emotions for you had come from, and yet he had still fallen short.

"You know, you've never had one of my deserts before, have you?" You think out loud, humming. Kallark has the same conclusion. He did agree that the pie was certainly very good, but it did little to explain the fast-paced beating of his heart. He finishes the pie before he leaves for the night, and to your surprise, he waves you goodbye when he does so. He's never done that before, and you find yourself blushing again.

"Are you blind?" You startle at the voice, turning around to see Terry leaning against the serving window. You put your hands on your hips, shaking off the surprise.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You scoff. He lets out a laugh, and walks back into the kitchen. You lean after him. "Seriously Terry, what do you mean by that?!"

The longer Kallark stayed on this planet, the more he started to feel like a lovestruck fool.

He was coming to see you just about every night at the diner, picking up conversation with you more often than naught. He wasn't used to Terran courting customs, and he certainly wasn't used to the way you captivated his mind so often. That wasn't to say he wasn't trying, he just didn't really know how to show you this strange affection of his.

That was until he returned to the diner one day to find it trashed, glass windows shattered, kitchen actively burning. And worst of all, you, injured and in need for a rescue.

The night had started off so well that you feel like a fool for not knowing the other shoe was going to drop.

The diner had been a safe zone for so many for so long, it was only a matter of time before someone caught on to the many mutants who called it haven. A group of rather conservative folks had come in around midnight, Not giving anyone a minute of warning as they shattered the windows and stormed into the back to find Terry, presumably. You had dove for the emergency button, but was tackled and forced to the ground before you could. The few mutants that had been eating had scrambled, fighting tooth and nail to escape. You hoped that a few did, but your head had been slammed into the ground so hard you couldn't see straight. You're having a hard time thinking over the pain you are in, the screams from the customers, the smell of smoke that had started to travel through the air. You feel a few tears slip down your cheeks as the diner lay in ruins.

The weight on top of you lifts abruptly as a great gust of wind sends the man above you flying into the counter violently. You feel like you can't lift your head to see what's going on, but there's a commotion of yelling and the sounds of bodies being slammed and incapacitated. When you manage to open your eyes, you flinch as another one of the men goes flying past you, smacking sqaurely into the wall and falling limp to the ground.

A pair of familiar boots step into your view, and you find yourself being helped up by Kallark. You have to hold onto him to steady yourself, head aching with every movement as he helps you stand. It only takes a glance around you to see that he had rescued you right on time- the diner, not so much. You sway a little, and Kallark is quick to catch you.

"You're certainly the gentleman, aren't you?" You laugh. Kallark furrows his eyebrows as one of his hands gently probes the back of your neck and skull. You wince at the feeling, and he draws his hand away.

"You have a concussion. We should get you some medical assistance." Kallark says. If you weren't mistaken, You'd say that he almost looks concerned. You shake your head at him regardless.

"Hospitals don't take care of mutants around here." You say, frowning. "Most of the time I just suck it up- but I don't think that that's the best idea right now."

"You'd be correct." Kallark hums. "I'll get you to Xaiver, but it would be wise for you to try and stay awake in the meantime." You smile at him, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he picks you up into a bridal hold. He looks at you, wide-eyed for a moment, before he's off. He sincerely hopes that it's not possible for your kind to hear just how fast his heart is beating inside his chest.

"Thanks, Handsome. I owe you one."

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

Follow up to my silly little Vees in Heaven AU that I might as well keep developing because people seem to like it lmao. This is my basic idea of how each of them individually would react to ending up in Heaven :)

Vox: Would probably behave like a normal person the longest because A; being in Heaven for an extended period of time could offer some Business Opportunites and B; he cares about his image so fucking much, and given that he was probably pretty well known while he was alive I don't think he'd want the people of Heaven knowing about all the evil business man shit like, at all. Though the monotony of Heaven would ABSOLUTELY drive him up the fucking walls. Nothing ever happens there. He can barely even network because Heaven doesn't have anything even RESEMBLING the overlord system down in Hell, there's no rank mobility for mortal souls. And that's assuming Sera even lets him DO anything because sinners ascending at all is a pretty fuckin new concept and she would at the very LEAST want to keep the news from spreading until she figures out what the fuck is going on. Either way it's not like he can do much because oh god what would PURPOSEFULLY going back to Hell do to his reputation!?!? He's stuck between a rock and a hard place and hating every second of it, but hey at least he can try to. Get some Heaven shit for Voxtech. And his head probably(?) isn't a TV anymore-

Velvette: Lasts for a couple months(or however long it takes her to get whatever information/materials she deems useful) before she starts causing problems on purpose. Think Respectless x100. It's even worse cause Sera has absolutely no experience dealing with this kinda shit. It's also terrible for Vel because nothing she's doing is getting her sent back down! As much as Sera wants to, she has to keep the "sinners ascending" thing contained until she figures out wtf is going on, which means no going back to Hell until Sera can discuss things with HER higher ups, which based off of how little Sera seems to know abt how Heaven works just. In general. Is probably nigh impossible. So Velvette's just stuck in Heaven, constantly attempting whatever she could possibly do to go back to Hell. Probably starts off small like just pissing Sera off on purpose every way she can, insulting people, etc because she also doesn't wanna do anything bad enough to get herself like. Executed or some shit. But as time presses on and shit just keeps Not Working she keeps upping the anti until she's wracked up several counts of arson and is being held in the closest thing Heaven has to a prison. Which she'll probably find ways to cause problems from there too Idk.

Valentino: He's in Heaven for like 5 seconds and then immediately just

Its like having Adam back only he's Worse and Does Not Want To Be Here.

Now I would like to note, all of this is very dependant on whatever plot points might be happening around them? Cause like I said in the original post there's def a lot of Heaven/Hell drama going on in the background that would definitely effect the plot of the AU, but I don't really know. What that is yet. Because it means doing more world building hcs then I am mentally equipped to make rn. So for now these are just what I think their ✨general reactions✨ would be + a stupid doodle of Val I did last night.

Also I need a name for this AU. My only real idea is Heavenly Vees? But that feels kinda basic idk. Maybe HeavenVee? Idk-

[mywillt0live]

im not a good writer but I have a lot of brainrots about sagau and imposter sagau

so here’s a little uh.. dramatic brain rot idea of mine

N O W L O A D I N G . . .

I’ve always found it unrealistic how quick-to-assume the acolytes are

ex. the first person they see that looks like you is the definitely the “creator” (stupid to assume)

or

anybody who looks like them is definitely an imposter (like what?? it should be blessing-)

so instead, when the imposter first arrived, the acolytes were in doubt but still hopeful

using celestia’s power, the imposter proved themselves in other ways than gold blood and gained a following

although a very good imitation, something was just the slightest bit off. those small mistakes started to build up, and the acolytes couldn’t help but feel something was wrong.. yet they’re loyalty remained

you, the creator, pull up to the crib and nobody really believes you. kinda just thinking man they look a lot like the creator.. that’s crazy 😧

you go around and see the imposter all acting like you, spreading their influence to gain total power

so instead of going around like a door to door salesman and convince the acolytes that you’re the real creator, you decide to get to the root of problem: the imposter

however taking the throne by force would be stupid, I mean it’s not impossible to kill the imposter, but combined with the acolytes and millions of followers- yeah no thanks.

you could easily do it by showing your blood, but you wanna see who is truly loyal to you

and let’s be honest

where’s the fun in that?

you’re definitely not a sadist

so you infiltrate the palace spy style and at the big throne doors you blast them open all cool n stuff

the acolytes immediately detain you and you kneel before the imposter

“My liege, excuse my impudence, but you seem rather uncomfortable..”

the imposter flinches as you smirk at them

“D-Dispose of them at once! I wish to see their face no longer..”

“Hah.. you really like to humor me. Don’t you? Celestia.”

you’re met with astonished glares thinking how arrogant you are, well not until..

in a display of divine power, you break free of the acolytes grasp with ease

you grin wildly as everyone looks at you in a stupor with one collective thought:

“What if..”

you smirk.

this’ll be fun.

some of the archons yell for you to wait but you take a dramatic bow and disappear in a blink.

the whole room is enveloped in soft murmurs and speculative chaos as the imposter bites their lip in anger- no, rage.

the situation is thrown into turmoil and for weeks the acolytes watch as the imposter starts to become more paranoid, aggressive, and more off.

their paranoia leads to a new order, and the witch-hunt begins. anyone caught worshiping you or helping you are executed on the spot.

dried blood lines the cobblestone streets of mondstat. in liyue, rather than good food and hearty laughter wafting through the air, all that remains is the vague stench of dead bodies. inazuma’s streets are quiet and cold, as soldiers loom over the area.

the situation with the acolytes aren’t much better. some slipped away early to find you, others of utmost loyalty to the imposter are furious because of your little “act”

but even they can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong

most acolytes become doubtful and eventually turn neutral, unknowing what side is the true creator.

the battle has begun as you and the imposter fight for their trust, love, and power.

lets see who gets their head chopped off first.

(i guess this could be a prologue to imposter sagau?)

[james-is-here]

A big, long ass, brain shit paragraph that I needed to get down cause it's 5:50, I haven't been to sleep yet, and I didn't want to forget this. Originally didn't have a member planned but Seungmin just spoke to me in a way cause...well, it Seungmin. He's savage. He calls Chan old a lot. He's in the building. (sorry, I'm delirious, I need sleep 😭) [In the process of becoming a fic]

---

Mn being a professor who is known as being really nice and helpful and sometimes like a second parent to some students and just has overall good rep among the school but there's one student. One student that almost makes his job a living hell. Almost because he has almost 100 students in his lecture hall for his classes and they're all surprisingly fantastic and good to work with but there's one who, in his words, is a fucking brat that drives him up a wall. Kim Seungmin. Pushing his buttons, not doing his work, interrupting class, he even suspended him for a month when he caught him having relations with another student at HIS DESK. IN HIS CLASSROOM. He wanted to expel him but he put his "Goody toe shoes" act on and only got a month. When he came back, he started where he left off. Annoying the hell out of Mn. He's talked to other teachers, he's the only one he does it too. His class is the only one Seungmin is failing. When Mn held Seungmin back after class, he's surprised the student actually stayed behind. He asked him why he does what he does and to put it bluntly, Seungmin says it's because he loves seeing Mn agitated. He leans back on Mn's desk, watching how Mn's arms cross and his biceps bulge through the button down before looking straight into his eyes, eyes adorned with brow line glasses which he found made Mn look hotter. He says he loves the way his jaw sets and his tongue prods at his cheek after every snarky word that comes out of his mouth. He loves the annoyed, angry look in his eye whenever he throws a ball of paper at him or when he casually tells Mn that he didn't do the work again cause he didn't want to. He loves the way Mn yells at him when he's either talking during the lesson or he's being obnoxious. He says he finds Mn hot and decided to dive deeper, saying that he needs to be taught a lesson. Mn doesn't fall for it, threatening to get him expelled this time but Seungmin bites back, saying that Mn has weak game and Mn steps forward, hand reaching out to the students neck but he stops, hand closing into a fist as he steps back and Seungmin smirks, got him right where he wanted him as he grabs his wrist, yanking his professors hand back to his throat before pushing forward and kissing Mn, tongue tangling with his immediately as he tried to dominate but Mn gave in and took him down quickly, tightening his grip a little and Seungmin moans, one hand on Mn's wrist and the other trying to pull him closer. Mn pulls back, smirking when the other kept his mouth open and moans shamelessly when his grip loosens around his neck. Mn scoffs, pulling him closer by his neck as Seungmin whimpers, looking at him with wide puppy eyes clouded in lust but still holding a bratty attitude as he switched back and chuckles, asking what Mn is going to do and Mn smiles darkly in return, telling him that maybe it's time to train his disobedient puppy how to be nice and behaved. It the only lesson from Mn Seungmin has ever listened to since being in his class.

---

Um....Kinda wanna make this into a proper fic. Thinking about changing it to a different member because I'm now realizing that even though I haven't written for Seungmin alone yet, there's an odd feeling I can't quite place about writing smut with Seungmin.

What do y'all think about this idea? Stick with Seungmin or write it with different member? honestly, I can do either. The odd feeling is probably just cause I haven't written anything with Seungmin.

Feedback is appreciated as always :P

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 5

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: Things finally get better, until they get worse again.

Warnings: Death of a parent (that's a big one, please proceed with caution), judgment against unmarried mothers, hospitals, language.

Word Count: 4500

Previous Chapter!

My Masterlist! - Series Masterlist!

Notes: I know that I said that poor Stevie was going to get a break soon, but not quite yet.

Steve was sulking on the couch when you came home that afternoon, beaming brighter than the sun.

“How’d it go?” he asked, meeting you on the kitchen tile. 

“Amazing!” you replied. 

“I told you it would, didn’t I?”

“You are talking to the Roane County Historical Society’s Lead Education Coordinator!” You were practically exploding with excitement. “I mean, Floyd said the interview was just a formality to make the Board happy-”

“You sound so professional,” Steve remarked.

“-but I did it!”

“I knew you would,” Steve said, punctuating with a kiss to either cheek. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Shut up.”

“And now you get to be a professional nerd,” Steve teased with a smile. “We should go out to dinner. To celebrate.”

“We should,” you agreed. “But I wanna talk to you about something else first.”

“We’re really living the highlife now,” Steve jested. “Dental insurance and all.”

“Steve!”

“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he relented, but his smile stayed right where it was. “Serious time.”

“Floyd asked me about finding a replacement for the front desk,” you explained, “and I had an idea.”

“Okay?”

“And if you hate it, we can just move on like I never said anything.” You were beginning to ramble. “But, I mean, I think it’s a really good idea, and it doesn’t have to be forever if you don’t want it to be, it can be just for now, and-” 

“I think you’re gonna start overheating if you keep working yourself up like that,” Steve cautioned with a smirk.

“Right, sorry,” you said shyly.

“What’s your idea?”

“I thought that, if you wanted to, you could replace me at the front desk.”

“Me?” Steve questioned, surprised by the suggestion. He didn’t really see himself as the museum type.

“Just think about it. You’d have better pay and better hours,” you explained. “We’d be working the same schedule in the same building, and we’d both be on the same insurance.”

“I’m not really qualified,” Steve supplied. “Am I?”

“Sure you are,” you responded.

“I don’t actually know anything about Roane County history,” Steve pointed out. “I’m pretty sure that’s a big prerequisite for working at the historical society, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, not really,” you said. “As long as you know which floor everything’s on, you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll learn it all on the job, anyway.”

“You really think it’s a good idea?”

“Yep. Floyd thinks so too.” You stepped away from him to shed your bag and shoes on the side of the couch. 

Your boss Floyd was an odd man, eccentric and contagiously enthusiastic. He was always dressed like he was about to go out on a hike, and nothing about his personality really read as “history museum curator” to Steve, aside from his (somewhat off putting) devotion to the subject. You’d told him about how he used to be a hippie in college and never really dropped the act, and that apparently he never wore shoes when he was in his office, though Steve had yet to see that bit for himself.  

“I’ll train you for the first few weeks before I go on leave,” you said. “Which means you’ll get to work with me until you know the ropes.”

“Oh, well, that does sound nice.”

“I promise, the hardest thing you’ll have to do is order the office supplies every other week,” you said. “What do you think?”

“Do you think I’d actually be any good?”

“I think you’d be amazing, and that it’s a fantastic idea, and that I’m still mad at you for quitting your job at Family Video without warning me four months before we’re having a baby, so you kinda owe me.”

That had been a fun conversation full of lots of expletives.

Steve was still feeling hesitant, but you were staring at him with some heart wrenching puppy dog eyes. You were kind of handing him a perfect opportunity on a silver platter. 

“Please?” you implored. His apprehension crumbled into dust at how much you wanted him to say yes.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Steve asked, uneasiness seeping through his words.

“A hundred percent.”

“Okay,” Steve answered. “Yeah.” 

“Really?” you asked with bright, excited eyes. “You want too?”

“I think it’s a great idea, my little genius,” Steve said.

“I’ll call Floyd in the morning!” you exclaimed before rocketing from your spot on the couch to wrap your arms around Steve in a hug. “Oh, we definitely have to go out to dinner now.”

“Italian place on seventh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied. “I started thinking about that ravioli earlier today, and if I don’t get my hands on some, I think I might cry.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Steve said through a chuckle. “Gotta get my girl some ravioli.”

Steve’s interview was the following Monday. It was three questions long, and it took all of five minutes.

“Do you want this job?” Floyd asked him from across his desk. Every inch was covered in something or other, stray papers and knick-knacks. The whole office was filled with clutter. Any wall space not taken up by cabinets and shelves was completely covered in posters and frames, every shelf filled with tchotchkes and artifacts. Lamps in every corner lit the room, along with a window lined with potted plants that looked like they were about to take over the whole wall. The scent of essential oils permeated the room, and you had been right to give Steve the warning; Floyd had no shoes on. 

“Yes, I do,” Steve answered.

“Can you type?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Can you work the register in the gift shop?” Floyd seemed to be writing some very thorough notes, though Steve couldn’t imagine what they might possibly be about.

“Yes, sir.”

“Great!” Floyd said, dumping the clipboard he had been scribbling on back onto his desk, the force making the surrounding papers flutter to the sides. “You’re in.”

“Oh,” Steve said with a blink. “That-that’s it?”

“Do you have any idea how happy I am to get an actual employee in that position?” Floyd asked, elbows resting on the desk. “With her leaving, I thought I was gonna have to find another group of high school interns again.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Oh, well I’m glad that-”

“Never again,” the older man interrupted, almost seeming afraid of the idea. Steve would have laughed if it wasn’t for the dead serious gaze he was being punctured with.

“Right.”

“I mean, god love ‘em, but if I have to watch any more teenagers try to stumble their way through a conversation with the donors, I might have an aneurysm.”

“O-okay.”

The first couple of weeks were slow going; signing things in, signing things out, learning the computer system (“Baby, there is absolutely no reason for this to be so complicated!”). Floyd had warned him that it was peak season, but apparently, even peak season was still, at least according to Steve, incredibly idle.

“What do you actually do all day?” Steve asked. You shot him a look. “I mean, it just feels like there’s a lot of downtime, is all.”

“Oh, yeah?” you teased.

“You’re so good at your job, you just get everything done so quickly.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Uh, homework? Reading? There are a couple games on the computer, but I never bothered to learn how to actually play them.”

“Hurray,” Steve sardonically remarked.

“I’ve got plenty of books you can borrow,” you told him. “Maybe we could set you up with a hobby, or something. I think you could do wonders with a pair of knitting needles.”

It wasn’t all boring. Despite the strange way about him, Floyd was very funny and took a liking to Steve right away. There were also a handful of volunteers who would show up from time to time, all sweet old ladies who were thrilled to finally be able to meet your beau. 

Today’s excitement came in the form of a day camp field trip. 

“Gird your loins,” Floyd warned as the yellow school bus unloaded outside.

“Okay, all you’ve got to do is sign them in and hand out the stickers,” you told Steve, handing him a clipboard and a roll of sticker dots. “I’m in charge of everything else.”

Day camp children and chaperones, all clad in matching sky blue tee shirts, filed into the lobby with varying levels of excitement. You stood out like a sore thumb, dressed in all black, save for the neon orange lanyard on your neck that read ‘TOUR GUIDE’ in thick black lettering. 

You’d been practicing for today all week long. It was the first of many tours led entirely on your own, and you were getting a little bit in your own head about it; you’d forced Steve into three after hours practice tours, which had actually been pretty mutually beneficial. Steve got to learn a thing or two about his new place of employment, and you were prepped and ready for all the most ridiculous questions Steve could come up with. 

Steve handed out the stickers, orange to match your lanyard, going down the line of children  reaching a trio of moms huddled together in the back of the group. 

“No, thank you,” one of the women spat before Steve had the chance to ask if any of them wanted one. Steve vaguely recognized her; her husband worked for his father. She had attended many a dinner party he had been forced to sit through. Steve couldn’t remember her name. 

“You sure?” Steve asked, putting on his most charming smile to win them over. “They’re a very flattering shade of traffic cone.”

“I doubt we’ll get lost,” another supplied through a frosty red, artificially saccharine smile.

Steve retreated back to the desk while you gathered everyone and said your hello’s. As you herded the kids into the main hall, he noticed the women had huddled together and began whispering, though they weren’t very good at keeping their gossip quiet.

“That’s Gary’s boss’s kid, right? The one you were telling me about?” Steve overheard one of them ask.

“Yep,” the other answered. She then gestured towards you, pointing a finger from around her lipstick stained to-go coffee cup. “And that’s the pregnant girlfriend.”

“God, are you serious?” the third asked, incredulous. “And she’s supposed to be the good role model here? Teaching our children?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous.” It took everything in Steve’s power not to get up and slap the coffee right out of her manicured hand. “I’m shocked they didn’t fire her as soon as they heard. I would’ve.”

Steve knew that the two of you had become the talk of the town, how could he not have? It wasn’t like the two of you were doing much to hide it anymore. You really wouldn’t have been able to at this point anyway, but there had been no shotgun wedding to cover anything up, either. 

For the most part, people had been congratulatory. Surprised, definitely, but congratulatory nonetheless. Well, except for Robin. And his parents. And Hopper, who at this point, was one more wrong move away from pulling his shotgun out on Steve.

Okay, so strangers and vague acquaintances had been congratulatory. 

To your faces.

It wasn’t as though either of you were ashamed about the situation at hand. It had taken Steve a long while to grapple with the fact that it wasn’t wrong of him to be happy, that this wasn’t the great tragedy everyone around him seemed to be so convinced it was. Not that he ever thought it was, not really. It had seemed as though everyone around him thought it irresponsible to be anything but remorseful, but how could he be? He was definitely scared, and so were you, but there was an ever flowing thrum of joy that tinged every moment of his day when he thought about the little one waiting for him, for the both of you. 

That being said, all of the snide comments and judgmental side eyes you two had been collecting since April were beginning to be too much. The disgust in that mother’s voice at the idea of her children being around you made him feel like nothing more than some reckless, idiot kid who’d ruined your life by not being careful enough. 

Was that really what your future was going to look like? Mothers turning up their noses at the idea of you teaching their children? Getting turned down for jobs because Steve hadn’t pulled out like he should have? He had been so preoccupied with doctor’s appointments and baby clothes that he hadn’t even thought about it. Of course, Floyd was going to give you a job, he loved you and probably didn’t even believe in marriage to begin with, but what about everyone else? The two of you had been concocting dreams of leaving Hawkins for a good decade, but if no one else would be willing to give you the time of day because of the baby, had that all been for not? 

Maybe they were all right. Maybe he really had ruined your life. 

Steve quickly began to appreciate the quiet of his new job. His whole life had been so hectic and stressful over the last few months (well, the last few years, really), that the slow moving days of making copies and handing out museum maps were a much appreciated respite.

It didn’t last long.

Saturday, June 24th, 1989. You and Steve had spent the day indoors, the sticky summer air too stifling for you to bear suffering through. The 90 degree weather that Indiana became swathed in every year had brought back new bouts of nausea and headaches for you, and you’d spent the whole day splayed across the sofa doing your best to keep your saltine crackers down. Steve had been bringing you a constant stream of ice water and popsicles, worrying about what the rest of summer might do to you; the season had just begun, yet it already seemed to have taken you out.

The sun was finally beginning to set, bringing the temperatures down with it and leaving you in slightly better spirits. You’d just put a record on (the new Cure album that you’d been playing nonstop) and sat at the kitchen table, watching intently as he chopped up salad veggies for your dinner. 

“Stop stealing all of the tomatoes!” Steve chastised you as you sneakily grabbed another thick wedge, dousing it in salt. “There aren’t gonna be any left by the time I’m done.”

“Maybe not for you,” you quipped, a small rivulet of tomato juice tipping down your chin as you spoke around the bite. 

“You cruel thing,” Steve remarked with a smile. He turned around to pull the dressing out of the fridge. “Not leaving any tomato for the love of your life? I mean, really, that’s just-”

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted Steve’s joke. It was nearly nine thirty, too late for most people to be calling, though he knew a certain group of teenagers for whom common courtesy didn’t really seem to matter, especially when it came to him. 

“It’s probably just one of the kids,” Steve remarked as he went to answer it. “I told them my chauffeur services are over, but I swear, it went in one ear and right out the other. Hello?”

“Steven?”

Oh. 

Definitely not the voice he was expecting to hear. Actually, it was probably the last voice he was expecting.

“Mom?” he asked. You whipped your head to face him. “Is everything alright? I wouldn’t usually expect you to call this late.”

‘I wouldn’t have expected you to call at all,’ is what he really meant, but he didn’t say it.

“Yes, well,” his mother said. Her voice sounded tinny over the phone, and Steve could hear all sorts of commotion from behind her.

“Where are you?” Steve asked, though his question was quickly answered when he heard the sound of a loudspeaker page for a doctor. “Is everything okay? It sounds like you’re in a hospital.”

“Your father’s had a heart attack.”

His head went cloudy, and he was sure that his ears weren’t working right, and the drive to the hospital was taken in complete silence. Not a sound, outside of your quiet sniffles; your eyes had been filled with tears since the moment Steve told you what had happened, though they had yet to drop.

You’d known Steve’s parents just about as long as Steve had; of course you would be upset, too. He hadn’t really thought about that until that moment, and it made him feel like a bit of an asshole. 

Granted, he couldn’t really think of much right now even if he tried. 

He hadn’t spoken to his mother in almost three months, and that last conversation had been far from a cheery one. He had handed his mother her worst nightmare on a silver platter. He’d broken her heart, effectively ruined everything. His eyes flashed over to you in the passenger seat, trying so hard not to cry, your hand resting gently on the baby bump that was the very source of said heartbreak.

Steve parked the car and let out a shaky sigh.

The hospital was freezing cold, made even worse by the blistering heat outside. You and Steve were blasted by a wave of frigid air conditioning as you walked through the sliding glass doors. Sterile and unwelcoming. By the time he’d walked up to the front desk, he realized he couldn’t get any of the words he needed to say out of his mouth. 

“Oh, um, hello,” you said, having expected him to speak first. “Hi, sorry. We’re here to see Ronald Harrington?”

“Relation?”

“This is his son, and, um,” you hesitated for a moment, “daughter-in-law.”

The woman at the desk seemed unconvinced but told you the room number anyway.

Fluorescent lights, linoleum tile. Beeps and blinks, doctors and nurses racing through halls and sat at bedsides. Room 604 came too quickly for Steve to steady himself. Another shaky sigh, you squeezed his hand as you opened the door. 

There was a nurse there, and his father in the bed with tubes and wires going every which way. He was not awake. Steve suddenly knew, as simple as breathing, that he would not be waking back up. His mom said over the phone that the doctor told her there was a chance that he might, but in an instant, he knew they were wrong. Sugar coating it as an act of kindness, maybe, but he thought providing his mother with false hope was more cruel than anything else.

His mother.

She was sitting next to the bed. Her eyes were rimmed in horrible red and her hands shook as she held those of her husband. She was disheveled, and exhausted, and as soon as she set her eyes on her son, she shot straight up from her chair and pulled him into a hug. 

“Mom,” Steve quietly cried as soon as his mother’s arms wrapped around him. He felt horribly small, in the middle of the big bad hospital room.

He hadn’t cried; honestly, his brain hadn’t really had the chance to catch up to everything that was happening around him, but now? God, the floodgates had opened. His mother was crying too, an unsettling sight, but not one he hadn’t seen before. His mother had been brought to tears by her husband god knows how many times, and Steve had always been there to do his very best to fix things for her.

This was different, though. It wasn’t her husband’s cruelty that brought the tears this time, and there wasn’t a single thing Steve could do to fix it.

“Oh,” his mother fussed, brushing her hands over the sides of his face. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve blubbered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” his mother said. “You’ve done nothing wrong, alright? Not a single thing.” 

You stayed floating by the door, talking to the nurse about the man who never loved him, who was dying right next to him.  A waiting game, at this point.

The hospital room had two cushy chairs for family, and a backless rolling stool surely meant for the doctor. That’s the seat that Steve chose, pulling it up next to the one his mother had chosen. He could vaguely hear the greeting between the two of you, see the hug from the corner of his eye, his mother fussing over you, asking how far along and if you’d been feeling alright. He probably should have been paying attention, but all he could focus on was the way his father was lying there already looking dead.

“Hey, Dad,” he muttered. He couldn’t touch him, couldn’t think to hold his hand like his mother had been, because when in his life had his father ever tried to hold his hand? Pat him on the back, give him a hug? Ron would have called him a sissy if Steve had tried something like that; he always got all weird when things got emotional. 

His mother came and sat back in her chair, pulling his stool right up against the arm, and there they sat, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. His mother hoped to stave off the inevitable, Steve hoped it would just happen so that the waiting could stop. Oh, god, that was so awful, wasn’t it? He should be wanting him to wake up, to get better, shouldn’t he? But he knew that wasn’t going to happen, and somehow the feeling of waiting there for his dad to drop dead felt so much worse than it actually happening. 

It was well past one in the morning now. You were curled up in your chair, fast asleep. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but he really didn’t mind. If anything, he preferred it, because it spared you from the horrible anxiety of anticipating something terrible. 

He’d been quiet for a while now. He had so many things he wanted to tell his mom, but this absolutely was not the place for any one of those conversations.

“I fear that I’ve been horribly cruel to the two of you,” his mother said, breaking through the quiet without looking away from her husband's sallow face.

“You haven’t been,” Steve assured her. “I promise.”

“I should have been there for you, I should have-” she cut herself off with a ragged sigh.

“It’s fine, really. You were worried about me, that’s all,” he emphasized. “Besides, I kinda needed a good knock to the head like that.”

“You sure did pick a good one,” she said after a moment, in reference to you. 

“Yeah, I think so too,” Steve agreed with a small smile. He turned to look at you, tucked under a blanket. Your face was turned toward the window looking out over the hospital's parking lot. The red light of the ‘Hawkins Memorial’ sign cast a soft pink glow across your face from its spot outside, Steve’s last little slice of peace in the middle of this horrible mess. “We’re having a girl.”

Steve hadn’t breached the baby bubble until now. His poor mother was already being pulled through the wringer, and the last thing he wanted to do was open that wound, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Are you really?” his mother asked, a genuine smile in her voice.

“Mhm.” Steve had cried when the two of you found out, you both had. He’d never, ever been happier to be wrong in his entire life. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Steve.” She grabbed his hand in two of hers. 

“I wanted to tell you as soon as we found out,” Steve confessed. “I was gonna call you, I just- I thought it would just end up making it all worse.”

“It wouldn’t have,” she said. “I would have happily answered you.”

“I know.”

“You two have any names picked out yet?” she asked, diffusing the tension the best she could.

“Well, we were gonna go with Piper-”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

“-but, then she pointed out that since her middle name’s gonna be Robin, she’d end up having two bird names,” Steve explained. “Piper Robin. So, back to the drawing board.”

“Oh, well, you're both smart. You’ll come up with something good.”

“I hope so.”

It didn’t take too long after that.

Ronald Harrington died in the wee hours of a warm June morning, with his wife and son (neither of whom he ever particularly liked) by his side. Meredith wailed at the edge of the bed, you sobbed quietly, and Steve stood stoic between the two of you, trying his absolute hardest to stay put in one piece. He didn’t know what to do. 

He found the nearest payphone and called Robin.

“Hello?” Robin croaked, clearly having been woken up by the call.

“Hey, it’s me,” Steve said. He willed the shake in his voice to go away.

“Steve? What the hell are you calling me at four in the morning for?” she questioned. “And don’t say it’s to apologize, because I swear to god-”

“My dad is dead,” he spat out.

“What?”

“He had a heart attack last night, and-” Steve was cut off by a crack in his own voice, “-and now he’s dead.”

“Oh, my god,” Robin replied. “Shit, Steve. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Steve blurted out. He screwed his eyes shut, trying and failing to keep his tears at bay. He shook his head and choked into the phone, “I think that maybe I’m not.”

“Are you at the hospital?” she asked him. Steve could hear movement from the other line.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to come down there?”

“Please?” Steve squeaked out. 

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how long it took for Robin to get to the hospital because it felt like time was speeding up and slowing down all at once. The doctor was talking to him about next steps and funeral homes, and Steve was hearing it all, and nodding along like he was listening, but it all just sort of blended together in his ears. He was handed a brochure. The doctor left the room.

Robin appeared shortly after that, wearing jeans, but still in her pajama shirt on top. Any resolve Steve had left disappeared in an instant. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch,” Robin murmured as she hugged him in the hallway just outside the door.

“I was being an asshole. I deserved it,” Steve relented. “Truce?”

“Yeah, truce,” Robin said before turning her attention to you. “Oh, my god, you look like you swallowed a beach ball.”

“Robin!”

“I know,” you (much to Steve’s relief) agreed with a smile. “Feel like it, too.”

You and Steve went home with Meredith that night, back to the childhood home that wasn’t his anymore. Robin headed back to your apartment to feed your cat. Steve would call the funeral home in the morning, and he would cry into your arms tonight.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @luvlexi-darling @palmtreesx3 @prestinalove @bakugouswh0r3 @hollandweather

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

You know something I don't see anyone talking about? In the climax of the Mighty Movie, when the giant meteor is coming down, Ryder's response is to tell Skye to save herself, that meteor probably would've destroyed all of Adventure City and maybe even beyond, and there's no telling if they were able to evacuate the whole city by that point, I doubt it, Ryder was willing to let a whole city get destroyed and potentially a bunch of citizens get killed all for the sake of his pup, just goes to show how much Ryder cares for the pups, cause when it comes down to it, he'd choose them over a whole city

Dude THAT SCENE FROM THE MIGHTY MOVIE HAS SO MUCH TO UNPACK I WANNA SCREAM EVERY TIME I REWATCH IT

Also as much as that might sound weird because "he would sacrifice the city for his pups" (it DOES sound terrible), THAT WAS PROBABLY THE HARDEST DECISION EVER IN RYDER'S LIFE SO FAR and I'm gonna explain now why I'll always defend this boy with my life

Under the cut bc it gets long and I'll be talking details about a still kinda recent movie and I know some people who didn't get to watch it yet XD

First, YEAH, they were NOT able to evacuate the city on time. There were still a lot of people on the streets, including the very Paw Patrol team. Just like in the beginning when the first meteor came down and when they needed to secure a landing path for the plane, we see they first make sure the streets are empty before they look for shelter themselves. Same thing happened in the first movie, remember? During the storm, they secured the streets around the skyscrapers first, and only then the pups went for shelter in the building as well. This time, though? There was just not enough time for that. It wasn't about emptying a whole avenue or a few blocks, that giant fucker was going to obliterate AT LEAST HALF THE CITY.

Man, Victoria was indeed crazy. Just where the fuck was she planning to have that shit land as she pulled it down to Earth???

Which brings up another point...

The Paw Patrol was still there too and none of them had a crystal to power up and use their powers to escape. All crystals had been handed over to Skye just a few minutes before.

DO YOU GET WHAT THAT MEANS???

Ryder knew that was it. If Skye wouldn't be able to stop that giant meteor, they were all going to die.

Skye could die trying to stop that meteor.

If she would be successful and save everyone, she could still die while at it.

If she failed, she would die along with everyone else.

Ryder refused to let her sacrifice herself like that, even if there was a chance to save everyone, the risks were just too high. The biggest chance was that they would ALL die there- so if there was one way to save at least ONE of them, he was going to take it.

As much as the franchise relies on crazy and surreal odds (Dinosaurs? Merpups? I think Dragons too, I didn't get there yet? We can just keep going lol), Ryder is still a realistic kind of person. He's a dreamer, sure, but he's also realistic. He's a science kid. He knows the numbers, he calculates odds very quickly, he analyzes every situation faster than you can think so he can choose the best course of action and instruct his pups on where to go and what to do.

The best case scenario there? It was to ensure at least Skye would survive. She had the crystals, she was already out there in the air, all she needed to do was to get out of the way and fly far to stay out of the impact shockwave. No biggie. Anything else, any other idea to try and save the other pups, it would take too long and they wouldn't get away in time, and it would only bring Skye to die as well. Skye wouldn't be fast enough to fly all the way back to redistribute the crystals. She would get there, but then they wouldn't have enough time to run or hide, only Chase would be fast enough to get away and he wouldn't be willing to run and leave everyone else behind.

And there's also the fact that Ryder always puts his pups' safety and well being above his own too. He will make sure they're safe and sound in any given situation before beginning to consider about his own safety. It's his main duty to make sure they'll be okay. They're his responsibility.

And if even just one of his pups would be left behind to die, he wouldn't go either. Even if that meant letting the city get destroyed and taking several other people with them in the process.

The world be damned, his pups are well trained and always putting themselves at risk for the people, but when it comes down to it, their lives will always come first for this kid. And if one stays behind, he's staying too.

On a last note, I don't remember how it is in the English dub right now, but in the Brazilian dub his voice CRACKS SO HARD when he's telling Skye to save herself. He sounds SO DESPERATE and, and, like, he's trying so damn hard to keep his shit together, to get his point across and he knows they have zero chance of escape and survival, he knows these might be his last words to her, IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH--!!!!

[final-fantasy-imagines]

Hi!! I hope you doing well :), May I make a request for Reno x Reader? I wanted see what it be like for Reno and reader meeting on Valentine’s Day! Like he’s kinda mad he doesn’t have a date and she’s just hanging out trying to find something to do, and then they run into each other and just hang out with each other! By the end of the day they say they wanna hang out again and their like “I’m in love” behind close doors 😖 I’m so sorry that was a lot but I thought it would be cute ☺️

Hey there! <3 I'm doing pretty good, thank you. And thank you for your request, too! I know this doesn't match your idea perfectly but I hope you like it nevertheless. Happy Valentine's Day, dear anon! :)

Pairing: Reno x gn!reader

Unexpectedly – Reno x gn!reader

The sun has already started to set when Reno leaves the Shinra Building. The streets of Midgar are crowded, even more so than usual, and everywhere he looks, he sees couples - couples that are chattering about who knows what, couples with happy faces, with flowers and little gifts, couples who are shamelessly making out in a dimly lit corner, thinking that no one will notice them when everyone who's passing by can, in fact, see them.

Reno wants to roll his eyes and tell them that they should just get a room but at the last second, he stops himself. It's not their fault he's angry and upset and annoyed for reasons he doesn't even know. So instead of snapping at some random strangers, he stares down at the road and tells himself to calm down. It's Valentine's Day - of course there will be couples everywhere, and of course, they will kiss and giggle and enjoy their time together. He has no right to take his anger out on them, no matter how much he wants to.

As he continues to aimlessly wander around the city, Reno wonders if there's something more frustrating than working on Valentine's Day. And then he remembers that he doesn't have a date this year, and he figures that yes, that's a lot worse than work. It's not that he's usually bothered by being single - actually, it can be quite nice, especially with a crazy schedule like his - but on some days, he thinks it just would be great to have someone to come home to after a long shift. Someone who just gets it. 

And today is one of these days.

Maybe that's why the couples annoy him so much. Because he secretly envies them, although he'd rather bite his tongue off than actually admit that. He's a Turk, damit, and he doesn't need anyone else to be happy. He's perfectly capable of being alone.

Except that he doesn't want to be alone. Not today, at least.

He curses under his breath and kicks an innocent pebble out of his way. He hates feeling like this. It makes him look weak, pathetic even - and Reno might be a lot of things but weak and pathetic certainly aren't one of them.

And then, someone bumps into him.

*

You're not paying much attention to your surroundings as you rush through the familiar streets of Sector 8, and so it’s probably completely your fault that you just crashed into another person. A young man, with red hair and stunning turquoise eyes, who stares at you like he’s about to stab you, to be more precise. 

“Whoops,” you say quickly, taking a step back and holding your hands up, although you’re well aware that a simple gesture like that isn’t enough to shield you from the annoyance in his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

He opens his mouth, probably to snap at you but then he just sighs and, a lot calmer than you expected, says, “It’s fine. No need to apologize.”

That should be it, right? What’s more to say then “I’m sorry” when you bump into someone? 

You have absolutely no reason to stay here any longer, and yet, you don’t move. (You’re glad no one asks you for a reason because you honestly couldn’t tell them. It just feels wrong to just turn around and leave.)

“Sorry,” you say again. 

“I already told you that you don’t have to apologize.”

“Right.”

The situation is more than awkward, you’re painfully aware of that. Still, you don’t leave. 

“I should be the one to apologize,” the man suddenly says, and an almost sheepish grin flashes over his face when you dart a glance at him, surprised, “I scared you, no? You looked at me like you were afraid I was going to murder you or something.”

“Well, to my defense, you had a very murderous expression in your eyes,” you reply, only half-joking. What on earth is going on here? Just a minute ago, his anger has been almost palpable, and now he’s trying to quip? 

“Rough day at work.” He shrugs. 

“Ah. And instead of taking that out on your significant other, you picked a random stranger. I have to say, on a day like this, that’s kinda smart.”

It’s supposed to be a harmless joke but the way his eyes darken at your words makes it very clear that he’s not too amused about your comment. “It might actually surprise you – and I honestly don’t even know why I should tell you this – but I don’t have a significant other.” 

Oops. Sounds like you struck a nerve there. 

“Oh. Yeah, that’s actually really hard to believe,” you say with a nervous laugh, trying to save what still can be saved. “I mean, you seem like an amazing person and everything.”

“So, after almost knocking me down, now you trying to flirt with me, sweetheart?”

“Huh?” You’re going to get whiplash from the changes in his behavior, you’re sure. “Definitely not. I don’t even know your name.”

“Reno,” he says and winks at you. “The name’s Reno.” When you don’t reply (you’re still way too confused and taken aback by his suddenly so gleeful and flirty demeanor), he adds, “How about you, sweetheart?”

“If you call me sweetheart one more time I will rip your vocal cords out.” It’s the first thing that comes to your mind, and the words are already out before you can stop them, but Reno just laughs, clearly not impressed by your violent threat. “You know what, I’d love to see you try,” he replies, voice low and smooth like honey, “sweetheart.”

You’re going to punch him if he continues to talk to you like that, you swear. But at the same time, you think that it would be a shame to harm a pretty face like his.

Wait. Did you just think of him as pretty? 

But then again, who could blame you? He really is handsome (and you’re sure he knows it), although you’d rather bite your tongue off than actually admit that. And a part of you really wants to swipe that smug grin off his face. 

“I hate you,” is all you eventually manage to get out, and Reno’s grin widens. “You know you don’t. Why else would you still be here with me, hm?”

“Out of pity, of course,” you say, quick like a shot. “It’s Valentine’s Day and you poor thing don’t have a date.”

Reno laughs. “Okay, you got me there. Point for you.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter. It’s contagious – and, although it’s probably really stupid to think that – a part of you is proud for making him laugh. Especially since he has been in such a bad mood when you bumped into him. It’s a good thing that you managed to cheer him up, right?

“Come on,” he then says, offering you his arm like the gentleman he most certainly isn’t, “let me buy you a drink. As an apology for scaring you earlier, I mean. We can’t stay out here the whole night, can we?”

“Oh, we could. But a drink doesn’t sound too bad either.” You put a finger to your chin, acting like you have to think about his offer (a fruitless attempt to make him nervous) but you can’t keep up the façade for too long. So, with a wink, you link arms with him. “Okay. Lead the way, pretty boy.”

“Woah, slow down,” Reno jokes, “we don’t know each other well enough for that kind of nickname yet.”

The two of you burst into laughter again, and Reno starts to think that this could be the beginning of something truly wonderful. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider liking, reblogging and/or leaving feedback. I'd really appreciate the support. <3

Taglist: @sixdaysofsilverashes @thevoidwriting @theimaginaryheir @strawberrymoonsx

[notmichealangelo]

A Brother’s Heartache

AKA I saw this new clip of Mario fucking up a bunch of bricks, blacked out, and woke back up with an entire one shot written. I just really loved the emotion here and wanted to share my take on it before the movie is released!

Mario’s knuckles ached. His legs ached, his arms ached, his head ached, and now that he was alone, he noticed a new pressure beginning to build in his eyes. He had been at this godforsaken training course all night, and all he had to show for it were bruised hands, an even more bruised ego, and the fact that the edges of the world had begun to fade into purple with the coming of dawn. 

  He now sat on the balcony Princess Peach had used to observe his training earlier, except the princess in question had left to give the plumber some space. She was a kind woman with the best intentions, Mario could tell that much even after having just met her, but she wasn’t yet the best at... emotional pep-talks. She had soon noticed Mario’s growing frustration with her attempts at cheering him on and decided that leaving him to collect himself might be a safer option than anything she might try to say. Mario appreciated that. He made a mental note to apologize for snapping at her earlier after he fell from the disappearing platforms for the twenty-fifth time.  Mario sighed and removed his hat, watching as the twinkling stars disappeared one by one, and the sky began to lighten ever so slightly. He had made so little progress, and they had so little time. Never mind the rising threat of Bowser taking over the other kingdoms, that freak had his little brother. Mario’s grip on his hat tightened, and he lowered his head to view the capital ‘M’ that rested on the front of it, only to realize it looked more like a blurry mass of red and white. Mario wiped at his eyes to clear his vision but found that more moisture came to replace anything he would wipe off. 

Would he really be able to save his brother?

“Uh... Hey, is this a bad time, or-”

Mario jumped and screamed, turning to face the sudden voice, fists blindly raised in front of him. He froze when his eyes landed on Toad, who held two glasses of water and an embarrassed look on his face. Mario relaxed.  

“You scared the hell outta me, man,” said Mario after catching his breath. He sat back down on the white tile and wiped any further evidence of tears off his face. “We gotta get you a bell or something.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Said the little mushroom creature, “I jus’ didn’t wanna leave you out here by yourself for too long. Y’coulda gotten... lost or something.” Toad sat down beside Mario, offering him one of the glasses of water. Mario gladly took it, not realizing how thirsty he was.  

They sat in silence for a little while, watching the sky lighten. Toad was the first to speak up after a few minutes.

“So... what’s your brother like?”

“Huh?” Replied Mario, snapping out of his trance and turning his head to look at his little friend. Toad repeated himself.

“What’s your brother like? You haven’t talked about him much since we first met. Tell me about him. What’s his name again? Louis?”  

Mario stared into his glass of water, chuckling.

“His name is Luigi,” Mario began, “And, well... We’ve kinda done everything together since we were born. He’s younger than me, but the little jerk managed to be taller, and he’s never gonna let me live it down. He’s kinda shy, I usually have to encourage him to try new things, but funnily enough, he’s a lot more creative than me. We recently started a new plumbing business, and the commercial was his idea...”

Mario described his and Luigi’s adventures in Brooklyn, from elementary school and before to the present and their plans beyond that. The red clad plumber was halfway through telling Toad about how Luigi had tackled a kid in middle school for ripping up Mario’s favorite baseball cards when he realized he was getting choked up again. Mario frantically cleared his throat and began wiping his face, and Toad patted his arm.  

“You really miss him, don’t you?” asked Toad softly. Mario could only nod. “Yeah, I would too. I’m sure this is real tough for you, not having him here.” Mario nodded again, sniffling.  

“Hey,” Toad said suddenly, “What d’you think he’d say to you right now?”

“... What?” asked Mario, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“You heard me, what would Louis- Er, Luigi say to you right now? Right at this very second?” Toad was looking at him intently now. Mario began to think.  

“Probably something gushy like... It’s okay to be scared, and- and it’s okay to take breaks and ask for help. Then he’d give me a hug, then he’d hug me for too long and I’d have to force him to get off me, heh...”  

Mario could name at least five scenarios that played out exactly like that. They usually ended with someone’s elbow in someone else’s gut, but a room filled with laughter and lifted spirits, nonetheless. He smiled at the memories, but the smile quickly fell away.  

“God, Toad, he must be terrified,” said Mario as he ran a hand through his hair. “Who knows what they’re- what they’re doing to him, what if-”

Toad shoved a tiny hand in Mario’s face, wagging a finger.  

“Nuh-uh, no more thinking like that,” Said Toad, who was now standing, his other hand on his hip, “You’re allowed to worry, but your brother needs you to be strong for him. That’s why her highness was pushing you so hard, even if she... probably didn’t go about it the right way.

Listen, you might not be the best fighter in the six kingdoms yet, but Luigi needs you. He needs you to fight for him. And from what you told me, I know he’s got faith in you. Now you just need faith in yourself. You’re not alone in this either, Mario. We’re gonna kick that Koopa’s butt and we’re gonna rescue your brother together, okay?”  

Who knew little mushroom people could be so thoughtful?

Mario gave Toad a watery smile.  

“Thanks, man,” said the human quietly. Toad nodded and smiled.  

“Now get back out there! Show those inanimate objects who’s boss!” Toad shouted, pushing Mario towards the training course. Mario took a breath and put his hat back on.  

The sun was finally beginning to rise, painting the world in purples and oranges. Luigi preferred sunrises over sunsets, and Mario always made fun of his brother for growing so tired so early in the evening, with Luigi always replying with how much he enjoyed watching the sun rise. Mario wondered if his little brother could see the sunrise now, from wherever he was being kept. Mario clenched his fists.  

Hold on little bro, thought Mario, I’ll be there soon. The plumber charged forward, his fists raised and a new fire in his eyes.  

---  

When Peach returned to the balcony, the sun had risen much further into the sky, the last colors of dawn slipping away. She had come with snacks and a change of clothes for Mario as a peace offering, but her eyes widened at the sight before her. Toad stood dangerously on top of the railing to the balcony, whooping and cheering as Mario smashed through another solid brick wall. He jumped off fake bullet bills, dodged automated piranha plants, and let out a determined shout as he smashed through the wooden standup of Bowser.  

“Toad, what did you feed him?” asked Peach in bewilderment, watching Mario in awe.  

“Love and support!” Replied the little toadstool haughtily, placing his hands on his hips. “Turns out I’m just as talented at pep talks as I am at adventuring!”

Peach laughed incredulously and patted Toad on the head. Mario had reached the flagpole at the top of the course and was now jumping and whooping in excitement. Peach clapped enthusiastically. Maybe they really did have a shot at this.  

[mcondance]

other side of the game; hobie brown

summary // hobie swings by when you’re cleaning your room, and you know exactly what he wants.

cw // dubcon-ish (you say stuff akin to no but like.. you want it. it’s just a game you n hobie play), they talk a lot of shit, missionary

extras // you and hobie r Black so i don't wanna hear anything abt the grammar i used! "it's supposed to be doesn't" kill yourself idc, the song has. nothing to do with what happens in this fic btw it just.. it makes sense when you read it and it helped me write

wc // 2.6k

song shoutouts // special thanks to other side of the game by erykah badu and i get lonely by janet jackson

signing off // thank you to poetnon for this idea i hope you like this <3

.

.

.

you know the second you hear the knocks at your window that you won't be getting anything else done today. he does this every fucking time.

walking across your room, you unlock the window for your boyfriend, eyes meeting his as you psyche yourself up for what you know is coming.

you return your attention to your desk, and with your back turned to him, you hear him slide his lanky body through the frame, landing softly on your carpeted floor.

"you busy?" he muses pointlessly, already shrugging his jacket off and reaching down to untie his boots. player one, ready?

"yeah," you hum pointlessly too, hands fiddling with the trinkets on your desk. maybe if you don't look at him, you won't cave. player two, ready?

"what you up to?" his voice grows closer. you close your eyes, breathing deep and slow to try to build your resolve, but you can hear him inching towards you, the clinging of his belts giving his movements away.

"cleanin' my room." you spin around, figuring you'd face your doom instead. his shoes are off now, placed up against the wall under your window. and now the game has started.

"mhm. well don't let me stop you," he smiles, and you wish you could say that it didn't put another dent in your already rusty resolve, but it does. with shaking hands crossed in front of you, you push yourself up and away from your desk and move across your room to your pile of clothes, folding shit hastily, already so fucking nervous.

he takes your place leaning against your desk and scans your room, taking in how much you’ve already gotten done. it makes him feel a little less bad about what he’s going to do. “looks good already. how long you been cleanin’?”

“since like, 10.”

“mhm. ‘s 2:24 now. think you’re ready for a break?” you snap your head towards him, rolling your eyes and screwing your lips up at the implications of his words.

“not the kinda break you’re talking about,” you sneer, rolling your eyes again as you return your focus to the meaningless pile of clothes.

“and what kinda break is that?”

“the kinda break when you end up inside me. i don’t have time for it.” you don’t face him as you speak. you can’t. if you do, it’s all over. you don’t want it to end just yet. it’s fun. it always is.

“what, you think ‘m just tryna get in your pants? i jus’ think my girl should have a little rest, yeah?” at his words you drop the shirt in your hand, switching gears to organize your nightstand instead.

“you’re lying. you always do this.”

“do what?”

“this. you come here and sweet talk me and the next thing i know i’m under you and my room doesn’t get cleaned. i’m not doing this today.”

he’s silent— your brain isn’t. you know it’s only a matter of time until he’s doing exactly what he’s doing now.. wrapping his slim fingers around your waist and pulling you back onto him.

speaking directly against your ear, he finally comes out with what he wants. “take a break, baby, lemme make you feel good." his lips meet your neck, ghosting over your heated skin.

"can't, hobes, i gotta clean up,” you whine, but it's futile at this point, cause you're already leaning back onto him, already tilting your neck to the side to give him more access, already dropping the half-empty water bottle in your hand.

"you sure, love? y'can clean up after we're done, hm? i'll help you.” he sounds earnest, like he really cares. you shake your head no, but you let him pull you away from your desk and turn you around. "gotta clean," you repeat, but you let him push you down onto your ruffled sheets.

"then clean." he’s standing over you now with his hands tucked into his pockets, and he motions towards the pile of clothes with his head, knowing eyes fixed on your frame sprawled out on your bed. from here, the light frames him perfectly, and he looks so damn pretty. maybe you'll blame what you do next on that. doesn't matter now, though. eyes meeting, you both know you're not getting up— seconds pass with you both staring, a silent confirmation, and hobie knows your answer.

shrugging, he leans down with his hands still in pockets, placing a damning kiss on your lips, murmuring "gave you a chance, baby. knew you didn't give a fuck about cleanin'." and he's right, embarrassingly so, so you roll your eyes, channeling your faux-frustration into a rough kiss, curling your hands under the straps of his t-shirt.

he falls forward, hands flying from his pockets to balance himself on top of you. smiling against your lips, he speaks again, “see. . you want it. you’re desperate.”

his hips start to rock against yours, stacked belts clinging against your dangling legs. hands finding the side of his face, you huff at his irritating need to almost shame you, to show for some made-up record that no matter how much you turn him down, you want him. you need him.

so you push your hips against his, humming at the groan that flies from his lips. tapping your thigh, he ushers you up the bed, your bodies turning until your head is laid on your pillows.

he reaches down between you two, sliding your shorts to the side to rub his fingers against your already sloppy cunt, smiling when he feels and sees how wet you are. “cleaning my ass,” he jokes, kissing you before you can get upset again.

sliding his fingers up, he brushes the pads of them over your sensitive clit, swallowing the pretty moans that start to flow from your spit-slicked lips. hobie knows you like the back of his hand, knows just how much pressure you need, how tight his circles have to be, knows how to make you cum hard, and cum fast.

it’s always like this when he comes by with the goal to distract you— you always end up under him with whatever you have on pushed hastily to the side, fully clothed and his hand between your legs, shaking arms wrapped around his neck. it’s desperate, really, both your need to get off.

though you try to remain steadfast, try to act like you don’t want this, the way your hips move against his hand gives you away. “did all that sayin’ ‘no’, bu’ look.” he points his eyes down, towards where his hand is hovering above your cunt, fingers glistening.

“‘course ‘m wet, don’t mean shit.”

“it don’t? that’s wild, love,” he slides two fingers in without warning and presses his thumb against your clit before he starts his circles again, other hand moving to hold you in place when you thrash against him, “cause last time i had t’almost beg. ‘n the time before that, i did beg.”

you know what he’s trying to say, and it makes heat rise in your face and makes your eyes close, cause you can’t face him. no matter, though, cause he grabs your face, spits, “open your eyes. look a’me.”

you open your eyes and meet his low ones, ones that are always black with lust, ones that bore straight through you and make you feel so small and dirty underneath their gaze. he nods at your obedience, and then his fingers catch that spot inside you, and the licks of flame inside you morph into something like a fire, lighting you up with pleasure. you’re close, so close.

“you’re gettin’ easier, baby. act all you want, you’re desperate.” that sends you over the edge, and it’s embarrassing. it’s filthy, how he just has to talk to you a little mean and you’re cumming on his fingers, shaking as you choked out sobs of his name, like you weren’t just telling him to leave you alone 10 minutes ago.

before you even come down he’s kissing you, pulling your shirt up to free your tits.

"fuck you." you spew as you separate, but you still pull him closer, position him where his clothed dick rubs right against your cunt, kept away by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts that have almost rolled back into place.

"you will, in a second," he bites back, a wicked smile plastered across his ethereal features— features that are driving you fucking insane.

you’ve grown sick of his mouth— fisting his hair, you yank hard, drawing a pained moan from him and another drag of his cock against you. “you keep talking all this shit, but you’re the one who came up to my window looking for some ass. i don’t wanna hear it.”

“yeah? and you’re the one who kept going on about havin’ to clean your room, but i got you in bed so easy. we’re both fucked.”

and it’s true. the statement grounds both of you, and you both realize just where you are— inches apart, seconds away from what you both want. snapping out of it at the same time, your hands tangle together as you reach for each other’s bottoms, you freeing his pretty dick and him ripping your shorts right down the middle.

you laugh at his haste, his deep chuckles mixing with your giggles, foreheads meeting as you both calm down after your frenzy.

“‘m sorry. still forget how strong i am.”

“‘s fine. just fuck me already.”

“ehhh,” hand around his cock, sliding his tip up and down your waiting cunt, he teases once more, “y’sure you don’ wanna clean? room’s still a bit messy.”

“hobie, i swear to god, if you do not put it in me now i will pin you down and take it.” reading your eyes, he can tell you’re dead serious.

“‘s much as i’d love that,” he slides in with a pretty groan, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a throaty whine, “i want you like this.” pushing his hips up, he seats himself inside you.

breathing heavy, you both just take a second to calm down, to bask in the feeling of being intertwined with your lover again, no matter how annoying they can be. with closed eyes, you throw your head back, resting on your pillows. hobie takes that as a sign to spread kisses down your jaw, grinning when you smile.

“move,” you breathe, shifting your hips to give him better access.

that first stroke always drives you both crazy. the slow pull out, faces contorting in pleasure, bodies getting closer and closer until the next best thing is merging together again, you pushing down and him pushing up and then his cock takes its rightful place inside you, sensitive tip leaking against your cervix.

“‘m all the way in, love, can feel the end of you,” he murmurs against your neck, and you nod, curling your arms tighter around his neck. then, he just grinds, circles his hips, just barely pulling out.

it’s perfect, the way your bodies move against each other, giving and receiving pleasure at the end of the game you both love playing. with fluttery glides and soft slides, and pitchy whines and deep groans, you dunk yourselves into that familiar pool of feeling, let it fill up your noses and mouths until it’s spilling over, your bodies shaking and jerking against each other.

blissed out of your fucking minds, your lips meet the others, lazy connects of your lips that you can just barely call kisses. they’re slack-jawed and sloppy, spit-swapping, the lewd smacks filling the air, mixing with the harmony of fucked-out sounds.

slowly, hobie starts moving his hips around differently, on a mission now, one that has you tensing up, cause it never takes him long to find it, that sweet spot that has you—

“fuck,” you drawl, throwing your head back, and hobie just smiles and keeps his hips moving that way, keeps his cock kissing that same spot.

"that's it?" he hums.

when you try to articulate what you're feeling, try to tell him "yeah", the words never come. instead, he's raising up to spread your legs and balancing himself above you, switching from slow grinds to deep thrusts that have him pressing against that spot even more now.

now, with him slapping his hips against yours and his thumb on your clit, the sound fills the room, skin against skin. jolting against him, his eyes are still trained on yours, fixed on the furrow of your eyebrows and the o-shape your lips make, focused on how pretty you look when he fucks you.

your choppy moans fill his ears, the background to his barrage of words that fill yours. sentences about how pretty you look, how good you feel, how he just wants to fuck you forever, and then for the second time without warning, you cum again, right when he says something about wanting to keep you fucked and filled, "'s why i keep comin' over, cause i wan' you full of me all the time."

it's gentle, this time, streams of feeling flowing softly through you. hobie makes sure to keep his pace steady through it all, makes sure he prolongs it as long as he can.

when you come down, you're pushing up on his hips with shaking hands, nodding your head and telling him to move. he doesn't waste a second, lifts up and grabs your headboard with one hand to give himself some leverage, his other hand resting on your calf. this time around, he's forgotten all that slow shit.

he rocks his hips hard and fast, jolting you up, and your back rubs against your sheets, your hands fly to your thighs to ground yourself.

"keep 'em open," he slurs, eyes fixed on where he disappears inside you, on the way you cream on his cock, his pretty dick painted white. "watch," he tells you, "she swallow me up so nice." his tone is awe-filled, brown eyes lit up at the visual of you taking him so well.

your eyes roll back in your head, another wave of arousal overtaking you and you can't watch any longer or you'll go crazy, so you watch his face instead. watch his pretty fucking face contort in pleasure, watching his eyebrow piercings dance in the light, watch his sharp jaw clench when you clench around him.

and god, it’s building up again. how could have ever even thought you’d clean up today, when this is so much better. “you gonna cum?” he asks, cause he knows your tells better than you do. you nod shakily, hands gripping onto your thighs so hard you swear you feel your fingers going numb.

“then do it.” it’s an order, really, and you know what he means. hand flying to your clit, you rub messy circles, and hobie moves his hand from your calf to your thigh to keep you open for him. nodding with wild eyes, he watches you make yourself cum, watches your circles became sloppy side-to-side motions while you whine and almost fucking cry, watches your cunt clamp down on him and suck him in “like she don’t wanna let go.”

through the mind-fuck in your head, you hear him groan loud, and then he’s cumming too, gripping your headboard so hard you swear you hear a soft crack, but fuck the headboard, cause hobie looks so pretty when he cums that it don’t even matter.

laughing, blissed out of your minds, hobie lays down on top of you, breathing hard and sweaty as shit, just like you are.

“i really did need to clean my room though, hobie.” you hum, turning your head to face him.

“i wasn’t just tryin’ to get in your pants, love, i was serious about helpin’,” he mumbles against your neck. and he does help. by the time he’s sliding back through your window and kissing you goodbye, your room is perfect.