#twitter is on fire in this fine night

[quaintii]

Across the Street

Pt.3

Pt.1, Pt2.

synopsis: Miguel calls you in once more for babysitting. He has a day off from work and something inconvenient happens.

content: 18+ MDNI - babysitting, DILF miguel, fingering, m!receiving bj, praise and degrading, dirty talk, spiccyy overall.

A/N: thank you guys for the support!! Love u all 💞

extra: art is on Twitter by kimmy_arts0912

Miguel woke up to the sound of his phone burring on the bedstand, clicking the stop button.

9:04 a.m.

He slowly rose off the bed, rubbing his temples and heading to the bathroom. He took his time getting himself ready, it was never easy for him since he would regularly work for long hours but today was a day off.

He took a shower, shaving off his stubble beard with a mirror glued on the bathroom wall. He got out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a small one on his wet hair.

Soon as he finished changing, he went downstairs to drink some black coffee and eat some peppered eggs with bacon.

As he scrolled through his work emails on his laptop, he saw Gabriella at the corner of his eye. She stepped off the stairs, approaching Miguel and hugging his legs.

"Como dormiste, mi changa?" (How'd you sleep, my girl?) He let out a hearty laugh, ruffling her messy brown curls. His focus was now on Gabriella, carrying her with one arm while his other hand pinched her swollen cheeks.

"Bien, papi!" She said as she swinged on his arm. Miguel smiled and lifted her back on the floor, reaching for the chair for his daughter. He placed two plates, a small stack of pancakes with strawberries, butter and syrup while the other was a bowl of fruit.

"Make sure to eat all of it, mija. It's bad to let things go to waste." He spoke as he washed the prior dishes from last night, making him vividly relive the memory of his fingers in you. He couldn't shake the thought of you, he kept spacing out on your touch.

He snapped back to reality when he peered his eyes to his phone ringing, his wife. Well almost his ex-wife, the divorce was still in date for court but they went their separate ways months ago.

He wrapped a towel around his hands, drying them and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"I'm picking up Gabriella later today around 6."

Miguel's brows furrowed together. "What do you mean?!? This whole week is my time to spend with her. I have a day off today and tomorrow." He snapped back at her.

"What's the reason for the sudden change?! Im allowed to spend time with my daughter too." He was fired up but whispered into the phone so Gabriella wouldn't hear.

"She just got home a couple days ago, que te pasa en la mente?!" Miguel spoke. She scoffed into the phone. "You're more in love with your work than our own daughter."

"Well I planned a trip for the both of us and I already have everything packed for her. Relax, you'll get her back in a couple days, bye!" As Miguel was about to yell at her, she hung up on the phone.

"Pinche pendeja.." he muttered softly on his lips.

He was furious but had to remain calm to not raise Gabriella's suspicion of why her dad was breathing so heavily and palming his face with his hands.

After a couple minutes pass, he sat next to Gabi watching a cartoon show to ease himself down. He would then urge Gabi to go brush her teeth and change into something else rather than her unicorn pajamas.

Miguel decided to take Gabi to a new toy shop that just opened. He was still pissed about the call earlier but the thought ended up leaving his mind as his focus was now on his daughter's happiness.

5:04 p.m.

It'd been a day or two since what happened. Miguel hadn't sent you a message to babysit Gabi, until this afternoon.

"Hey, can you come over to babysit Gabriella? That is if you're not busy with anything."

"I'll be on my way in 5 minutes, Mr. O'Hara."

"Perfect..thank you. Again, Miguel is fine."

You felt so queasy about stepping in foot back to his house but so excited. You wore a summer dress due to the heat emitting from the sky. The afternoon would always be the hottest time of the day where you lived.

You face the mirror to fix the messy curls that sprung up due to the frizz. You apply some lip liner, finishing it off with a red tint gloss.

5:12 p.m.

You knock on the door, patiently waiting. You hear a click and the door finally opens, the sun shined on his caramelized skin. He look almost jaw dropping.. with a slicked back hair look. Loose black fit pants with a loose button up shirt. His eyes gave off a smile smile and invited you in.

You looked around to find Gabriella drawing at the table.

"Hi Gabi!" You squeal and wave at her as she rushes into a hug towards you. "Yay! You're back!" She was eager to see you. "What are you drawing? That looks great!" "I'm drawing a forest with fairies and unicorns!" Her high pitched voice rang in your ears.

You lean in closer to look at her drawing, acknowledging it. You give her a sweet smile, she returns it back.

You step back and walk to the cabinets to get a glass of juice. Your body jumped when you felt a hand rubbing in circles on your ass.

Miguel grazed his hands on your shoulder, whispering near your ear and dragging you further to the kitchen. Gabi's back facing the both of you two, you felt his hot breath fan you; shivers down your spine and to your core.

"How have you been, muñeca? Te ves muy...hermosa." He husked in a low tone. Your breathing slowed down, worried to even peep a sound. "I missed you..was worried you wouldn't come back." His rough hands rub the soft skin on your hips.

His tongue teased your neck, sucking and softly nibbling on it. "N-not here Miguel..your daughter.." You whispered, trying hard to restrain your small whimpers. He hummed in your ears, nibbling on it before detaching himself as soon as he heard a doorbell ring.

Luckily the kitchen had the blinds closed so whoever was outside, couldn't see.

He sighed and you quickly headed to open the door, facing a woman. She had on black sunglasses to block the sun in her eyes.

"You must be the new babysitter right?" She questioned as she placed her purse on the island countertop. "Yes! I was recently hired by Mr. O'Hara, Ms.." You waited for a response from her. "Mrs. O'Hara." She spoke, she reached to grab Gabriella by the waist; a suitcase near the table.

You had thought that he was divorced, you thought pretty quickly to it maybe they just haven't had gone to court yet to fix their situation.

"Mom? Where are we going?" Gabriella prods her head at Miguel and you. "We're going to Disneyland!!" She squeals as she hears the exciting news.

Miguel sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing that she never really gave attention to Gabriella, just spoiling and bribing her.

Gabriella was brought down back to her feet, hugging you and her dad by the leg, waving goodbyes.

You helped her out with packing some of her toys upstairs. When you both finished packing up some extra stuff, you head downstairs, slightly peering your head to see Miguel and his wife whisper about stuff. Miguel's chest heaved as his hands ran through his hair, frustrated.

Gabriella prods her head at what you're looking at and you quickly distract her by asking her something.

"Did you grab all of your toys, Gabi?" "I think so," she said as she rubbed her head and headed towards the door.

The lady drank some champagne from the glass, eyeing you up and down, questionable about you. You were never this nervous, but you worried if she had known.

She averted her gaze back to Gabi, holding her hand and the suitcase near Miguel. "Bye papi!" Gabi squeaked as the door behind her closed. Miguel waved non-stop til he couldn't see her anymore.

He laid his elbows on the countertop, tilting his head sideways back and forth. "Everything okay?" You walked up to him.

"Yeah.. um..it's just.." He hesitated to tell you. "Oh, don't worry! It's fine you don't have to tell me, Mr.-.. Miguel." He sighed angrily, "No no, it's just that..this week I was supposed to have Gabriella. She comes unannounced, not even a heads up that she would take Gabi with her."

As he vented more of his frustration, he felt relief by letting it all out. You were open eares with him, softly patting his shoulder blades to ease him.

"Wow..that's really messed up. Do you have custody of Gabriella, if you don't mind me asking." You spoke softly.

"Yeah, I do. We haven't had the court fully decide yet, it's coming up in a couple weeks. I just hate how she's nowhere fit for her to be actually caring for Gabriella." He sighed and took a big sip from the champagne bottle.

You hummed in return, heading to the snack closet for something to ease him up. "Want some snacks?" You asked. Miguel gets up and walks towards you.

You tip-toed to reach a cardboard box full of gummies, until you felt your body shivering to the touch of his hands around your waist later reaching your bra.

He wraps his arms around you, his touch becoming a bit more daring this time.

"You're very tempting. It's difficult to resist you right now..."

Miguel smiles at you and whispers his words. He then places his lips on yours again, his kiss passionate and eager. He wraps you as tight as he can, his hands roaming your hips.

"Oh, I would love something sweet. Don't you?" He murmured on your neck. His hands pushed your dress up, caressing your plush skin. "Mr. O'Hara-.."

You felt a sharp slap to your ass. "What did I say? Llámame Miguel.." (Call me Miguel)

He placed a hand on your chin to face him, kissing you softly. The second kiss seemed more like hunger.

"Get on your knees for me, cariño." He husked in a low tone, you obediently listen and laid your knees on the cold marble floor. He caressed your face once more, "Good girl.." The praises that came out his mouth made your cheeks heat up, your blood pumping to your pooling cunt.

Miguel's face lights up with pleasure, his eyes staring at you seductively as you kneel down in front of him. He watches your movement as you kneel, breathing slightly heavier. The way you look at Miguel also makes him feel good.

"Mm..."

Miguel's hand then reaches down and he grabs your head, making you look up at him.

"Open your mouth..."

Miguel moves his hand down to one of your shoulders, moving his thumb along your collarbone and then along your cleavage.

"Open wider, muñeca..."

Miguel's smile grows more and more as he sees you opening your mouth. You see his hand moving around your lips, just touching your face sensually here and there. Miguel's eyes never leave yours, and you find his stare to be both attractive and also exciting.

"Mm... Good.."

Miguel's eyes move down to your tongue and then back up to your face. He starts to whisper in your ear, his voice going slightly deeper.

"¿Como se siente esa boca, chiquilla?"

Miguel's breath slows, clearly aroused. He stuck in two fingers into your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks softly as you sucked on them for a bit. He went deeper, making you gag continuously, he took his fingers out licking them clean.

Your eyes landed on his bulge, palming it with your hands, rubbing it harder each time, pulling groans out of Miguel.

You begin to remove his pants by unzipping it and pulling down his boxers, his hard cock slapping his abdomen. The red brownish head was practically fuming for your touch.

You part your lips, laying your tongue out and licking the pre-cum streaming down on his tip. You try fitting all of his cock in your throat but you can't so you stroke the rest of him.

His eyes drop down to your face, his eyebrows furrowed together, savouring the delicious feeling of your tongue around his cock. You bobbed your head faster when your throat relaxed, being able to take in more of him. You clench your inner thighs together to feel some relief on your swollen clit.

His breathing becomes shallow the more he becomes impatient. When you looked up at him with small teary eyed..

He loses it.

He needs and wants to feel more of you, he slammed his cock deeper down your throat. The squelching sounds and low groans of his voice made you whine but it was muttered by his cock in your mouth.

You dig your nails into his thighs to keep yourself steady, you feel like you've ran out of oxygen. But you couldn't care less.

"Puta madre..." He whispers.

The feeling of him driving you absolutely mad, his grip on your scalp tightening with every thrust he took. The aggression shocked you, but you couldn't move since he took complete control of your mouth.

His cock pressed harder into your throat, making you gag on and on while tears streamed down your face. Your flushed out face drew him to his final straw.

His hips snapping against your cheeks, the slapping sounds echoing. The feeling of your fingernails digging deep into his skin, your muffled moans clenching harder around his cock whenever you hollowed your cheeks, made him lose his control.

"F-fuck...you're so good...such a pretty little slut aren't you? So fucking good f'me baby..." He scowled.

You kept muffling mhm's as he would praise your touch on him. His hips began stuttering, his thrusts slowly becoming slower as his cock became more and more sensitive with every warm touch of your tongue around him.

He held both sides of your face in a firm but gentle grip, abusing your throat to catch his orgasm. "I'm c-coming..mhmmf..mierda..." He whined.

His massive body shook with his imploding orgasm, he shoved his cock to the back of your throat and shuddered as his cum was hot and sticky on your tongue.

The moment he pulled out, he angled my face to his, towering over my frame. "Swallow it f'me." He spoke bluntly.

Miguel removed your mouth off his cock, his erection still hard and pulsing. All he wanted right now was to be inside you but he had different plans for you. He was going to return the favor back to you now.

You let out a few coughs to catch your breath and swallowed just like he asked. Bittersweet taste left on your tongue.

"Eres tan buena y hermosa, ma." (You're so good and beautiful, ma)

"Llevantate, amor." He panted on your neck.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and lifted you up, resting your quivering ankles on his broad shoulders. His fingers stroking and prodding at the wet stain on your underwear, his cold touch setting you on fire.

"Let me touch your pretty pussy, amor. Déjame ver ese bello coño.." (Let me see that pretty pussy) He tore your underwear off, the cold air washing your cunt makes you shiver. He lightly slapped your folds to see your face contort and furrow.

Suddenly, his hot tongue flicked your wet folds, and heat swirled in your stomach, your clit throbbing. Your skin burned to his touch as he reached for your perked nipples, rubbing it with his hands and whenever he would pinch your nipples, you would jerk forward; making his nose hit your clit.

"M-more Miguel.." You begged, your cunt clenching around nothing left you feeling empty and so needy. Your fingers wrapping around his brown curls, gripping onto them dearly as his tongue lapped on your clit.

"You're doing such a good job f'me, mi amor. Keep moaning my name like that. Fuck.." He groaned into your cunt. He slid into another finger and the feeling was too much for you to handle.

"M-miguel.." Your pants filled with wanton and lust. Your body jerks forward as he slid a finger inside you, your eyes impossibly rolling back to the back of your head as you choked on your moans, mumbling his name as he continued to eat you out like a starved man.

"Mirame, corazon. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?"

You felt too much and too little all at once, it wasn't enough for you but you felt like you were about to get thrown off the edge as his fingers started pounding you deep inside your velvet walls. You kept twitching and trembling, your back arching off the wall as your body hopelessly writhed for him.

Your nerves began stuttering, going numb along with a knot starting to untie. Miguel wouldn't stop sucking on your folds, his nose nudging your clit. His eyes never left your face, he loved seeing how you responded to his touch.

You started feeling a fire pooling low in your abdomen, your heartbeat pulsing faster than before.

You started losing composure whatsoever, when he slid in another finger inside. He didn't stop lapping on your sopping cunt, your pussy clenching around his fingers made his cock ache for your walls to tighten around him.

"It's t-too much.. m-miguel please mhmgf..fuck!" You sobbed and wailed. Your tears wouldn't stop, his fingers plunging in deeper inside your swollen cunt.

"You can handle it, doll.. I know you can." His ears relished the wet squelching sounds and your sweet little moans. You tugged harder into his hair as you felt a wave crashing down, the dam broke which released a leg-shaking orgasm. Fire sprinted throughout your body, the feeling of it taking over your mind with nothing but his fingers and tongue on your cunt.

Your orgasm came in flooding in and electrified every nerve in your body. Your vision fading to black. Your throat welled with moans and mewls, as you kept blubbering incoherently.

Miguel devoured you without mercy, savoring your juices as it ran down his chin. He kept you steady by holding you tight on your hips as you wiggled non-stop, shaking and writhed under him.

You loved drowning in helplessness of the pleasure as it surrounded you by the waist, leaving you breathless, shaky, and light headed.

You became almost feverishly whimpering since Miguel would still suck on your clit, tenderly. He finally removed himself from your folds, smirking at you while caressing your flushed out face. "Te ves bella así, muñeca. Eres mia..que no?" (You look beautiful like that, doll. You're mine, right?) You nodded as your orgasm finally came to a stop. He rested your ankles back to the floor, holding you up by the waist so you wouldn't succumb to the floor.

Just when he was about to tease you with his cock slowly on your folds, you both hear a ding from the door. Keys ring through your ears and the door creaked open. Heels clacking on the hard floor echoing around the spacious house, heading upstairs. The both of you quickly start to dress up quickly, you knew exactly who this was.

"Miguel!! ¿¿Dónde estás?? Do you know where the monster high dolls are?!?" A woman voice yelled upstairs. Miguel gave you a quick peck on the lips and a wink.

"What is it this time?" Miguel's voice responded back to her. "Gabi forgot her stupid toys..anyways just tell me where they are. She won't stop crying and I need her to shut up."

Miguel refused to give into his emotions and snap back at her so he gave off a small response to her.

"They're in the hidden basket under her bed, the lock is in the bedstand drawer." He answered, looking back at you tip toeing to the door.

You sent yourself off by going back home quietly and hurriedly.

Miguel was once again incredibly frustrated for the intrusion.

A/N: it's 12:31 am rn, gonna have the best sleep ever. I finally finished it! Leave any feedback, always room for improvement, thank you guys!! (Sorry for the ending once more 😭😓, I promise to make part 4 hella dirty and long)

Taglist: @thedevax @missussmorales @mxtokko @roronoaslover @livytofine @lolaiitip @luvstuffies @sweetirilly @avatricu @minnbinn @rqdior @migueloharasgirlfriend @t-sillay @brittney69 @honeycovered-bandaids @whatdudtheysay @tuskjohnny @spideys2cute @mushy-mushroom04 @yuki9912 @yumeeesss @noyasanify @ewan-tef @ilonasthing @lia-77 @migueloharaluhver @notsussybaka @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @usagijoestar @itzsab @gh0stcatss @ihateuguys @nyoxklo @xstormstriderx @bontensbabygirl @jroshtssn @realalpacorn @toecurlingstories @lunamoonbby @amberpanda99 @minihorizons @kathleenisdaraptor

[viennakarma]

Drunk calls

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You're drunk on your night out and accidentally call your boss, Fernando.

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: Female reader, drunk reader, fluff, Nando comforting reader, boss x employee relationship, not beta read

Relationships: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Notes: Anon requested drunk reader and sober nano, so i just ran with it and wrote a little something while on hangover from the new year party. (Also that ONE pic George Russell posted of him and Nando!!!!)

Hope you enjoy it, Anon!

Find me on Twitter!

As you left the toilet, you felt your legs wobbly as you supported yourself on the wall. You had been clubbing with your friends for a couple of hours now, but a few minutes ago you couldn’t find them, and you looked all around.

Pulling your phone from your purse, you called your bestie to try and find out where she was. As soon as she picked up, you started talking.

“Hi, Hanna! Where are-” You hiccuped, “where are you? I think I’m too drunk now, I can’t find you or the girls, and my head is pounding already, and I can’t walk straight.”

“Y/N?” A male voice asked.

“Who the fuck are you?” You frowned.

“It’s Fernando, you just called me,” he said and you turned your phone seeing that you had actually called him instead of your friend.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, boss!” You said and immediately hung up.

Fuck, you drunk called your boss on your day off. That was most certainly grounds for a reprimand. You had been working as his assistant for almost a year now, and had only been super professional and dedicated to doing your work. You and Fernando had been friendly and settled into a great work dynamic. So accidentally calling him like this would probably cause problems for you.

You didn’t even have time or energy to blame yourself too long as your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Fernando. You immediately hit decline. But barely a second later he called you again. Shit, he probably would tear you a new one. You hit decline again. You started sweating, god, you needed to go home, you needed to eat and you needed to plan a big apology for the next time you see your boss again.

Then two texts appeared coming from Fernando.

“Where are you?” “Pick up the call”

And then he called you again, and you picked it up this time preparing for him to go off on you.

“Where are you?” He breathed loudly.

“I’m at a club with my friends,” you stuttered a little bit, both because of the alcohol and because you were worried he might fire you on the spot.

“You said you lost them. Have you found your friends?”

“No, not really. But it’s okay, I’m gonna go home already!” You hoped you were sounding a little bit more confident.

“How?”

“What?”

“How are you going to go home?” He asked, voice serious.

“I’m gonna call a cab or something. Don’t worry!” Please, sound sober, please sound sober.

“Send me the address, I’m gonna pick you up.”

“No, no! It’s your day off too, you don’t have to worry I’ll be fine! Really, I promise I’m going straight home right-”

“I wasn’t asking. Send the address.” He cut you off and hung up.

Cursing and sweating, you sent him your location, walking slowly to the exit, still trying to locate your friends. As you made it outside, you leaned against the wall, feeling a little better with the fresh gust of wind outside the packed club. You flexed your knees because your heels were feeling like a fucking thousand needles punching the sole of your feet. You should listen to your younger sister and start wearing sneakers to the club.

After a few minutes, you saw a scandalous rich man’s car pulling up and you knew it’s Fernando. He stopped by the sidewalk and came walking to you. He was wearing slacks and a white button up, simple but classy. You had seen in his schedule before that he was going to go out with friends for dinner. So that’s probably where he came from.

He didn’t look too pissed at you but he didn’t look happy either, his face was rather neutral.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he stopped in front of you. He was holding a water bottle, which he promptly opened and gave to you.

“I have been better, not gonna lie,” you said, and proceeded to drink almost the whole bottle of water.

“Why are you flexing your knees?” He asked.

“Because the heels are killing me.”

Silently, Fernando knelt in front of you and unbuckled the straps of your heels around your ankles.

“Off, now” he said, patting your calves, then offering you a hand so you could step out of the shoes.

“Jesus, thank you,” you mumbled, relieved to be barefoot finally, “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to pick me up.”

“I’m here already, quit whining,” he dismissed you, holding your forearm, “can you walk to the car?”

“Just give me a hand,” you asked, still a little unbalanced. You jolted a little when you felt Fernando’s hands on your thighs but he didn't touch you, he just pulled the hem of your dress down, since it was dangerously close to showing too much and maybe accidentally flashing everyone.

Fernando circled an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his side, keeping you standing all the way to his car, holding your heels with the other hand. You looked to the side of his face, and you were suddenly hit with the realization that Fernando is really, really attractive. 

“Damn, you’re handsome!”

It honestly slipped past your lips and you felt your cheeks warm up, embarrassed for saying that out loud, but Fernando only laughed a little, and kept walking you to his car, only stopping to open the door and put you in the passenger seat.

As you took the seat, he stared at your face, trying to catch any signs of something in your face. You blinked, staring into his beautiful greeny brown eyes, and he just huffed, pulling the seat belt and locking it around you.

When he finally started driving, the silence deafening, you looked at his side profile.

“Are you upset? I’m sorry! I promise I’ll behave.”

“I’m not upset. Though I will be a little annoyed if you throw up in my Aston Martin,” he said with a small smile.

“No throwing up happening anytime soon!” You raised your hand, held it in a cross and kissed it, “I’m actually really hungry”

Fernando clicked his tongue and reached for the backseat with one hand, pulling a Burger King brown bag. You smelled the food and you smiled.

“Oh my god! You’re a savior!” You opened the bag, which had your favorite burger and big sized fries, “this is my favorite!”

You ate quietly for a couple of minutes then a thought hit you.

“How do you know I like eating Burger King after getting drunk?” You said, and Fernando looked at you, opened the glove box and handed you a tissue.

“I know you well,” was all he said. He ended up driving you to his place, and you decided to question it.

“Why did you drive me here?” You walked in, sitting on the couch.

“What do you mean?” He looked confused.

“Ugh, never mind!” You stood up but the quick movement made you stumble and Fernando quickly held you in place.

“Careful!” He put both hands on your waist, in a way that felt very intimate.

You turned to face him, and he smiled softly, his hand now on your lower back. Then, you touched his eyebrow with the tip of your finger.

“I like your eyebrows.”

“Gracias.”

“And your beard too,” you cupped his face, feeling the roughness of his beard against your palm.

“Vamos, you need a shower,” he carefully walked you up the stairs and then inside the bedroom, straight to the bathroom.

Fernando turned you around and pulled down the zipper on your back. You gasped, holding the dress in place and turning to face him.

“You can’t undress me!”

He turned around, laughing.

“Ok, get in the shower and I’ll get you some clothes, eh?”

You showered, and when you left, a towel around your body, Fernando had left a small pile of clothes inside. There was a big t-shirt and sports shorts that you dressed. He also left you a toothbrush, which seemed very thoughtful of him.

When you walked back to the room, Fernando had changed into comfy clothes, and he was waiting for you sitting on the bed.

“Are you sobering up?” He asked.

And you just nodded, sleepy, crawling into his lap and snuggling into his chest, pressing your nose to his neck.

“Yup.”

“Then you remember who I am?” 

“You’re Fernando!” He laughed a little, kissing the top of your head.

“No, amor,” he leaned back, cradling your face with one hand, and pulling your right hand with the other, “I’m your fiancé.”

Wide eyed, you stared at the big diamond ring in your finger. Then, you finally remembered, your fiancé, your beloved Nano. Who had been your boss sometime two years ago, and you resigned when you realized you had feelings for him. In the end, he had gone after you because he harbored the same feelings for you.

You ended up laughing out loud, so hard that there were tears in your eyes.

“God, I’m never drinking again!”

“It’s cute that you forgot like this,” he laughed too.

You held his face, kissing him softly. His hand ran up your back, under your shirt. You wanted more, trying to deepen the kiss, but he just held you back.

“Sleep now, eh? Tomorrow I will wake you up with besos.”

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

i keep laughing when i read the dnd campaign with the beast pirates-

now i need to see how it would go with shanks and his crew

Imagine DND game night with the Red Hair pirates

Yassop: *the reluctant DM* All alright, so you've all fallen through a sinkhole and landed in the goblin King's throne room. Benn's paladin lands directly on the heir to the goblin throne, dealing *rolls dice* 17 points crush damage, and you killed him.

Benn: oh come on, I didn't even do anything.

Yassop: the goblin king, with his too-tight pants, ruffly white shirt, and long blond hair, launches himself to his feet. And in a booming voice, he yelled out, "These outsiders have murdered my son! Throw them in the dungeon!"

You: but it was Benn's fat ass that did it! Why do I have to go to the dungeon?

Yassop: The goblin king pauses, clearly thinking it over, after a moment he says, "Fine, that one's excused," before yelling, "but the rest go to the dungeon!"

Lime Juice: fuck me.

Shanks: what the fuck, we just broke out of jail less than three in-game hours ago!

Yassop: *definitely not punishing them for murdering an important NPC, and is trying to buy himself time to figure out what to do* Huh, I hadn't noticed...

Lucky Roux: For the love of god!

Yassop: Anyway, the entire party, minus (y/n) Dragon born, is taken to the dungeon. The goblin king turns to your dragon-born and looks you over, "Now, what shall we do with you?"

You: I'd like to roll a perception check, I'd like to know the vibe of the goblin king's court, from the nobles to the servants. *Rolls a D20* Fifteen with my plus eight modifiers, so twenty-three.

Yassop: Both groups, nobles, and serfs, are terrified of their king. You can see that a servant in the far corner has bandages under his shirt. It appears that he's been flogged recently. You notice, the nobles' eyes darting nervously as they mutter to one another.

You: I'd like to offer my services to his majesty, as a bard.

Yassop: The king scoffs, "I have plenty of bards, I have no use for another, you shall tend to the hearths of my castle. Go, start with the kitchens." You are taken to the kitchens and see it's dark, humid, hot, and crowded. The servants are wary of you, you see many of them are injured, and gaunt. The châtelaine approaches you and hands you a large rusty ring of keys and a map. She tells you your responsibilities are to make sure all the fires in the castle are lit.

You: and how much am I paid?

Yassop: she scoffs, "Your pay is food in your belly, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back. Now get started." And she leaves in a huff.

You: I'd like to persuade the servants to work together to overthrow the Goblin King because they deserve fair wages and safe working conditions.

Lime Juice: *chortling,* of course, unionizing them is your first move.

Yassop: *frustrated,* roll a d20.

You: *rolls* nat twenty, let's fucking go!!

Yassop: you inspire a popular servant to take the lead, and they overthrow the goblin King. The servants beat him to death. *Rubbing his temples in irritation*

You: I free the group from the dungeon while the servants deal with the king, using the keys and map the châtelaine gave me.

Shanks: Before we leave, can we look for treasure?

You: .... let's only take a reasonable amount, we wouldn't want to make them our enemies.

Benn: very wise.

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[visenyaism]

what triggered the daemon riverlands suicide bender again? like did he have a falling out with rhaenyra?

well the book doesn’t say a ton about what happened between them and it’s all made more confusing by the fake historical perspective and weird misogynistic characterization of rhaenyra and mysaria but. fire and blood unserious as it is establishes basically this sequence of events:

-once daemon and rhaenyra get to king’s landing he brings mysaria to court. they’re fucking every night which rhaenyra is seemingly fine with (surprisingly this bit is not a mushroom quote)

-rhaenyra makes a plan to end the war that includes daemon and nettles going and finding aemond in the riverlands to go kill him. unclear whose idea this was or whose idea it was to bring nettles also.

-daemon and nettles hole up in maidenpool because they can’t seem to find the worlds largest dragon actively terrorizing the countryside anywhere. they are weirdly close. because he’s grooming her. they cannot find aemond so theyre stuck like this for weeks. in my mind this is where daemon starts to lose the plot and just not have an exit strategy.

-two of the other dragonseeds betray rhaenyra and join up with daeron the not appearing in this narrative to sack tumbleton. rhaenyra reacts by charging up about 5% of the bastardphobia within the heart of the average team green twitter user and is like okay they are treacherous and base due to their bastard nature they all have to die right now.

-including nettles. rhaenyra sends a letter to the lord of maidenpool saying hey you have to kill this child my husband is obsessed with who is living under your roof i don’t care about guest rite i don’t care about him retaliating against you for this i am literally the king you gotta do it. don’t kill daemon though. xx rhaenyra

-this alienates daemon from rhaenyra permanently though he does take the time to call mysaria a whore and blame her for this too. what an upstanding guy.

-anyways the next morning nettles takes off out of the narrative on her lonesome and daemon tells the lord of maidenpool “this is the last you are ever going to see of me. tell aemond i’m at harrenhal” we can tell at this point there is no exit strategy but for:

-daemon engages in murder-suicide with his nephew who thinks they’re having a fight.

what do we learn about daemon from this? well that he has problems and also doesn’t ever have a long term plan

[chrollohearttags]

nba player! connie and model! reader eye fucking each other on the court, then really fucking each other after the game 🤭

omg new hyperfixation just dropped!! 🥴🥴 I got you!

cw: black fem reader (thick descriptors)hotel/balcony sex, implied oral, backshots, squirting, cumshot

Connie Springer: it was a name that was practically inescapable nowadays. Whether it was for his impeccable skills and stats on the court or his devilishly handsome looks off of it. The NBA’s hottest new rising star; a generational talent that had captured the attention of many, including (y/n) (l/n), who had become somewhat of a prominent figure in the fashion and modeling world over the past few years.

A woman who was as bodacious as you were beautiful, turned heads with every room you walked in. Like a goddess traipsing amongst men..you were an absolute vision of perfection. The same sentiment was mirrored when you stepped foot into the arena for the playoffs game tonight. Telfar in hand, Giuseppe heels on your feet and a Marine Serre bodysuit that practically clung to your curvaceous figure. Sitting court side as many other infamous celebs had done before, (y/n) observed the activities up and down the court, watching the players run drills and get prepared before the game began..even occasionally stealing glances at the camera. It was while you were doing so that you’d catch the attention of number 21, the fine ass point guard with the butter pecan complexion, two sleeves of tattoos trailing down his arms and diamond earrings reminiscent of early Iverson’s. What you wouldn’t give to have something like that on your own roster..but you weren’t alone in your dirty little train of thought. The way that ass was moving when you walked by? He damn near lost all focus and control. Admittedly, he had seen you on Instagram and Twitter a couple times, wanting to hop in your DM’s but figured they’d probably go unanswered as you probably had a laundry list of men chomping at the bit to get with you..still, it wouldn’t stop him from shooting his shot in person!..no pun intended. So the game would kickoff as any other had in the past. Connie is to no one’s surprise, stealing the spotlight like he owns it. Playing his ass off, doing all of his award winning antics and scoring mad points for his team. Everyone was so impressed and (y/n) was no exception..the entire time though? His attention was on you…stealing glances at one another through sultry glares. You couldn’t help but ogle that sweat sheened body and he couldn’t help but do the same. When it came time for intermission, you tried your hardest to look inconspicuous but when he sat down, towel draped around his neck as he squeezed that water bottle and let the fluid squirt into his open mouth..you had to clutch your thighs together immediately! You had never felt something like this…it didn’t help when his gaze shot towards you seconds after. It was getting more than obvious that the two of you had your own side game going on outside of the one taking place. Fluttering those big fluffy lashes..(y/n) kept a keen eye on him for the second half, even tossing him a wink or two when he made a basket. Just for that, he had to flex a little bit! Springer was playing like someone had lit a fire underneath him, pulling out every stop he thought would impress the one he had his sights set on. Up and down the court, tossing free throws as if it were child’s play..shooting you a very confident smirk each time he did so. Tucking your lip between your teeth, your deep set eyes fixated on him until the end of the game. If he didn’t come over and say something, you’d surely be making your way in his direction to break the ice. Little did you know a simple hello and some constant eye contact would be the start of a very interesting night.

it would only take a few hours and five shots of Hennessy at an after party for you to find the courage you needed to turn that subtle silent flirting into a fury of passion. “I’m Connie. I seen you out there…thought I’d come see what was up wit’ you.” And the second he did so, it was lust at first sight. So it came as no surprise when he invited you up to his room, sat you on his bed and started spitting game, that your clothes would wind up twisted in a pile on the ground, shoes discarded at the door and you two fucking like animals on the fourth floor balcony of the DoubleTree hotel. It wasn’t something you’d normally done. An esteemed model hooking up with a star baller in some illustrious one might stand? Oh, the tabloids would be going crazy off of this. But for now, he’d just keep you bent over; leg hoisted over that railing as his balls slapped vehemently against your clit. His tattooed hand cradling your throat with a vice grip as your tongue dangled from your mouth. “Ooh fuck!…this dick feels so good..” crying out into the night air as this man…this complete and total stranger outside of his namesake brought you to yet another climax. “Ah…damn baby, I ain’t never had a squirter before..this pussy some pressure..shit.” Having started this steamy little affair in between the sheets where he looked you dead in your eyes, chain dangling above your forehead as he fucked you slowly. A hand on the headboard and your thick, trembling legs laid across his shoulders. Creaming and making an absolute mess of his cock…shortly after finding yourself riding him atop the suede carpet so that you could keep your balance and bounce on his dick the way you really wanted to. In a way that would have him flying you out to every city he played in. To now being hit from the back atop a balcony for potential passerby’s to see. However, his only focus was you and vice versa. Turning to look back at him, you’d flick your tongue and grin. “That’s because you’ve never fucked somebody like me…” and after this? he didn’t think he could ever mess with anyone else the same.

[the-bibrarian]

Paris, yesterday (03/23/23). This is an excerpt from a video by journalist Amar Taoualit posted on twitter

This is what they’re doing to a peaceful, registered-with-the-proper-authorities march.

You can hear protesters shouting “children! there are children!” and “that’s my grandfather! my grandfather is on the ground!”

I think some families felt safe going because traditionally, union-backed, “registered” marches are peaceful and the riot police waits until they officially end, when only the more radical protesters are left, to attack. Not saying that is fine, but there was a tacit agreement for peace during the first hours of a protest. (That’s exactly what happened in Lyon yesterday, and there were also a few kids among protesters. It ended up being fine but it made me very anxious to see them, and it looks like I was right to worry.)

Things turned extremely violent in the night. I don’t feel like chronicling it, but suffice to say there were more that 900 fires in Paris. I don’t know what to think of the overwhelming silence from international media on the subject.

Anyway, I know that in principle we should all be able to protest and the police shouldn’t attack, and we’re supposed to be a democracy and we shouldn’t bow down to wanna-be autocrats that want to suppress our voices, etc.

La réalité c’est que pour quelques temps en tout cas, il faut laisser nos enfants à la maison, et que si vous êtes âgé, malade (asthmatique !), déjà blessé, personne handicapée, etc. il vaut peut-être mieux passer votre tour pour ces manifs-là. Il y a d’autres façons d’agir.

Notamment, je suis sûre que les syndicats ont besoin d’aide logistique et d’argent, et LFI, dont les députés sont sur le terrain, sur les piquets de grève, a certainement toujours besoin de plus de militants (j’ai pas ma carte chez eux pour être claire, mais je pense que c’est le parti qui soutient le plus sincèrement le mouvement).

Les députés LFI Louis Boyard (au centre) et Carlos Martens Bilongo (à droite), dans une manifestation le 20 mars. Photo de @teamroscoes (merci !!)

La député LFI Mathilde Panot au piquet de grève des éboueurs de Vitry-sur-Seine le 16 mars (photo de son twitter)

^ these are pictures of lawmakers from the leftist France Unbowed party participating in protests.

[rustedhearts]

severed lamb: part v: sunday mourning (pastor!steve x fem!reader)

summary: your encounter with pastor steve leaves you feeling ill. he pays you a visit to make you feel better, and in doing so damns you a little further down to hell.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♰ severed lamb ♰ ♰ the library ♰

tags: religious imagery/trauma; age gap (steve is 35, reader is 19); manipulation; coercion; abuse of power; more god guilt; smut; depictions of vomiting; perversion of religion; this is literally so gross and i am ashamed.

a/n: merry christmas, ya filthy animals :)

♰ wydgate, georgia, august 1981 ♰

The night after rainfall was always scorching hot.

You clicked the ceiling fan on high and put the box fan in your window to cool down the carpeted room, but nothing could soothe the itching fire in your veins. You frantically kicked at your sheets and twisted around, pounding your clenched fists on the mattress at midnight.

When you closed your eyes, all you saw was Pastor Steve in the darkness. Touching you, kissing you, making noises, and pulling pleasure. The way his fingers prodded inside you and had your stomach quivering. Parts of you thrummed with desire for more of his attention. Other parts shuddered in disgust. The parts where you clung to God, you supposed.

And God always prevailed.

Sprung from your bed, you scrambled for your bedroom door in the inky darkness. Feet padding over bare, sticky flooring in the emptiness of night on your way to the bathroom. Your knees thumped to the floor before the toilet, and into the bowl you spewed a day’s worth of sustenance.

Burning your throat raw, leaving a sticky film over your lips and teeth, splattering into the porcelain bowl—you didn't stop until you were heaving nothing but drool and air. You collapsed back against the tub, knees pressed to your chest. How was it that you were still aching between your thighs? Pastor Steve's Godless infiltration into your thoughts seemed to have no bounds.

You pushed to shaky knees and flushed the mess down. The wobble back to your bedroom came with bumps and bruises against the walls, and you barely remembered slipping back under the sheets and laying down your head.

♰ ♰

In the morning, the heaviness of your head and stiffness of your neck were immediate cause for alarm. Was it possible to genuinely make yourself sick with worry? Blinking your eyes open came with a dull, pulsing pain that made you wince.

“Delilah? Delilah Anne, what are you still doin’ in bed?”

Your mother came rushing into the room, shrilling as she went. The curtains were drawn and the sun came blaring in, causing you to slither under the covers and whine.

“Feel sick, Mama.”

“It’s Sunday, Delilah, we’ve got church. Get your sorry ass outta this bed.”

Her hand yanked at the end of your covers, and you fought against her pull with clawing hands. She huffed and snatched at the top this time, successfully uncovering your head.

Though a scowl played on her mouth, she paused at the sight of you in disarray. Your clammy skin had lost its color, eyes swollen and bloodshot. Your mother's hands found her hips, clad in a bright yellow dress for church.

"Well, good Lord, child."

You swallowed down a sore and aching throat. "I threw up, Mama."

"I can see that," she replied plainly, lips pursed in dismay. An irritated sigh shot from her mouth. "Fine, you'll stay here. But you better pray long and hard that you're feelin' better for mass later on."

Flicking her hair out of her face, your mother spun around and clicked out of the room on uneven heels. You brought the covers back around your shoulders, curling up under your chin. Tinkling and rustling emerged from beyond the bedroom door, and soon the front screen yawned with your mother's exit.

In her absence, the house sagged with relief. The open window cast a beam of soft morning light across your feet. Birds twittered their hellos, cicadas shook out their wings and readied them for a day of screaming, and the wind was butter soft. You let your eyes sink shut and listened to it brush over the grass outside your window. Rustle the cherry tree leaves. Shutter the arms of the windmill in the backyard.

The thought of missing church for the first Sunday in ages left you waning with unease—but the relief of not having to see Pastor Steve soothed the sting. You could not sit in a pew and watch him spew Godly utterings knowing what he had done to you. Knowing how he made you feel. A pleasure so boundless, so infinitely blood-rushing that it made you ill.

It was wrong. It was a sin.

But here, right now, it was quiet. Finally, you didn't have to think...

♰ ♰

You woke sometime near the afternoon, the sun in a full blazing mood. The room was blinding with an almost white hue, stifling with an increase of heat. You stirred under the covers with a disapproving squeak, and it was as you shifted that you heard a noise in the living room.

"It's so kind a' you to do this, Pastor Steve. Lilah's gonna be so relieved she didn't have t' miss out."

Slumber swept from your body in like cool breeze, leaving you in a fully aware consciousness that snapped painfully. The floorboards creaked with their padding feet, approaching the knob of your door. You wished you knew how to disappear on command.

"Lilah? Lilah, you got a visitor," your mother called through the wood of the door, her voice much sweeter than you ever knew it to be.

The door chittered on old hinges, swinging open to reveal two bodies you had enough of. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, suddenly regretful for not feigning sleep. In your periphery, a flash of black accompanied a blob of yellow. Pastor Steve abandoned his cloak back at the chapel, stripped down to the tight button up and clean slacks of casual worship. The white plastic collar of his uniform fit snugly against his throat.

"Hello, Delilah," Pastor Steve cooed.

You curled your fingers into fists beneath the blankets. Turned your head an inch, caught sight of his crisp sleeve. "Hello."

"Forgive her, she's feelin' real poorly. D' you want some sweet tea, Pastor Steve?"

Pastor Steve flashed a smile at your mother. "No, thank you, Lorraine, that's real kind. I think Delilah and I should have some privacy for her mass."

"Of course." Your mother fluffed the ends of her hair and fixed her posture. She hated being snubbed of a man's attention, let alone Pastor Steve's. She looked at him like a hound looks at a pork chop.

She made slow work of exiting the room, and you turned to follow her movements through the door. Your lips parted to speak, to beg her to return and exclaim your sudden wellness—but your tongue would not move. She pulled the door shut with a resounding click.

Now alone, Pastor Steve turned to face you in the bed, cradling a black bag to his chest. He inhaled deeply, chest ballooning with breath, and let his eyes rummage the sight of you. You squirmed against the sheets, fingers pulling at threads under the blankets.

"Couldn't have you missin' your chance to worship," he declared, and the bag against his chest clinked with vials and other accessories.

You shifted again. He stepped closer, a smile hemming his mouth gracefully. You glanced at his fingers gripping around the bag—those long, slender digits browned by the sun. You squeezed your legs together at the memory of what those appendages could do. The sort of pleasure they could bring.

The bag added weight to the end of your bed near your feet, which dipped a little sideways when Steve placed himself on the edge beside you. The warmth of his palm encompassed your head, and you winced under his touch like it scorched you.

"How're you feelin'? Hmm?"

He held a softness in his face with the ease of breathing air. Hazel eyes rounded with care, plump pink lips holding the slightest of pouts. It was always difficult to decipher just what he was thinking. Just when he would strike with more mind-jumbling, confusing affections.

"N-not good," you whispered hoarsely.

Steve's other hand approached your cheek, the back of two fingers gently sweeping down to clear away moistness. He stroked them up and down in small languid motions, like caressing a kitten. He felt the heat of your flesh under his touch, how it flared with every breath taken under his attention. His lip quirked just barely—a soft boyish grin without teeth.

"Hope this don't have nothin' to do with me," Pastor Steve gasped, and that grin slipped into a frown. "Does it, Delilah?"

The blankets draped over your body, the weight of his bag at the end of the bed, the pressure of his body pinning down the edge of the blankets—it suddenly felt immeasurably stifling. Inescapable. You curled your toes and tightened your arms.

Always the good Southern girl. Always the docile lamb—the girl bred to say 'please' and 'thank you' under the blade of a knife.

"N-no," you breathed, head shaking against the pillow.

That soft little grin again, curling the corner of his mouth and pricking your nerves. Steve pulled back a little, hands loosening to limp touches against your face. He nodded slowly, approvingly.

"Oh," he whispered, tone akin to relief. "Good."

Your eyes were drawn to the surface of his mouth when his lips quivered between a smile and a sneer. You pressed further back into the pillow, throat bobbing with a noisy swallow. His fingers slipped down your cheek and into your hair to tuck it behind your ear. You tipped your head opposite his touch when the pads of his fingers traced a firm tendon down the side of your throat. You gasped in small, hitched breaths.

Pastor Steve's touch stopped at the delicate gold chain of your necklace. His fingers glided over the metal, following its path across your collarbones. You watched the door for the handle turning. It never came.

"Shall we pray?" he murmured.

"Yes," you gasped, foolishly falling for the guise of God's salvation under Pastor Steve's sinful implications.

But Steve pulled his touch away and stood to his feet. You fixed your head back in place and watched him cross his hands before his stomach. He tipped his head toward you, indicating recital. Your arms whooshed from under the covers to sit atop your stomach, fingers interwoven like his.

Pastor Steve nodded once, firmly, and closed his eyes. His chin tipped a little higher, shoulders squared straightly.

"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," he began, snapped from the syrupy coo he reserved only for you. It was unnerving how easily he slipped into a display of good standing.

Your mouth mimicked his words with habitual softness.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

The prayer fell from your mouth without thought—but your thoughts, at this moment, were consumed with Steve. The way his throat moved when he spoke, how the thick veins squirmed and bulged under soft, freckled flesh. How his lashes fluttered between words, how his eyes moved behind their lids with discovery. The way his lips curled around vowels, how his tongue peeked through every so often to enunciate.

How you wanted him to touch you again, and how you hated yourself for it.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

"Amen," you murmured, fingers sore from their tight squeezing when they came undone.

Pastor Steve opened his eyes and directed them toward you. Your feet fluttered under the sheets, fingers fidgeting with loose threads over your stomach. He had to have mercy on you.

He was silent as he sank back down onto the bed, resuming his wrinkled divot beside your hip. His hand smoothed over yours, scaling your arm to curl his fingers around your elbow. He took small glory in the way your eyes expanded; the acuteness of your tiny breaths.

"Feelin' any better?" he inquired.

You licked over your lips and his eyes darted toward the flash of your tongue. Oh, now you were teasing, were you? His fingers pressed a little firmer into your flesh, body inching closer. His hip pressed against yours, padded by the covers.

"A-a little," you murmured. At this point, you couldn't quite decide if that were true.

Every part of you felt aflame, sweat gathering under your head against the pillow and behind your knees beneath the sheets. A certain, gnawing need flared behind your navel. The need you paired with Pastor Steve's handsome face.

Steve brought his hand to your cheek again and tsked sharply. "Hmm, think you have a fever, sweetheart. We can't have that, can we?"

His fingers reached into the folded hem of the quilt tucked against your chest and began to pull. Peeled gently off your body, knocking your arms aside where they laid limply at your sides. You trembled with every struggled breath, eyes locked on his pleasing face as he bared you to the open air.

His eyes fell to your chest immediately, forgoing the peaked tautness of your nipples to admire the crucifix attached to your neck. It spurred him with a sickening excitement as he pulled the thin cotton sheet down to your feet.

"There's an old fashioned way of breakin' a fever," he whispered, sliding a little closer until you had to tip your head back to see his eyes. "Ever try it, Delilah?"

The shake of your head came at no surprise, and Steve just smiled down at your flushing face. "Figures."

The hand lingering near your feet over the sheet came skittering up your bare leg. Softly, merely grazing with every inch it traveled toward the end of your satin nightgown. All the while, Pastor Steve watched you with careful consideration; with a gentle, coaxing gaze.

"How 'bout we try it. Hmm?"

The gentle parting of your legs had his eyes downturning toward your soft skin. You bobbed your head at him, fisting the sheets at your sides.

"Okay..."

He twisted then, facing you with staunch yet soft determination. His hand swept between your thighs, curling into the elastic band of your panties to pull them down the length of your legs. When they sat around your ankles, his fingers resumed their ghosting touches. Climbing up your calf, your thigh, reaching into the pulsing warmth pooling under your nightgown.

Your softness had him inhaling, greedily dipping the pad of two fingers into the gooey heat of your hole. You shot up toward the headboard with a gasp, muscles tightening with electric shock. Pastor Steve shushed you softly, free hand coming to cup the top of your sweaty head.

"Shh, you just relax," he fawned, thumb rubbing into your temple. "That's a good girl."

He watched his own hand under your nightgown, twisting and pumping, pulling bated breaths and writhing need from your body. He felt the softness of you around him, the slickness congregating between his digits and slipping down his palm. Your cheeks were swelling with such an intense heat that he felt required to kiss them both. Your hand curled into the buttons of his shirt, wrinkling the perfect smoothness of the starched fabric.

"P-pastor," you gasped, thighs quaking around his fingers. "W-what are you d-doin' to me?"

Steve reared back an inch, lapping in your dazed frenzy with wild eyes. "The Lord wants this to happen. He wants me to love you."

A whimper balled up in your throat, coming out as a breathless cry exhaled into his shirt. He watched you slide halfway into his lap like a poor little cat in heat, rubbing your cheek into his stomach with anguished breaths. He could feel the flutter of your approaching peak constricting around his fingers. He pressed his thumb against your swollen clit and watched you silence a sharp cry with your teeth against his thigh. He huffed a chuckle, free hand petting your hair soothingly.

"That's it, that's it," he whispered.

"A-ain't it wrong?" you huffed, pulling your teeth off his thigh and gripping tight onto his arm. "To love me like this?"

Steve gently rubbed his thumb back and forth and pressed his hand to your head to keep you from twisting. He held you against him with a sudden iron force. Sweat beaded at his hairline and under his collar. His arm began to vibrate between your legs. He took a quick glance over toward the door and prayed it didn't open any time soon.

"Not if God wants me to."

And like the astounding proclamation held some sort of power, you turned and buried your mouth into his lap as you gushed over his hand. Pitiful cries wept into his pants, mouth pushing hot air into his crotch and making him twist his fingers in your hair despite himself. He kept his fingers pumping until you kicked your feet in protest.

Steve slipped his fingers from your legs and brought them to the light. Slickness slightly pinked with irritation drenched his fingers and clung to the crevices he happily licked clean. Popping them into his mouth, he sucked himself free of you and let you catch your breath against his thigh. He relaxed his hand into another gentle, taming caress.

"Better hope your mama's asleep," he whispered, gently turning your head to reveal your wet cheeks.

He swept his clean palm over them to clear away the tears. You sniffled and quivered, caught somewhere between bliss and anguish. And Steve just scooped you up, adjusting your body to lie back in its place against the pillow like a prop. He tucked your hair behind your ear again and stroked your cheek. His head cocked aside to inspect your swollen mouth.

"Hmm," he mused softly. "You feelin' better?"

You nodded, fingers pulled over your mouth shakily. Steve pulled your hand down by the wrist, bringing it to sit under your cheek. He took your panties by the waistband and rolled them back up, adjusting your nightgown to sit prettily. He smoothed out the wrinkles and fixed the curled lace. The blankets brought a gust of cool air when he draped them over your body again.

"Now," Steve stood to his feet, eyes trailing the state of you and the mess he made. "You come by the church tomorrow when you're feelin' better. Got somethin' special for you."

Your nose jumped with a tiny sniffle. You hadn't moved from the position he placed you in. The smile on his face suddenly sickened you.

"Okay."

Steve gathered the bag, unused, from the end of the bed. He tucked it under his arm and smoothed the divot in the quilt. As he passed near your head, he stroked two fingers across your cheek again. You pinched your eyes shut. He hummed and swept his thumb across your cheek.

"Sleep tight, little lamb."

His footsteps receded, and the door clicked shut a moment later. The house creaked and groaned under his weight moving through it. You held your breath in your throat as you waited for your mother's voice.

But it never came. And when the screen door slammed shut, and the sun began to fade, you realized you were alone.

But God always prevailed, right?

♰ ♰

[immajustvibehere]

Spark (7/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 7 summary: You and Arthur spend some time in Strawberry together. Your relationship develops. It's only when you get home that one incident after another seem to separate you.

link to my masterlist

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6

5400 words, 30 minutes reading time

You awoke to the twittering of birds, their song gently piercing through the silence the awakening nature. You felt stiff and cold as you turned on the hard forest floor. Your head had rested on the bedroll, but this had done nothing for your back, which ached in pain. As you sat up, a familiar weight slipped off your body. It was Arthur's jacket. He must have covered you with it at some point during the night, you hadn't noticed. The man itself crouched in front of a fire, tending to its flames with a stick.

"Morning", Arthur greeted as his gaze shifted from the fire to meet your eyes.

You responded with a grunt, stood up and handed him his jacket so you'd have your hands free for a satisfying stretch.

"Slept well?", you asked under the cracking of your joints.

"Well enough", Arthur shrugged.

You sat down again and watched as Arthur set up some coffee. All of this went without saying. It was a bit awkward how you eyed each other occasionally. It was a bit uncomfortable, as you didn't know where this conversation would turn and you really hoped it would stay light and happy, though there were so many grave things to discuss.

"How long do ya plan on layin' low?", Arthur asked after he handed you the cup of coffee. You didn't have any cutlery with you, so it seemed like you and Arthur would have to share that cup.

"Couple of days", you said, "four, maybe?"

"Ya think we should stick together for a while?", Arthur asked. He was hesitant to ask, still not entirely sure if you'd reject him eventually.

"If it suits you", you answered, a hint of relief evident in your voice. In truth, you had never planned it to be any other way. You wouldn't mind running around alone, but the circumstances were different now. Your stitches needed taking out, you had no spare clothes, food or money on you and your mind wasn't in the best place at the moment. You'd much rather Arthur stays by your side.

"Sure. We should go to a town, though. I ain't planning to sleep in the dirt for that long", Arthur complained.

"What do you mean? Getting old?", you teased.

"Wasn't my bones that woke up half the wild-life with them cracking", Arthur grinned.

"Fair enough...", you smiled and exhaled. The teasing felt comfortable, it's what you have known for the last weeks and in a way, you preferred that method of showing that you cared. It was easier. You didn't have to expose yourself too much.

"Strawberry shouldn't be too far", Arthur pondered.

"Sure, why not", you said. You handed the steaming coffee cup to Arthur and observed how he placed his lips where yours had been a minute ago. It had done a solid job of warming your chilled bones. "Why don't we rob a couple of fellas on the way? I'd use some money for clothes and a stay at the hotel”, you suggested.

"Ain't necessary, I got some money on me", Arthur dismissed your proposal.

"Ya telling me to rob you instead, or to just submissively accept you covering my expenses?", you asked.

"I'd prefer the latter option", Arthur said sarcastically.

"I don't plan to be in your debt, Morgan."

Arthur raised an eyebrow: "You might have saved my life earlier. This ain't about being in my debt, y/n. This is not usually how those things work, you know?" Arthur chuckled at the thought that you wouldn't accept his favours, despite...well, you weren't in a relationship yet, but he hoped it was heading in this direction.

"Fine then...Strawberry's half a day’s ride. Let's go then."

The weather was nice for a ride. The crisp air carried the lingering freshness of last night’s rain, while the sun tried its best to dry the damp grass and trees. The last wafts of mist disappeared, as the sun rose higher in the sky. You would have enjoyed the ride a lot, weren't it for the turmoil within your mind. The uncertainty of the situation overwhelmed you. On the one hand, you felt like you had to address the feelings you had for Arthur. You watched him ride, reins held casually in one hand, the other nonchalantly swaying by his side.  

On the other hand, there was Micah. He had planned something. You knew very well he was in Dutch's favour, and you also knew he is a man that was willing to do whatever it takes for survival and money. Somehow, you didn't want to tell Arthur. It might overcomplicate the matter, you weren't sure how things would turn out.

"You ain't tellin' me what's on your mind, am I right, darlin'?", Arthur disrupted your thinking. The pet name made you stiffen up a bit and you couldn’t help but feel a blush rise to your cheeks.

"It’s not that important…I’m just thinking", you lied.

"I understand", Arthur’s voice was laced with empathy and understanding, "Ain't gonna pressure you."

You smiled; you were glad about that. This was new, a partner by your side who didn’t pry.

"It's just difficult to trust you, Morgan. I'm riding unarmed, I feel like I’m damn naked", you admitted with a grin, cursing that your guns were back at camp. One of those guns being Arthur's older one. Remembering this, you cursed yourself, because you had started to cherish it a lot…it had become something of sentimental value to you, and its absence was keenly felt. You saw Arthur stirred in his saddle bags before he handed you a holster and a gun.

"You carrying a whole arsenal with you?", you quipped as you secured the holster around your waist and settled the gun within it.

"Damn right, but I expect this one back, you hear?", he said with a wry smile on his face.

-

Midday had past when you arrived Strawberry. Arthur handed you a couple dollars, insisting you use them to get some new clothes. You agreed that a big blood stain probably didn’t give the best first impression when you tried to go unnoticed. The general store didn't offer to much of a variety, but you found a blouse you were happy with. Your pants were fine. Arthur rode ahead to the Welcome Centre, arranging a bath and a room. Arthur had convinced you to take a bath, saying it would be more sanitary to take out the stitches after your skin around the area had been cleaned.

As you entered the hotel, the clerk warmly greeted you, informing that the water had been warmed up and was ready for your use. You headed straight for the bathroom. You had to admit that your last bath was some time ago, so it did feel good to immerse yourself in warm water. The remnants of the O’Driscoll’s blood that had managed to elude your previous wash in the creek only fuelled your desire to scrub every inch of your skin.

Drying yourself off and dressed in the clean blouse you had purchased earlier, you did feel very much renewed – especially after the long ride you’ve had.

When you entered the room that Arthur had arranged, your eyes fell upon him sitting on the edge of the bed, tending to his spurs.  

"Should we get the stitches out?", Arthur asked. His question hung in the air for a while and was accompanied by a sigh of resignation that escaped your lips.

"Yeah...sure,” you gave in and took a seat on the bed.

"Ya could do it yerself, ya know? Ain't that hard."

Yor uncertainty must have been evident when you glanced at Arthur. The pain of the night he had stitched you up came back. The white glaring agonizing pain that almost had you pass out and scream muffled cries into a cloth pressed between your teeth. The memory caused a shiver of unease to travel down your spine.

"I don't know...", you admitted.  

"Under the premise that you won’t accuse me of prudishness and making selfish advances, I can do it for you, if yer so kind as to lift yer shirt for me", Arthur grinned boyishly, reminding you of words you had said yesterday.

You sighed and lied down on the bed, exposing your stitched scar to Arthur. You closed your eyes, reading yourself for some pain.

"You really never had stitches, did ya?", Arthur’s voice cut through the silence.

Your answer was the release of a tense breath, before you felt Arthur's warm touch on your flesh, resting just above your hip. He took out some tweezers. Soon, you felt a slight tugging sensation that was done after five seconds. When Arthur turned away, you knew he was done. There was this cocky smile on his face when you looked at him.

"You son of a bitch!", you cursed as you sat up, your voice was laced with playful anger, "Why didn't you tell me it doesn't hurt?"

"Liked yer submissive face, 's all", Arthur said nonchalantly.

You stared at him in utter disbelief.

"I'll fucking skin you alive the moment I get the chance", you mumbled, your gaze suggesting an attack any moment.

Chuckling lightly, Arthur met your threat with a playful glimmer in his eyes: "Sure, I'd like to see ya try, Missy.”

You went into attack position.

"Will ya try to knock me off my feet?", Arthur asked, hands resting on his hip. Your stance suggested you’d tackle him any moment, he found it quite amusing.

"I won't try. I will do."

"What are we betting for? A kiss?", Arthur suggested.

"Your life, cowpoke."

By now, you couldn't contain the huge grin that had formed on your mouth. This sort of friendly banter had been going on for the last couple of weeks, though the mention of a kiss had introduced a new dynamic. Memories came up from last night and how you avoided him after he had kissed until you had sorted your thoughts. It wasn't that you lacked trust in Arthur specifically; rather, it was a matter of your own guarded nature, a reluctance to place your trust in anyone.

Despite your reservations, you did feel safe around him. You gave up your competitive stance and settled back down on the bed.  

"You'll have to earn that next kiss", you declared, a mix of playfulness and sincerity in those words. It was more in a manner of finally addressing the issue, than actually binding it to conditions. You weren't sure if Arthur understood that you were so hesitant, not because you lacked in desire for him, but from fear of disappointment.

"I'll do whatever you want me to, my lady", Arthur replied mockingly.

"How about some food?", you asked with a smile, "Here. That's the money I've left from my shopping tour earlier." You fished a couple dollars from your bag, but Arthur shook his head.

"Keep it, ya gonna need it sooner or later. I still got some money for dinner."

So, Arthur headed out for the general store and returned ten minutes later with enough dried meats and fruits to last you a week.

You lied down, staring at the ceiling. Now this was going to be awkward. You weren't that tired yet and Arthur also didn't seem too determined to head to bed just yet. But he still sat on his side of the bed and got his journal out.

"Ya don't mind me drawin', do ya?", Arthur asked politely and opened an empty page in the journal.

"No", you answered honestly and sat up too, "can I watch?"

"Sure", Arthur said, "'s there something specific you want me to draw?"

"Remember that waterfall we passed on the ride?"

"You mean Cumberland Falls?"

"Mhm", you nodded.

"'course", and in barely a minute Arthur had outlined the most important features of the landscape. You couldn't have recalled the scenery any better, you had not the slightest doubt that every tree was placed correctly.

Arthur took his time with the drawing because he noticed, as time went by, that your body started to slump against his. Just as he had added all the shadows he had wanted to, he heard your heavy, steady breathings. The subtle scent that enveloped you was intoxicating, and the softness of your features in the warm glow of the oil lamp fascinated him. Your features looked so peaceful and inviting, Arthur wanted to bury his head in your arms. But he resisted the urge in order not to disturb your sleep.

Slowly, he draped an arm around your shoulder, pressing you gently against him as heshifted your position from sitting to a more comfortable lying position. He halted, his heart pounding when you opened your eyes. 'Please don't flinch away, please don't reject me' he thought. But you didn't, you smiled slightly and snuggled up to him. It was at this very moment, that Arthur had felt an amount of hope he had never felt before. It was a profound sense of possibility that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

-

The second day had passed in Strawberry with the soon soon to be disappearing behind the mountains. As the day before, you sat on the bed and Arthur opened his journal. You watched as his pencil wrote words that you couldn’t read. The least you could do it appreciate how handsome his handwriting looked.

"Y/N woke me early today. I thought lying low meant a break from the work and chores - but no. She wants to gather some money so she can say she followed a lead and not saved me from the O'Driscolls. We went fishing and hunting. I shot a cougar, pelt was real fine. Also some birds for feathers. The post clerk gave us a hint for a stage we can rob tomorrow."

You noticed when Arthur had finished the text, as his pencil wasn’t moving on the paper anymore and the last line he had set looked very final. You sat up a little in anticipation of a drawing: “What are you going to draw?”

“Maybe the cougar?”

You didn’t need to reply, Arthur had already started with the outline of the animal.

-

"Third Day of lying low in Strawberry.

We was told the stage coach is best robbed quietly. Of course, y/n wanted to just start shooting. I convinced her to use dynamite. We were done with the guards quickly and the take was ok. I also remembered a fella telling me about Watson's house. We robbed the old hag blind. She had a shotgun stored away, I offered it to y/n but apparently it’s “too uncivilized and not her style”."

“It’s rude to stare”, Arthur remarked and shot you a glance as you were sitting on the chair in the corner, “Come here.” Arthur patted the bed next to him.

“No. Stop telling me what I should do”, you said. Your tone was annoyed but Arthur knew that you didn’t mean to offend. You had been a little pissed earlier when you had a disagreement on how to rob the stagecoach, but this was different. He knew you were teasing as a way of punishing him for interrupting your thoughts.

“I know you want to come here. I’m gonna start drawing without you”, Arthur carefully arranged the pillow so you could sit next to him.

He was right. And you weren’t sure if you liked that or if you wanted to grant him this little win. You supressed a smile: “I hate you.”

“Yer doing an awful job of showing it, so I doubt it”, Arthur chuckled.

You sighed and stood up to walk over to the bed: “I did at first. But it’s harder to hate you if all I thought was despicable about you…turns out I don’t despise it so much.”

“It’s what Micah told you about me before we even met, got that right?”, Arthur said, content to see you settled next to him. He started a sketch of the view you had on the ridge when you waited for the stagecoach.

You nodded and rested your head against Arthur’s arm: “You did exceed my expectations.”

“The bar couldn’t have been too high if you believed everything Micah’s told ya”, Arthur said. He handed you the tobacco and paper and let you roll a cigarette while he sketched on. When you struck a match and a little spark flew on Arthur’s journal, he brushed it away without a care, not saying a word of or cursing you for being inattentive.

-

The deafening roar of thunder roused you from your slumber and startled you awake in the early hours of the morning. As you slowly gained consciousness, you wondered how the torrential downpour outside hadn’t stirred you earlier. The raindrops were big and heavy and pounded merciless upon the rooftop and the window glass.

You crawled out of bed and made your way to the window. Despite the darkness with heavy clouds covering moon and starts, you could still make out the gushes of water that were coming down the skies.

"Good thing you suggested stabling the horses", you mumbled, your words almost swallowed by the overwhelming noise.

Arthur grumbled and turned in bed, he was barely awake: "Ya coming back to bed?"

His voice was drowsy. The cold air was getting to you quickly, and you regretted leaving the warmth of the bed in first place. Turning around, you gazed upon Arthur’s form, dimly illuminated by the soft glow of the flickering oil lamp at the room’s corner.

In that moment, it struck you. This was the first time you truly realised that you shared a room - a bed with a man who you had come to trust. You liked him a lot. And despite having more than one opportunity, spending pretty much every waking hour with you the last three days, he hadn't tried to make a move. He was being very respectful, only ever putting his arm around you when the opportunity was right, but never ever pushing for more proximity. It was a level of consideration and restraint that surprised and touched you deeply. Probably because you weren’t used to it.

"Y/N it's getting cold...", Arthur mumbled, referring to the empty spot in the bed next to him. As you approached bed again, Arthur shifted to the spot you had vacated, a cold patch of linen that he now warmed with his body. Half aspleep, he pulled back the blanket, inviting you to take his still-warm place beside him.

Without saying something, and probably barely registering what he was even doing, Arthur tugged you in and then spooned you, his head conveniently finding the curve of your neck. Your heart rate picked up; you hadn't been so close before.

It was a weird sensation to have someone breath hot air down your neck, his arm was snaked around you, leaving you no room for escape. However, the coldness you had felt out of bed soon was gone, replaced by the warmness that radiated from Arthur’s body. It calmed you down. You got used to the sensation of his breath on your neck. Gradually, you grew accustomed to the sensation of his breath against your neck. Heck, you even started to like it. You tried to synchronize your own breaths with his. Soon, with Arthur’s warmth and steady breathing, sleep reclaimed you.

The white noise of rain falling was still present when you opened your eyes again some hours later. You had turned onto your back; Arthur wasn't spooning you anymore. When you turned your face to his, his eyes tiredly blinked back to you. You wanted to sit up, but Arthur quickly caught your arm and held it: "You ain't dragging me out of bed so early today."

You looked out of the window. The sky had turned grey, and the rain was still falling.

"Wasn't planning to...", you mumbled.

After what felt like an eternity of lying still and counting the boards on the ceiling, you turned your face to Arthur. He was lying on his side, turned towards you. His eyes fluttered open as if he had felt your gaze on him. He watched you as you shuffled closer ever so slightly. You weren't even sure what was it that pulled you closer to him, but with your heart pounding relentlessly, you finally closed the distance between the two of you. Your lips met tenderly for a very slow and drowsy kiss. Arthur savoured every second of it.

Unconsciously, his hands wandered up to your face and he halted only a moment before he would have cupped your cheek. He wasn't sure if you'd want that. But he did feel a bit awkward when the kiss ended, and his hand lingered in the air over you in an unaddressed manner. Your cheeks were clearly flushed, and Arthur's eyes showed hope and surprise.

"Your beard needs a trim", you commented sheepishly.

"Yes ma'am", Arthur replied, a smile forming on his lips. This time, he was the one who closed the distance, finding the courage to place his hand on your cheek, cupping it gently. The second kiss was longer and more passionate. You had no intention of backing out. It felt like having your first kiss all over again, with the butterflies in your stomach going wild.

It was over sooner than you hoped, but Arthur went on to pepper your cheeks and neck with little kisses, his beard tickling quite a bit in the process. Then he stopped and simply lied down in his initial position, next to you on his back. Though your hand found his and held it loosely, just to ensure some touch between you.

"Sorry I wasn't ready sooner", you said.

"What are ya even talking about?", quipped Arthur.

"Just...making you wait and all tha-"

"You didn't make me wait", he quickly established, "Who said that I was ready? I wasn't ready either. Hell, I don't even know if I was ready now because my brain feels like it has been smashed on a wall. And I have you to blame you for that!"

"You do know how to make a lady feel special", you chuckled.

"Sure", Arthur snorted, "keep tellin' yaself that if that means I get to kiss ya again."

You grinned sheepishly, sat up and leaned over Arthur to give him another kiss. It just felt so safe to do it. The way he still held your hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. He was entirely at your mercy, his blue eyes scanning your face the moment you moved away, pleading for another kiss which you readily granted.

"We won't ride back to camp today, huh", you said after a while, watching the rain.

"No, no use for that. We'll just drown in mud."

When you got out of bed, Arthur hurried to get his pants on, leaving you to guess what that haste was all about. The welcoming centre, as it so happened, was filled with a bunch of people. Your room neighbour and two other men who had found refuge from the storm here at night. Breakfast was shared and someone had brought a deck of cards. You and Arthur mingled with the group, playing Poker and Blackjack pretty much the entire day. Sometime after lunch it had stopped raining. Before evening, the sun was coming out from behind the clouds.

It was later decided that you'd head back to camp right now, traveling through the night and probably arrive early in the morning. There'd almost be a day between you and Arthur coming back, as not to raise suspicion that you spent the time together. You walked to the stables together, boots covered in wet soil when you said:

"At camp...you know that we can't..."

Arthur sighed and lit himself a cigarette: "I know. Micah's the problem, isn't he?"

"He'd kill us both if he found out", you mumbled, a hundred percent believing the words you had just said.

"Would rid the world of some filth for sure", Arthur joked and earned an arm slap.

"Didn't mean you, darlin'. Yer an angle", he teased.

He then watched you saddle your horse. You checked if you've got the money. Hunting, robbing and gambling had brought you a take of almost 200 dollars, enough to count as a solid lead and to excuse your long absence.

"See ya tomorrow", you said.

"Don't get yourself killed on the ride back."

"Mhm", you grinned, "You neither. Without me protecting you."

Arthur had the most beautiful smile, you realised. He had grinned and shook his head as response to your answer. It made you unbelievably happy. And then you rode off.

-

When you rode up to Clemen’s point, it was Charles on guard duty. You acknowledged this with relief, because out of everybody, he'd not be someone to plague you with questions.

"Y/n, we worried about you", he said, his voice laced with true compassion.

"Yeah...I'm fine", you smiled awkwardly.

"Where've you been?", he asked so innocently, a question stemming from pure curiosity.

"Ehrm...out and about. Hard to explain, really..."

"When's Arthur coming?"

"What?"

"Arthur. He was with you, wasn't he?", Charles asked. The innocence seemed to be replaced by an air of knowledge. He knew, somehow, he knew. You were aware that he was a great observer...but this good?

"I...don't know", you lied. But seeing Charles' raised eyebrows, you sighed in defeat: "He'll be back by tomorrow morning."

Charles nodded in acknowledgement.

"Guess I figured out why you had a change of heart", he said with a smile. It was a subtle hint towards your changing attitude at camp.

"Mr. Smith", you grumbled warningly.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. But you should come up with a proper excuse, because Miss Grimshaw is furious you disappeared."

Turns out that not even 200 dollars could get you out of a scolding. You had to hear all of it. Sneaking away, disregarding your healing process, not being present to support the gang. Anyone who walked by or overhead your scolding was quite sympathetic. Even Dutch patted you on the shoulder when he walked you over to the donating box and watched you put the money inside.

To make up for your days away, you were put to work immediately. You had to help manage the horses and soon were sent off to a mission with Micah. It’s safe to say that when Arthur arrived at camp in the afternoon, you were exhausted from a night without sleep and a day full of work. It left no time to catch up with Arthur or asking him about his travels. You overslept the next morning, missing the little window which you usually shared with him, talking about your day and drinking coffee.

You weren’t sure how you had imagined it, but there was barely a minute in which you and Arthur were alone. And then, suddenly, events started to happen one after another. You went to town with the boys, found it deserted and one minute later you had the brains from the Irish boy all over your face. You had barely returned and helped to bury his still warm body, when the message spread that Jack had been taken by some Braithwaites.

When more guns were needed to get the boy back, you offered yourself willingly, fuelled by rage. You loved Jack. You had played with him so often that the thought of him gone was sickening. You understood Abigail’s fears and yet you tried to be somewhat restrained, because Micah was there and he’d certainly frown at your behaviour. But there was no Micah at the manor, so when you still kicked in doors after the place had caught fire, Arthur was suddenly by your side, urging you to leave the house.

“We sure he ain’t here?!”, you said, still ripping open closets.

“Yes. Come on, y/n”, Arthur put a hand on your shoulder and guided you out. Maybe, if he hadn’t been there to collect you, you would have been buried in the rubbles of this place with the wretched mother.

Then you moved to Shady Belle.

Jack was back with you within a week. You helped Grimshaw and Arthur to get Tilly back and stabbed the Foreman when Arthur didn’t deem it necessary.

“Tilly wanted him to tell his stupid gang-“

“His corpse will tell enough”, you answered.

Then Arthur was busy with the mayor, with robbing a boat, and finally, Shady Bell was attacked by the O’Driscolls. You watched in awe as Sadie butchered more O’Driscolls than you managed to get in front of your guns.

The only time you and Arthur had some time alone away from camp is when he had you tag along to help the Indians.

It was a young man named Eagle Flies who greeted you on a hill with a nice view on the oil factory. “You came”, he stated.

“’course I came. Said I would”, Arthur mentioned as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You took a friend with you, I see?”, Eagle Flies looked at you a bit sceptically.

“She’s back-up”, Arthur explained.

“Hope we won’t need that”, Eagle Flies commented before he explained to Arthur what he needed to steal.

You were left behind with the native as Arthur hid in the back of the waggon to sneak into the place. You didn’t say much, only listened to a couple of words he told you about the situation he and his people was in. Barely half an hour later, Arthur was back with the papers he was told to steal.  

-

You hurried up to Arthur’s room, using it as an opportunity that Micah wasn’t at camp and everybody else was busy with planning the details of the heist. You intently knocked on the door.

“Yes”, Arthur replied. He knew that it wasn’t Marston or Miss Grimshaw, because they never had bothered to knock. But when he saw you come in and swiftly closing the door behind you, his shoulders relaxed and his lips curled into a smile. “Y/N”, he breathed, relieved to see you and happy that this meant you had a moment together, alone.

“Hey”, you replied briefly, “Are you okay, Arthur? Are you sure about this bank heist?”

Your uncertainty irritated Arthur, but he’d try to reassure you that they had a plan. You had been assigned to stay at camp and to take care of the rest of the people, in case anything went wrong.

“It’s Hosea’s planning and I trust him when it comes to things like that”, Arthur said.

“I have robbed my fair share of city banks, and it always ends with half of my partners dead or captured”, you said, your shoulders slouching. You hadn’t been able to think about anything else since the idea had first come up.

“It’s risky, sure. But I think we are prepared”, Arthur nodded and looked at you. Arthur felt how uneasy you were though it had been some time since you last had intimate contact, Arthur gently pulled you into a hug. You wouldn’t have admitted it if he’d asked, but you had needed this. Carefully, you nestled your head against his chest and felt his hands roam your back, caressing it.

“If this works…we’ll soon get some more time for ourselves. Thing’s have been happening so fast the last weeks…”, Arthur murmured. It didn’t go unnoticed how you pressed Arthur tightly in your arms, your fingers dug through the clothes and into his flesh. There was this sense of fear in you, and despite his reassuring words, you couldn’t quite shake it. You had to push yourself away and stand on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his lips.

“What was that for? Good luck for tomorrow?”

“That was for me”, you answered cheekily, a smile appearing on your lips.

-

Despite preparations, despite it being Hosea’s plan and not Dutch’s…it went wrong. Arthur didn’t dwell on it for long, he was occupied with surviving and getting off the damn island. He had lost a sense of awareness of how long they had been gone, and was eager to rejoin the gang, yearning to see your face again. He hadn’t thought about it…no he hadn’t even considered it that you might not be there. His gaze scanned the crammed room and he only mumbled your name out of fear of finding out something has happened.

It was Miss Grimshaw who spoke up: “Miss y/l/n left. Shortly after Molly, a couple of days ago.”

Arthur didn’t believe it. Only after he caught Charles’ eyes which seemed to confirm it.

“A rat fleeing a sinking ship…”, Micah commented through gritted teeth, “Should never have introduced her…”

Dutch was about to express his disapproval, when the Pinkertons arrived.

-x-x-x-x-x-x

Phew, sorry if it's a bit messy. Had to cover a lot of ground to make it end on a cliff hanger =)

taglist: @xclovers @photo1030 @cowboydisaster @stilinskiwitch @globetrotter28 @unbotheredbeeeee @eyelovie @ashjbu @lovrgirlsstuff @how-the-heck-would-i-know @j4llyf7sh @urfavjanalein @thatonestrangebird

[cindylouwhooo]

Chapter Three

Gigi’s POV

A pounding headache and a dry throat greet me with the morning sun, as I struggle to get out of bed. It must be the thirtieth minute of my daily aimless scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, and I find myself looking for the negative comments. In my head, I’m fully aware how wrong it is, how I’m not supposed to give into the haters, how I’m supposed to close my eyes and move on with my life.

But some hopeless, insane part of me believes that every negative thing that I come across social media will light that fire that’s long put out inside me—that I’ll take the bait and get into the studio, write the greatest album of all time and be rid of all the weight of what my name brings me.

Of course, by the reach of the hour, my brain has been convinced that my previous albums were a pile of shit and that I’ll never be able to write anything in my life, ever again.

The phone drops from my hand and I dig my body further into the mattress, letting the peace and comfort of my bed convince me into getting some more sleep. I dream of nothing, and I wake up realising that I might have dreamed of my future career.

~ ~ ~

Lando’s POV

“Please.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Yes you can.”

“I absolutely cannot. Kika will kill me and then break up with me. And I can’t have that.”

I let out the longest sigh as I walk beside Gasly. Journalists, photographers, engineers and other drivers walk past us, looking, whispering. Not that I care. I couldn’t even if I tried.

“Fine, just give me Kika’s number and I’ll ask her.”

After glaring at me for mentioning his girlfriend’s name, he begrudgingly pulls out his phone and brings it to my face. I scramble to grab mine from the pocket of my sweats and hastily tap down Kika’s number.

“I’m choosing her contact name.” He demands, but I’m only half listening—too focused on trying to transfer the numbers correctly from his phone to my contacts.

She’s ethereal. I don’t even know how I went all my life without glancing twice at her—speaking as a person who happened to have done just that the previous night, as is now unable to look at anything else.

Gigi Santos could easily be way out of my reach, but I’d be damned not to try extending my arm towards her; just to see if angels really exist.

“Honestly, I can’t even believe she followed you.” Pierre admits as we keep walking towards the media pen.

I let out a huff, slightly agreeing with him, yet still offended he’s find that surprising.

“Gigi is super private, doesn’t like people much.” He goes on. “But maybe that’s good, that she followed you. I don’t know. Anyways, I gotta go—watch what you say to my girl.”

I roll my eyes and start walking the other way, eyes fixated on the screen in front of me.

Unknown

Hi Kika. It’s Lando

Norris

From formula one

Pierre’s girl

Hi!

Everything okay?

Lando from formula 1

Yeah, no all good 👍🏻

I was just wondering, I mean,

I was thinking about your

friend.

Gigi Santos

She is, she’s cute

Pierre’s girl

She sure is

Lando from formula 1

Yeah and I was hoping

maybe I could get her

number? From you

Pierre wouldn’t give it to me

Pierre’s girl

Sorry!! She doesn’t like random people having her number without her knowing :(

But I’m sure you’ll have your chance at talking :)

Lando from formula 1

What do you mean?

Pierre’s girl

I mean, it seems like you’re already in contact

Kind of

I smile, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

The post I made just this morning on instagram, was a long shot, risky and could possibly lead to Gigi Santos thinking I’m a cocky arsehole. But my fingers itched as they lingered over the post button, my whole body vibrating with a random need to interact with her—without looking like a needy fucking chad, who DMs her with no cause.

My heart almost stopped when my eyes caught her name on the liked list, and I swear I stopped breathing when her post popped up on my feed—I’m single too btw.

I nearly hop over to Kaylee, my PR manager, who seems much too irritated for a Thursday.

“Good morning, Kaylee.”

“Just morning will do, Lando, since you decided to make a social media uproar by declaring your marital status.” She eyes me, surely picturing how it’d be to strangle me. “I want no mention of anything close to your relationship status, Instagram, plans of partying after the GP or Gigi Santos.”

My eyes pop out of their sockets, shocked to have someone else acknowledge our little interaction.

“W-what?”

“I’m not dumb, or hiding under a rock. Neither are the journalists, nor the people who’ll view your interviews. Just be mindful. ‘S all I ask.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say the appropriate thing, and try to prepare for a day of avoiding my favorite subjects.

~ ~ ~

Instagram Reels - Lando Norris, Media day, last interview of the day

142.038 views

comments

LLL4NDO.NORRIS bro literally changed ten colors when asked about his post LOL

ln4fan what a cheeky shit, pretending not to know mother Gigi

44loves04 LANDO YOU AINT FOOLING NO BODY

gigimothersantos this man better be joking

gigi1604 MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING

f1fan63 am i the only one that’s confused?

gigisantos at least he said he loved my songs 🤷🏻‍♀️

-> santossssslovr MOTHER

-> gigiismyqueen go get em girl

-> hayleelovesgigi give us the album!!!!!

~ ~ ~

Gigi’s POV

I smiled at my phone, overly amused by whatever game I decided to play.

I don’t know what made me rise from the hungover/coma I was in a few hours ago, just to make a post about being single and commenting on that reel.

There’s no logical explanation other than the sudden need to be in this man’s world.

It was clear the post Lando made was about me, and, honestly? I found it terribly adorable. My heart flipped and my lunges filled with an energy I hadn’t felt in a long time…plus, he’s a race car driver and I’m single.

Having fun and playing this little game with him while I’m here won’t hurt. I need a new distraction from whatever’s going on in my career anyway.

Maybe coming to Monaco was a better idea than I originally thought.

———————

SMALL, SHITTY AND ALMOST POINTLESS but I suck at intro chapters and I promised two chapter before the new year

i will definitely do better next time and get into the characters and ACTUAL plot lol

anyways, i hope you enjoy your New Year’s Eve!! 🥂

cindy

(ps. my inbox is open if u wanna say hi 👋🏻)

[gerrystamour]

here i have found some peace of mind [chapter five]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST ] [ PREVIOUS ]

Since Steve is transmasc and I am transmasc, I base a lot of his deal on my own. This means: - I use a mixture of feminine and masculine terminology for his anatomy. - Steve does not have bottom dysphoria and is generally okay with vaginal penetration. - Steve's libido is very similar to my own. CW: There is even more smut in this chapter, more phone sex to be exact.... Now with ART by the AMAZING @sentient-trash !! It is nsft, so crops only here, and the full image is viewable on Simon's Spicy Twitter and on Ao3!

[ READ ON AO3 ]

now i'm going out into the wild

Steve could barely sleep the night before Corroded Coffin was set to arrive. It didn’t help that he and Eddie decided to try and give each other some space ahead of actually meeting each other. They hadn’t spoken over the phone since they both jerked off together. They were still texting every day, but they both thought it smart to keep their distance, just a little bit.

He hated it, if Steve was honest, but he would tolerate it for the few days he had to.

The band’s stay was planned out and that almost made it worse for Steve.

At around two in the afternoon, Chrissy would arrive to collect the keys to their rooms and tour the property a bit with Steve. The band was going to be at the venue to do a sound check and rehearsal, then they had a late-night talkshow to appear on, so they wouldn’t be arriving at the property until well after Steve’s shift ended.

But the band would absolutely be on-property when Steve arrived for his shift the next day. They had some filming to do around Chicago, but that was slotted for part of the morning and would be done by the early afternoon.

For most of Steve’s shift on Friday, Eddie would be nearby, and Steve would have to not think about that. But he would cross that very horny bridge when he got to it.

When two in the afternoon rolled around, Steve found himself standing in the lobby with Will and Hopper, the head of security for their property, waiting for Chrissy’s arrival.

“Would both of you just stop bouncing?” Hopper finally snapped at them, and they immediately froze. “You’re going to make me nervous if you keep this up.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve glanced at his phone and then back out to the driveway. A taxi was rolling to a stop, and then Chrissy hopped out of the back. She bent at the waist to talk to the driver a bit more, her whole body shaking with a laugh before she waved and shut the door. When she turned around and started to walk in, her eyes landed on Steve and the wattage of her smile dialed up several notches and he couldn’t help but match it.

“Chrissy, such a pleasure to finally meet you,” Steve greeted, stepping forward and offering a handshake.

“Oh, screw that,” Chrissy scoffed, dodging his hand and pulling him into a tight hug. Without really thinking about it, Steve returned the embrace with a laugh. “It is amazing to finally be here!” she said, and as Steve pulled away, he caught Chrissy lowering her phone with the front-facing camera still going.

Meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow, Chrissy feigned an innocent look, shrugging a little bit.

“Just letting the boys know I got here just fine without them,” she said, addressing all three of them now before she sent a message with a few quick taps. From Steve’s vantage point, he could see that she had only sent a picture, and from the multiple responses that flooded her screen, it was a groupchat.

In his hand, Steve’s own phone began to vibrate with several rapid-fire texts.

Steve looked back at Hopper and Will, and they were both watching him and Chrissy with similar yet completely different suspicious looks.

“Alright, that’s settled! Hi!” Chrissy greeted as she tucked her phone into her purse, holding her hand out to Hopper. “Chrissy Cunningham, pleasure to meet you!”

“Jim Hopper, head of security around this place,” Hopper responded, accepting her hand with a firm handshake.

When Chrissy turned to Will, he somehow managed to rein in some of his bewildered excitement to shake her hand as well. “Will Byers, front desk supervisor, huge pleasure to meet you,” he said pleasantly, smiling shyly when she tugged him closer to say something quietly in his ear.

When she stepped back, she winked at Will before turning to look at Steve. “So! The rooms?” she asked, and Steve gestured toward Will.

“Actually, Will is going to take point on this tour, with Hopper. I’m just along for the ride,” Steve replied, winking at the wild look Will gave him. So maybe Steve didn’t tell Will he was leaving the tour up to him, but he knew the kid could handle it.

“Amazing! Lead the way, Will,” Chrissy said brightly, and immediately fell into step with him as he gestured toward the elevators.

Hopper stopped Steve before he could follow the two of them right away. “You’re not messing around with a client, right kid?” he asked in a low voice and Steve flushed.

“Chrissy? No!” Steve replied, and at Hopper’s stern expression he continued, “Seriously Hopper, nothing is going on between me and Chrissy. We just talked a lot while preparing, so we’re friendly now.”

“That’s why she took a selfie while hugging you? I’m old but not blind, Steve,” Hopper bit out before smiling at some guests that walked past.

“Yes! We’re friendly, possibly even friends, I don’t know because I’ve kept things strictly professional with Chrissy,” Steve repeated, and maybe he was wording things specifically to make them not baldfaced lies. Because, yes, he was strictly professional with Chrissy. He was not with ‘Chris’.

Hopper frowned down at Steve before shrugging. “Fine, I’ll drop it,” he said, and Steve could tell he was not actually going to drop it, at least not completely.

The tour went by quickly, Will quickly slipping into his element and brushing off the nerves. He was chatting and joking with Chrissy by the time they had returned to the lobby. Hopper had excused himself from the tour midway through, claiming he had to do his rounds but honestly, he was just bored.

“I’ll go get the keys for the rooms,” Will said, stepping away and hurrying to his desk in the back office.

Chrissy turned to Steve with a bright grin. “Eddie wanted to skip sound check, by the way,” she said, nudging Steve with an elbow. “He’s very excited to see you.”

Steve blushed as he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really excited to see him, too,” he replied.

“I just—thank you,” Chrissy said suddenly, intensely sincere as she grabbed his elbow gently. “For giving him a second chance. I haven’t seen him this happy since we were in high school.”

Steve blinked down at her, unsure of what to say to that, but luckily was saved figuring that out when Will reappeared with a big white envelope.

“Here you are, the keys and information letters,” he said with a smile, handing it to Chrissy.

“Perfect! You guys are just on top of it!” Chrissy gushed, tucking the envelope under her arm to fish an envelope of her own out of her purse. Holding it out to Steve, she said, “This is a gift for being amazing. I am giving these to you because I always gift these to the amazing hotel employees that help us.”

Steve could feel Will vibrating next to him as he accepted the envelope and opened it. Inside were two tickets to the concert, and he could see a big VIP stamp on them. Will peered over Steve’s shoulder and gasped loudly in his ear.

“The meet-and-greet with those is after the concert. It’s a little bit more intimate since there’s only a handful of these tickets,” Chrissy explained, and when Steve finally looked back at her she was smirking. “You don’t already have plans, right?”

“Well, I mean, now I do,” Steve said with a laugh, waving the envelope and Chrissy clapped happily.

“Yes! I was hoping you would accept them!” Chrissy said before shifting the envelope of keys so she could pull Steve into another hug. “Last one for the road, and a real one, too. Now that I’m not pranking Eddie.”

Steve laughed and returned the hug before separating. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chrissy,” Steve said warmly as he pulled away.

By the time Chrissy finally left in another taxi, Will was actually bouncing.

“Steve, please…” he started, grabbing Steve’s arm. “The second ticket…”

“Yeah, I was thinking of bringing Henderson,” Steve teased, grinning when Will gasped.

“Steve!”

❖

When Steve got home, he had to fight the urge to immediately check the text messages from Eddie. He needed to get changed and then eat first or else he would get wrapped up in texting him and do neither. So that’s what Steve does, changes and eats, and even manages to go through their mail before he shuts himself in his room.

Eds [sent at 14:07]: wthhhhhhhh 😭😭😭 why is chis hugging u 🤬🤬🤬 isnt that unprofessional 😬 Eds [sent at 14:11]: stevie pls im legit so 😭😭😭😭😭😭 abt this rn baby that is my hug wtfffffff 😩 Eds [sent at 14:13]: whyd chrissy have to go meet u AFTER ur lunch break 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this sucks that im gonna have to wait until you get home now to get even a reaction 😩 Eds [sent at 15:23]: ugh we have some stupid 🤬 fucking 🤬 talkshow 🤬 to go on tonight my leg is ✨ fuckn killing me ✨ rn Eds [sent at 16:31]: the beds at ur hotel are fuckn next level babe 🥴🥴🥴 wtf it feels like a fuckn cloud 😴☁ Eds [sent at 16:56]: guess what time it is babe ❗❗❗❗❗❗ ✨UGLY 👏🏻 ASS 👏🏻 BUG 👏🏻 TIME 👏🏻✨ this was out at the smoking area it made garebear cry 😔 true story 😔 Eds [sent at 17:21]: the redhead that parks cars is so fuckn mean 😬 i adore her 🥰 i want her for our bus driver immediately❗❗❗❗❗ she actually made garebear cry 😔 real true story this time 😔

Steve’s face hurt with how big he was grinning by the time he finished reading the texts.

Steve [sent at 20:07]: You absolutely cannot steal our best valet. You wouldnt last a week w her and u know it

When Eddie didn’t immediately respond, Steve knew they must have been actually busy, so he grumbled as he searched for something to occupy his time before he could go to bed.

One thing he thought of was to listen to Corroded Coffin’s music, study up on it so he wasn’t completely out of place at the concert the next day. He could always watch the music videos he had been pointedly ignoring, especially the one that still was from…

How bad could it be? Steve had watched more than a few sexy music videos and been just fine after. It’s just a music video, that was probably the sexiest shot from it, it would be fine.

Except Steve didn’t really consider the fact that, of all the sexy music videos he had watched in the past, he didn’t have an imminent date with the vocalist.

The name of the song was Dark Altar, and as he remembered from the five seconds he had watched a month ago, it started with Eddie crawling naked out of a hole in the ground, his body covered in mud, viscera, and some sort of slime. It should’ve been disgusting but with the way Eddie’s eyes were hooded as he crawled, and his veritable mane of curls framing his face in a mess that made Steve imagine burying his hands in it and pulling…

Steve knew with absolute clarity only thirty seconds in that he absolutely would not be able to be normal about it, already shifting his legs open as his dick throbbed. However, he was completely enthralled by the video, watching as the scenes switched between Eddie writhing on a forest floor, seemingly naked, and sitting atop an ornate altar wearing only a pair of leather pants. There was something about Eddie being barefoot that was adding to the entire appeal but Steve couldn’t get his flustered brain back on track to figure that out.

When the priest began showing up in shots, the video definitely took a turn toward overtly sexual, with the scenes of the priest getting more and more compromising, and not even just with Eddie. The rest of the band also had their own moment with the priest character. There was one scene that Steve actually worked very hard to pause because it went by so fast he almost doubted it happened. Sure enough, there was a two-second scene in the music video of the whole band with the priest that promptly melted Steve’s brain.

The angle of the shot was from the end of the altar where Eddie was laying on his back with the priest kneeling in prayer while straddling Eddie’s hips, a rosary hanging from his clasped hands. Eddie was reaching up and raking his claws down the priest’s chest, ripping through his shirt and skin, drawing blood to the surface. Behind the priest, Jeff was pressed close as his hands wrapped around the man’s hips, sliding under the waistband of his pants. On the right, Gareth was kneeling on the altar, pulling the priest’s head back to rest on Jeff’s shoulder by a fistful of hair. On the left, Grant was climbing onto the altar and had a clawed hand wrapped around the priest’s throat, just above his collar.

With a shivery groan, Steve took a screencap of the paused scene, resolving to hopefully find a more high definition still if it existed. Pressing play again, Steve finished watching the music video, shivering as his arousal filled his gut with heat.

Just as the video was coming to a close, Steve’s phone vibrated with a text from Eddie.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve breathed with a small chuckle to himself at his joke, closing YouTube and opening his texts.

Eds [sent at 20:23]: idk what ur talking about 😒 red will love me u’ll see 😤 Eds [sent at 20:24]: u eat dinner big boy 💕💕💕??? u better eat if u haven’t 😠😘🥰

Smiling fondly, even with how much his dick was throbbing and how wet he felt, Steve debated how he should text him back. They were giving each other some space before seeing each other in person, especially following them having phone sex, Steve knew that. It had been his idea, even. But Steve wanted to hear Eddie while he got off again.

Steve [sent at 20:24]: hey you busy? wanna call you Eds [sent at 20:25]: 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬 stupid talkshow in like 15mins 🙃😩 i'll call u later? 👉🏻👈🏻

Steve couldn’t help the bubble of disappointment that rose in his chest at that, though it made sense. He knew Eddie’s schedule for the day, so he should’ve known better than to ask.

Steve [sent at 20:25]: i'll be in bed by then, nvm Eds [sent at 20:26]: ☹ whats up baby u okay?

At Eddie’s question, Steve knew he had to confess that this was a horny call he wanted to have. He could have a bit of fun with it, couldn’t he?

Steve [sent at 20:27]: just watched the music video for Dark Altar Eds [sent at 20:27]: 😏 oh???? Eds [sent at 20:28]: 😏 and?? 😏😏😏 ur thoughts??? 😏

Steve shoved his pajama pants and boxers down to mid-thigh and pulled his shirt up to expose his chest and stomach. With a groan, he typed out his message and the moment he sent it, Steve rolled over to grab his favourite vibrator out of his bedside table drawer.

Steve [sent at 20:28]: thinking I can’t wait until I get to take u home on Saturday Eds [sent at 20:29]: 👀👀👀👀👀👀❗❗❗❗❗❗

With a huff, Steve turned the vibrator on and worked the head of it against his dick gently, whining a bit.

Feeling a bit mean, Steve took a picture of himself from the chest down, pink vibrator in his hand and his nakedness obvious. With the way his pants and boxers were still around his thighs, pulled tight across the open space with the spread of them, a shiny, wet spot of slick was clearly visible in the shot, revealing just how much the music video affected him.

There was a moment where he hesitated sending the image, the lewdness bringing a hot flush to his ears, but it was only a moment. Hitting send, Steve pressed the vibrator into his cunt and turned it up.

Steve didn’t get a text back right away, and that was fine. That just meant that Eddie had probably been pulled away, that he would see the picture when he was done with the interview. The image of Eddie dealing with his little issue had Steve moaning and working the vibrator in his cunt more deliberately, more determined, angling it to vibrate against his g-spot on every other glide inward.

It was still disappointing that he couldn’t hear Eddie’s voice while he got off, and a bit deliriously, he opened Spotify to put on Dark Altar.

The priest in the music video was just similar enough in his appearance that Steve could easily imagine himself in his place. Steve could pretend that he was the one being grabbed and clawed. It was him straddling Eddie’s waist or nuzzling his mouth against Eddie’s crotch, or surrounded by four attractive men as they manhandled and fucked him.

So lost was he in his fantasy that Steve almost missed when his phone vibrated with a new message from Eddie. Opening the message, he saw that it was a voice note and let out a happy little sob. Immediately, he got a bit more comfortable, pressing play and dropping his other hand to tug at his dick while he fucked himself desperately with the vibrator.

“Jesus H. Christ, Stevie, you can’t do this to me while I’m wearing leather pants and about to go on a talkshow,” Eddie’s voice growled, making Steve’s breath catch in his throat and the coil in his gut finally, finally pull taut. “I’m half-hard and surrounded by people and about to go on TV, and honestly that’s turning me on so fucking much.”

Steve gasped at that, the thought of Eddie being seen so turned on, that he was going to be on TV in that state, and it was because of him… Steve moaned, eyes fluttering and rolling back as his orgasm barreled forward, ready to crash through him.

“You’re talking about taking me home on Saturday, but Stevie, you keep up this teasing? I’m gonna have to do something about it tomorrow after the concert,” Eddie groaned quietly. “Would fuck you in the middle of the VIP event if I had to.”

That was it for Steve.

With a sob, he came, his cunt clenching desperately around the vibrator. Steve stopped fucking himself with it and instead angled it just so, pressing it into his g-spot while he worked his dick, dragging himself through a second orgasm almost immediately after.

Not even letting himself recover or turning the vibrator off, Steve reached up to his phone and started recording his own voice note. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath, still shuddering from the aftershocks of his releases with each exhale having a small vocalization.

Finally, after a thick swallow and a contented groan, Steve pulled the vibrator out of his cunt and said, “Careful, Eds, I might hold you to those pretty promises…”

Ending the recording, Steve sent the voice note and panted up at the ceiling, finally turning the vibrator off and laying it across his tummy. With a smirk, Steve took a picture of his vibrator laying across stomach, shiny with slick that was smeared across his skin and sent that as well.

Steve felt good, floaty, but also deeply exhausted and he knew he had to get cleaned up and probably change his duvet cover because, yeah, things felt pretty slick downstairs.

But for the moment, he just happily imagined Eddie’s reaction to the voice note and photo, idly fantasizing about the next day.

❖

“Eddie, we’re on in like two minutes, stop being weird on your phone with your boyfriend,” Grant hissed and Eddie groaned.

With a sigh, Eddie quickly adjusted himself in his pants and turned to join the others. Luckily, he was exaggerating a bit about how hard he was to Steve, but it was a close thing.

“Dude, you know he’s gonna be fucking ruthless if you’re mooning over Steve up there,” Gareth warned Eddie as he joined them just before the doorway onto the stage. “Remember when Grant was still chatting up that stage tech?”

Eddie grimaced. “Yeugh, yeah, I remember,” he said, looking skyward with a little smile. “But I mean, we didn’t really help at all.”

“Of course we fuckin’ didn’t, and you can bet you’re nonexistent ass that we won’t help you out if you put your little thing with Steve on his radar,” Jeff interjected, leaning over Eddie’s shoulder with a sidelong smirk. “Turnabout is fair play and all that.”

“What the fuck ever, let’s get this over with,” Eddie sighed as they were announced, and he led the way out, waving at the studio audience as he made his way over to the couch.

They were on The Late Show with Murray Bauman, a dreaded talkshow for most celebrities because Murray was an asshole. He was a former investigative journalist who decided to put down the pen and take up torturing celebrities with his smug grin and sweaty, balding head.

And boy, was his grin smug tonight.

“Hello, boys,” Murray practically sang as they got settled on the couch, Eddie closest to him with Grant on his right, then Gareth and Jeff. “Long time, no see!”

“Not nearly long enough, Murray,” Eddie said with a dimpled grin.

“Take it up with your agent, Edward,” Murray deadpanned before they dug into the interview.

They talked about the new album, the tour, the openers they had on board, how much the bus sucked and what they were looking forward to most when the tour ended.

At some point, Eddie felt his phone vibrate, but he ignored it, then it vibrated again immediately. Steve sent two messages, one right after the other, and Eddie had to sit there making banter with Murray Bauman. Pretty soon, only thoughts of those text messages were passing through his mind, wondering what they were, and it wasn’t long before Eddie forgot he was literally sitting on a couch on a talkshow and checked his text messages.

In his defense, it was almost nine at night and his Adderall had worn off two hours ago.

Of course, it was a voice note but also an image, and though Eddie only glanced at it, he caught enough; Steve with a pink vibrator across his stomach, the smooth surface of it shiny with slick.

Eddie dropped his phone into his lap immediately, feeling his ears go hot as his cock throbbed in his pants. Lifting his bad leg to cross it over the other and hopefully hide his growing boner, Eddie turned his attention back to Murray.

To his utter dismay, Murray was watching him, his eyes bright and his grin malevolent.

“No,” Eddie said pleadingly.

“Well, that little moment is a good enough segue into my next question,” Murray drawled before the Steeeeve Spotting intro from their Tour Diaries started playing loudly in the studio. Which meant that the sounds of Grant, Jeff, and Gareth moaning and wailing Steve’s name filled the studio. It was too clean to have been pulled from the YouTube video, so Steve leaned over and glared at Gareth.

“You fucking traitor,” Eddie said sourly, without any heat.

“You brought this on yourself, Eddie,” Gareth shot back.

“You see, Edward, I reached out to Mr. Emerson here to ask for that brilliant little theme song and your bandmate was quite protective of it. Well, of you mostly, however! I made him a deal that he agreed to the terms of, and now here we are!” Murray said dramatically.

“What deal?” Eddie groused, covering his face.

“If you could make it through the entire interview without checking your texts, this wouldn’t even be brought up,” Jeff said, leaning forward around Gareth to grin as Eddie flipped him the bird.

“So, Edward,” Murray began gleefully. “Let’s talk about Steve.”

“God, let’s actually not talk about that menace, I’m begging,” Eddie said, grimacing at Murray’s laugh.

“I’m sure he is a menace, huh. Care to share those texts with the rest of the class, Edward?” Murray pressed, propping his chin on his hands and batting his eyelashes.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie replied immediately, sucking in a deep breath and shaking his head. The boys began to giggle amongst themselves next to him, and Eddie elbowed Grant before reaching across with his cane to hit Gareth and Jeff’s shins. “No, nope, no way.”

“You’re going to be on my show and look at your text messages, and not share?” Murray asked with exaggerated hurt. By now the audience was laughing almost nonstop.

Eddie sighed. “Yep, that pretty much sums it up,” he said with a firm nod.

“Edward!” Murray gasped loudly. “Are you sexting on my couch right now?”

The audience was roaring with laughter, and maybe Eddie played up his embarrassment a little bit, visibly going through five stages of grief before saying, “Technically, no.”

“Looks like they’re sending voice notes, Murray,” Grant said, his voice close to Eddie’s ear as he leaned over.

It was at that point that Eddie realized that his phone, while in his lap, was not locked and the screen was facing up, easy for anyone to just peer over his shoulder and see.

“Traitors! All of you!” Eddie cried and it quickly devolved into chaos as the boys began play-fighting over the phone.

Murray called the commercial break, and the four of them did not stop their stupid wrestling over the phone until Gareth went to bite Eddie’s hand but managed to catch the phone. One of his sharp incisors nailed the screen just perfectly and a huge chunk of pixels went dead.

“Oh shit, dude,” Gareth said, immediately pulling away and holding his hands up. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie stared at his functional but busted screen before looking around at the cameras. “You caught that right? Like video evidence that I managed to keep this phone in pris-fucking-tine condition for a month and it was these assholes that broke it!” he said dramatically, holding up his phone screen for the cameras to see. Eddie had remembered to minimize his texts, so it was just his homescreen up.

Eddie knew his homescreen was Steve, one of the partial selfies Steve sent him during the past month. Only part of his face was visible, just a crooked grin, a spattering of moles on tanned skin. He was throwing Murray’s team a bone with that, since he would die before he showed the pictures Steve had sent him.

By the time they got back to the hotel, after the talkshow and grabbing something to eat, it was close to midnight and Steve was definitely already in bed.

Eddie pouted, standing in the middle of his hotel room and staring down at his phone. Steve being asleep and not available to play did nothing to dissuade his half-hard cock, however. With a roll of his eyes, Eddie changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, trying to will his arousal away.

But he just kept thinking about the picture that Steve sent him, and the voice note right before it, and his dick was very interested in that line of thought. With a thick groan, Eddie shuffled over to the bed and collapsed face-down, sucking in a breath as he rocked his hips against the heavenly mattress.

“No, fuck that, I’m not coming in my fucking boxers again,” Eddie snapped at himself as he finished crawling up to the pillows and rolled onto his back.

Not wasting any time, Eddie shoved his pants and boxers off his hips and down to his knees, sighing as his cock was freed. Wrapping his hand loosely around it, Eddie stroked it slowly, gently coaxing it to full hardness as he pulled up his texts with Steve and hit play on the voice note.

Immediately, Steve’s desperate, panting breaths poured out of the speakers of his phone. A whine was released with every gusty exhale, and each little sound had a spike of arousal driving through Eddie so sharply, he couldn’t help his own whimper.

There was a low tone under Steve’s voice, and for a moment Eddie thought there was interference in the line. Then Steve let out a contented sound, something between a moan and a sigh, as the tone got louder, becoming much more of a buzzing sound, like a vibration. Realization hit Eddie like a freight train as he looked at the picture of the  vibrator laying across Steve’s stomach, still dripping with slick, probably still warm from his cunt. His own cock throbbed.

“Careful, Eds, I might hold you to those pretty promises…” Steve hummed just before the voice note ended and Eddie furrowed his brow. What promises? He didn’t even remember what he said before the talkshow, as if he blacked-out and muttered filth like some horny Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde situation.

Going back to his own voice note to refresh his memory, Eddie nearly choked as he promised to fuck Steve the next day, even go so far as to say he’d do it in front of everyone at the VIP event. Which was, apparently, something Steve was open to at least fantasizing about.

Eddie groaned, still stroking his cock loosely, and started a new voice note. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Stevie? Could bend you over the couch and fuck your dripping cunt in front of everyone, and you’d scream for it. Make you sing so pretty for my cock, huh,” Eddie groaned into the phone, squeezing the base of his cock as his release built a bit too quickly.

Taking a moment to just catch his breath, Eddie had to think about something a bit more mundane than fucking Steve in a room full of strangers and how hot that made him. With a fortifying breath, Eddie started another voice note.

“Maybe I’d really want you to feel me, though, maybe just use your cunt to get my dick wet enough and fuck your ass instead, huh? Is that something you’d want? Nice thick cock as far into your tight ass as I can get it?” Eddie said, the words coming out more as a whimper. “Would you be able to take it without my fingers, do you think? Would love to try.”

Eddie had to stop recording again to settle down, his orgasm barreling forward as the images he was painting became intensely vivid in his mind.

“Can you imagine it, gorgeous? Me splitting you open on my cock ‘til you’re sitting back on my lap? Your legs spread wide and showing off your dripping cunt and perfect dick?” Eddie asked breathlessly in the next voice note, biting his lip around a shivery whine. “Bet everyone would wanna turn with that pretty, wet hole. You’d probably let them, too, but I wouldn’t. Not this time, at least. This time, both holes are mine, right sweetheart?”

The rest of the fantasy was clear in Eddie’s mind—Steve’s ass bouncing on Eddie’s cock while Eddie reached around him to hook his fingers inside Steve’s cunt and massage his g-spot ruthlessly, not stopping until Steve’s hole was slicked with Eddie’s load—but Eddie was too turned on to keep voicing it.

With a hiss, Eddie switched to his camera, recording as he took his cock much more firmly in his hand with a low moan. It wasn’t going to take long, but honestly that was fine. He had been half-hard at least for hours, why should he have to wait to come any longer?

His motions were quick, determined, done with teasing and coaxing. This was about coming now, about release and relief. Eddie’s release slammed through him, dragging a shattered whine of Steve’s name out of his chest. It felt like he was coming forever, panting and whimpering at each ragged pulse of his cock as he painted his own stomach and chest with his cum.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to see you, baby,” Eddie gasped before ending the video and sending it.

Eddie knew he had to get back up and get washed up, or at least grab a tissue and wipe the worst of the mess up. At the moment, however, Eddie was happy to stay spread out across the middle of his bed with cum cooling on his skin, excitement for the next day absolutely vibrating through his core.

❖

Steve was admittedly distracted the next day.

On the surface, he was excited for the concert, for finally meeting Eddie, even just to hold a conversation with him in person. To see the way his eyes lit up as he talked excitedly up close, to hear his voice without the interference of a variable connection and speaker.

He was also nervous, even though he knew it was silly. What if they didn’t have any chemistry when faced with each other? What if all they had was sexual chemistry and once the barrier of the phone between them was removed, they couldn’t stand each other on a personal level?

And then the other thing keeping Steve distracted was the multiple voice notes and video he woke up to, which were all sent after midnight when Steve was sound asleep. Steve had to throw himself into a cold shower to get to work on time.

“Stop spacing out on me, Dingus,” Robin groused, and Steve jumped and looked over at her. They were standing at the marketplace in the lobby, debating which sandwich they were going to share because neither of them felt very hungry. Plus, none of the events that day were having a lunch, so they couldn’t even scavenge a meal in Dustin’s office. “I’m about to start carrying a spray-bottle around. Hose you down every time you get that faraway look in your eyes and blush on your face.”

“Shut up, that is not what’s happening,” Steve shot back, his ears and the back of his neck going hot.

“That is definitely what’s happening, liar,” Robin shot back quietly as she grabbed the turkey club. “Remember, our rooms share a wall so it’s not like what you do in there is a huge secret.”

“Please shut up, oh my god,” Steve groaned, grabbing a couple sodas before following her to the small line at the front desk to pay.

They were chatting about something else when something at the entrance of the lobby caught Robin’s attention and she laughed. “Don’t look now, Steve…” she trailed off, and immediately Steve looked over his shoulder.

Chrissy was the first person he actually noticed, and for a second he almost called her over. But then she turned to gesture for the four men goofing off behind her to hurry up, her hand motions exaggerated and comical. It took a moment for the dots to connect—Chrissy was the tour manager for a band of four men, the four men with her were in that band, Eddie was in that band—but when they did, Steve’s eyes landed on Eddie and he froze.

Even from this distance, Eddie was clearly far more handsome and alive in person than what cameras could convey. His smile was huge with deeply set smile lines and dimples that Steve wanted to kiss so badly. If he wasn’t rooted to his spot next to Robin, he would’ve walked right across the lobby that very second and pulled Eddie into a kiss, his status of employment be damned.

Chrissy and Gareth noticed him from across the room at the same time, and while Chrissy very clearly was about to try and distract Eddie, Gareth’s shit-eating grin said he had other ideas. Eddie was midway through a sentence when Gareth slapped him hard in the chest, and pointed directly at Steve.

“Gareth!” Steve could hear Chrissy complain at the same time Eddie grabbed at his chest with his free hand and whined, “Ow, my nipple.”

Then Eddie followed the direction Gareth had pointed and his eyes met Steve’s. For several moments, Eddie blinked in his direction while he was still walking before the similar dots seemed to connect in his head—he was at the hotel, Steve worked at the hotel, Steve was in the lobby right there—and came to a stilted, clumsy stop.

They stood and stared at each other until Steve smiled in a way that felt stupid and lifted a hand to wave, which was more of a finger wiggle and he hoped it came off as smooth and flirty. At his movement, Eddie flushed and took a jerky step toward him before Chrissy stuck her hand in front of him.

“No, you don’t! You are not getting that man fired,” Chrissy hissed, and Steve laughed even as he blushed.

Eddie looked down at Chrissy with a pretty pout before turning his attention to Steve and mimed holding a phone to his ear. “Call me later?” he mouthed, as he started back toward the elevators again.

Steve just flushed and nodded quickly before looking back at Robin. She was staring at Steve with a look of such exhausted disgust that he couldn’t help the burst of laughter that bubbled up from his chest.

As Robin and Steve settled in their seats in the staff cafeteria, Steve couldn’t help as his thoughts drifted to going upstairs to Eddie’s room. He was clocked out, and if he used the staff elevators he could avoid the cameras quite easily. He could be in and out before the end of his lunch break and no one would know. Well, Robin would know but she’d never rat him out.

With a sigh, Robin dragged her fingers through the condensation that formed on her can of soda and flicked the water into Steve’s face.

“What the hell, Robs?” Steve gasped as he jolted out of his daydream.

“Don’t you dare do what I know you’re thinking of doing,” Robin said, and when Steve opened his mouth to argue she held up a finger. “I know what you’re thinking because that’s exactly what I would be thinking if someone I’ve been having rowdy phone sex with for a month was literally upstairs in a room with a big bed and a soaker tub and luxury shower—”

“Robs, you’re not helping at all,” Steve groaned, covering his face and scrubbing roughly.

“Not really trying at the moment, Dingus. This is actually kinda fun,” she admitted, and when Steve dropped his hands, she was grinning.

They were interrupted by Will sitting down next to Robin, his expression serious as he put his phone down on the table in front of Steve and hit play on a paused YouTube video. Immediately, Steve heard the Steeeeve Spotting compilation audio and he blushed, pausing the video quickly and turning wide eyes on Will.

“Care to explain?” Will asked haughtily, and Steve grimaced.

“How are you just seeing these videos now, kid?” he asked in lieu of answering Will’s question.

“I was too depressed about missing the concert to watch the Tour Diaries, but since I have a ticket now I binged the whole series last night,” Will explained flippantly before asking, “So?”

“Please don’t tell your mom,” Steve groaned, crossing his arms and dropping his forehead onto them.

“Dude, I’m not going to tell my mom. I’m just mad you didn’t tell me!” Will said, though there wasn’t any heat in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re dating Eddie—”

“Whoa, kid, we’re not—it’s not that serious,” Steve said quickly, looking up at Will and Robin snorted.

“It’s definitely that serious,” she stage-whispered to Will and he laughed.

“It’s not! We haven’t even met once in person. That’s hardly dating,” Steve insisted.

“Okay, baby Byers, settle this for us,” Robin said dramatically, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Steve has been talking to this guy on the phone almost daily for three months, for sure texting him daily for a month, and have had weird phone sex at least twice—”

“It was once, last night didn’t count—”

“I actually heard last night, so it definitely counted,” Robin interrupted, and Steve rolled his eyes as she continued, “And they have a date tomorrow. Would you say that counts as dating?”

“You’ve had phone sex with Eddie Munson?” Will asked in a starstruck whisper and Robin flicked cold water at him too.

“Focus, Byers!” she said, and Will shook himself off.

“Yeah, that sounds like you’re going pretty steady, Steve,” Will agreed and Robin puffed her chest out.

“Nancy also agrees with me,” she bragged pointedly as Nancy walked into the staff cafeteria and slid into the seat next to Steve.

“Of course, I do,” Nancy said easily, pulling her food out of her lunch bag. “What exactly am I agreeing with right now?”

“That Steve is Eddie’s boyfriend,” Will supplied and when Nancy raised her eyebrows at him, Will shrugged. “I watched Corroded Coffin’s YouTube channel.”

“Then yes, I do agree with Robin, completely actually,” Nancy confirmed, grabbing Robin’s soda to take a sip. “I’ve been saying it since Steve almost blew it—”

“Hey! I didn’t almost blow it!” Steve whined and Robin mimicked his pout.

“You kinda did, Dingus. Like, I can say that now you’re about to get your happily ever after,” Robin said, like a traitor.

“Wait, what happened?” Will asked, leaning over the table.

Steve shook his head quickly. “I’ll tell you on the way to the concert, okay? Not on-property, and you don’t repeat a word of what I tell you, got it?” he said firmly, and Will just grinned and nodded excitedly.

Finally, the conversation changed thanks to Nancy complaining about a client not returning a signed proposal for an event they wanted to hold and Steve could daydream about his not-boyfriend upstairs in peace.

❖

Steve barely got his car started before he called Eddie. Apparently, Eddie was just as excited for the phone call because the line only rang twice.

“Hello, gorgeous—”

“Jesus, Eds, a video? Are you kidding?” Steve breathed, thinking back to the video Eddie had sent last night of him jerking off, and he spread his own legs as his dick and cunt pulsed hotly between his thighs. He thought about the voice notes, and the fantasy Eddie described, but that was a bit intense to get into for a quick jerk-off in his car.

“Oh, didn’t you like it?” Eddie asked knowingly, and Steve groaned.

Looking around the parking garage, Steve could see he was parked in a secluded corner with no one parked around him. Plus, there were plenty of spaces closer to the exits of the garage the people would pick before they parked next to Steve. Pulling open his belt a bit noisily, Steve felt a little thrill at that thought of getting caught, too.

“I liked it, just haven’t had a chance to do anything about how much I liked it,” Steve hummed, undoing his fly one-handed and gasping as he shoved his free hand into his pants. Briefly, he thought about connecting his phone to the Bluetooth in his car to better hear Eddie if he decided to join him, but he decided that was probably not the best idea.

“Stevie, what time did you leave work if you’re home already?” Eddie asked, his voice thick as he listened to Steve’s gasps as his fingers moved on his dick.

“Not home, still in the parking lot at—ah! At work,” Steve sighed, arching off his seat a bit as he edged himself.

There was silence on the other line before Steve heard the noisy jangling of Eddie undoing his belt. “Oh fuck, Stevie, holy shit if I had time—fuck,” Eddie gasped, and there was more rustling before Eddie groaned thickly. It was the same low noise Eddie made in the video from the night before when his hand wrapped around his thick cock, and Steve couldn’t help but make his own happy sound of pleasure in return.

“What, Eds? If you had time, what?” Steve asked breathlessly, getting himself close but backing off again.

“I’d come out there and fuck you right there in the parking lot,” Eddie said, and Steve could hear the chains on Eddie’s clothing hitting each other with his movements. Then Eddie made a frustrated sound before spitting, and his low sounds became less strained.

The sound of Eddie spitting, regardless of the reason, pulled a moan so wanton from Steve, it was embarrassing. On the other end of the line, Eddie chuckled.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s so dirty. You like being spit on, baby?” Eddie moaned, and Steve couldn’t help the way he sobbed.

“Yeah,” he confessed shakily, his release building rapidly, especially when he considered the reality that he was going to be seeing Eddie later that evening.

“Fuck, that’s—you’re unbelievable, can’t believe you’re real,” Eddie whimpered, whining as his breathing picked up. “Can’t wait to see you, Stevie, fuck you’re so gorgeous. Couldn’t breathe when I saw you earlier.”

“Eds,” Steve sighed, blushing hot and dark at Eddie’s words, and the hand on his dick worked faster, deliberately driving himself to the edge for the last time.

“Fuck, say my name again, baby, please,” Eddie whined, his breathing laboured and loud in Steve’s ear.

“Eddie, I’m so close,” Steve sobbed, his eyes rolling back as the coil in his gut pulled tight, just at the edge of snapping.

“Oh shit, Stevie, I’m gonna—oh, fuck,” Eddie gasped before he let out a grunt that quickly devolved into sweet whimpers that Steve knew punctuated each pulse of cum that was milked out of Eddie’s cock.

Hearing that directly in his ear was more than enough for Steve and he tumbled over the edge himself almost immediately, nearly shouting Eddie’s name as his dick throbbed under his fingertips.

The two of them sat there panting in each other’s ears for several minutes before Steve started laughing deliriously, Eddie immediately following.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie, I’ve never been this fucking horny for someone in my life,” Steve admitted before he could stop himself.

“Fuck, me neither, Stevie,” Eddie agreed breathlessly.

Steve thought back to the voice notes, the lewdness of the fantasy bringing a deep blush to his face. “The voice notes were—they were really good, too,” he admitted after a few moments, swallowing thickly.

“The voice notes—? Oh! Oh yeah, shit, I forgot I actually said all that,” Eddie laughed, and he sounded a bit embarrassed.

“Well, I’m glad you did say all that, because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be thinking about that for the rest of my life,” Steve laughed, his ears hot with his blush.

In the background at Eddie’s end, he could hear knocking on a door. “Yeah! Be right out!” Eddie called before sighing heavily. “Shit, babe, I’ve gotta clean up and go.”

“Yeah, uh, same. I’ve gotta get changed and pick-up Will,” Steve said with a sheepish laugh as he pulled his hand out of his pants.

Eddie laughed for a moment before sighing. “I’m excited to see you tonight,” he said, his voice so soft and shy that Steve’s chest ached with affection.

“I’m excited to see you, too,” Steve replied, biting his lip as he considered just how deep his feelings for the rockstar already were.

There was another knock at Eddie’s end. “Gotta go, love, see you later.”

Eddie hung up before Steve could respond, leaving him to grapple with the new pet name on his own.

[ NEXT ]

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[racefortheironthrone]

Why has the American comics industry been so adverse to unionization? I've been reading through the Comics Broke Me hashtag on Twitter and I've realized how difficult it's been to even get meager compensation for work that provides the backbone for billion dollar smash hits.

I would highly recommend Abraham Josephine Riesman's biography of Stan Lee, True Believer, both as an excellent portrait of the man himself and how his industry changed across the decades. (Bell and Vassallo's Secret History of Marvel is also quite good on the early history of the company.)

When the comics industry emerged out of the pulp and magazine industry in the 30s, it was not the "backbone for billion dollar smash hits" that it is today - it was a low-rent, fly-by-night industry that was associated with pornography and organized crime. Notably, it was also an low-cost industry that sold a very cheap product (the original 10-cent comic was about $1.80 in today's money) to children. More on this in a bit.

Even when it suddenly experienced a sudden increase in popularity with Action Comics #1, everyone in the industry thought that it was a passing fad that would be temporary - and so there was less resistance to the work-for-hire system that bosses like Martin Goodman used to keep their costs down. Not no resistance - as Riesman notes, Jack Kirby and Joe Simon got pissed when Goodman started stiffing them on the profit-sharing from Captain America, so they started moonlighting at D.C, Stan Lee found out and snitched on them to his cousin-in-law/boss, and that led to them getting fired - but less.

However, there was another reason why it was hard to start a union in the comics industry, which is that a lot of comics creators were vaguely ashamed or embarrasse to be associated with it. Even before Wertham and the moral panic of the 1950s, comics were (as I've noted above) seen as a bit scuzzy, a form of disposable crass commercial entertainment aimed at an undiscerning audience of children, and certainly not respectable Real Art. While they were trying for their big break into the more prestigious worlds of fine art or literary fiction, writers and artists viewed their work in the comics industry as a day job that was best kept a bit under wraps - hence why Stanley Lieber only used the nom-de-plume Stan Lee for the comics, because he wanted to keep his then-real name for the career in novel-writing that he wanted to have.

Moreover, there was a particular ethnic angle to this distancing. As I've written a bit about before, there was a tendency among Jewish creators of this generation to keep Judaism subtextual and to change their names to keep their own Judaism subtextual - hence Stanley Lieber taking on a more gentile-sounding name, hence even a proud and pugnacious Jewish man like Jacob Kurtzberg choosing to go by Jack Kirby. Partly, this was done as a means of achieving economic opportunity in a society that wasn't exactly welcoming to creators with Jewish surnames. (Hence the line in the West Wing about Toby Ziegler going by Toby Ritchie when he worked as a telemarketer.) This is another reason why these Jewish creators were working in comics in the first place, because the "Mad Men" who ran the advertizing industry wouldn't hire them.

But partly it was done to avoid becoming a shanda fur die goyim - a Yiddish expression that means "a shame in front of the gentiles" - by associating the Jewish community with a (heavily Jewish) industry that was viewed as little more elevated than the schmatta trade in comparison to the prestigious world of art and literature. It's an old story - literally, it's the plot of The Jazz Singer, the first talkie about a Jewish entertainer (in blackface, unfortunately) and his conflict and eventual reconciliation with his more traditional family.

After comics went through its first big boom in WWII and then survived the crash in the 50s and saw the second big boom in the 60s, a lot of creators realized that the handshake work-for-hire deals that they had started with had screwed them out of a lot of money. This started some very high profile long-running lawsuits, as first Siegel and Shuster and later Kirby and Ditko sought to get a portion of the rights to the characters they had created. (Some of these lawsuits settled only a few days ago, and some are still ongoing.)

As Riesman explains, the Copyright Act of 1976 created an opening for comics creators by requiring that there be a written agreement between a work-for-hire creator and their employer establishing the transfer of copyright. This created an existential crisis for the Big Two comics companies, and the new Marvel Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter immediately tried to get his creators to sign one-page contracts transferring their rights. Hotshot artist Neal Adams urged creators to not sign the contract and invited them to a meeting at his place to discuss forming a union. Shooter retaliated by threatening to black ball anyone who joined Adams' organization - and this blatant violation of U.S labor law cowed comics creators into signing the contracts and signing away their rights and the drive to unionize comics died the same way a lot of union drives die.

Things have gotten a bit better in recent decades - the 90s comics boom and the departure of the Image guys improved the situation for creators' rights somewhat due to competitive pressure, but there are still significant problems when it comes to comics creators' access to health care, pensions, and other benefits. There have been some recent union wins - the Comic Book Workers United organized Image Comics - but these tend to be unions of staff workers rather than creators. There is the Cartoonists' Co-op, which is looking to move in the direction of acting like a union but is a very nascent organization that's a long way away from that yet. And it remains galling that the most that creators see from the billions made by Disney and Warner Brothers Discovery are $5,000 checks dispensed to keep them quiet.

It's not going to get better until writers and artists unionize.

[transgamerthoughts]

a night at poe's masquerade

Last night I made a quick tweet about how I think Persona games (particular from Persona 3 onwards) tend to be fundamentally conservative games. In worlds filled with magic powers, shadow selves, and literal gods there's an understanding that many of the most villainous people you can know are folks in positions of social/political power who weaponize their status in order to prey on those beneath them. This is a particular focus of Persona 5 but it extends even back to back to a game like Persona 2 and characters like Tatsuzou Sudou. Although these games acknowledge the social structures that lead to particularly vicious kinds of abuse, there is tendency for our protagonist to then fold themselves into those power structures. In games that focus less on real-life political allegory, there's still pattern of protagonists eventually accepting the societal roles that they're initial chafing against. It's a very common occurrence in the series. clockwork!

Persona 4 is the chief culprit here. Yukiko struggles with the idea that her presumed inheritance of the Amagi Inn is an imposition on her life but makes peace with that fact and eventually prepares herself for that role. Chie confronts Adachi, shocked that anyone who chose to be a police officer would do so for selfish reasons or betray the ideal image she holds of that job. Though confronted with the ways in which the system enabled Adachi's murders, she ultimately decided that she wants to become a police officer. Just as some examples. there's more. it's a fraught game in many ways

(I'm not gonna talk about Naoto. That's a minefield. as a trans critic people ask what I think about Naoto quite often. my answer is I like Naoto quite a bit and while I appreciate the queer read I don't need her story to be actually about transness. my tongue in cheek deep position here is that I think she's the damn coolest thing in the Dancing All Night opening movie. absolute fire!)

Persona fans are totally reasonable human beings. by which I mean that they might be the most electric and fuckin' absurd fandom I've ever encountered. While some people agreed with my read of the series, many others swarmed in. Which is fine enough. That's just what happens when you're visible on Twitter. I don't really have an interest in outlining the series in gross detail although, contrary to many accusations, I have played all the mainline games. One thing that can never be hurled my way is a suggestion that I don't play videos games. This criticism doesn't arise out of nowhere though I admit I didn't exactly expect it to become a trending topic floating in the "For You" tab. I was tweeting before bed.

Lesson learned! this fandom is wild! So it goes!

I've been thinking about people's responses and I want to venture into fraught territory to talk about a particularly bad habit I see from many fans. Which I think can be extended to things like ongoing debates about localization as much as they can apply to this little tempest in a teapot. Which is that I've grown somewhat concerned with he ways in which RPG fans (intentionally or not) exoticize Japan as a means to defend their favorite games from critique. It's kinda bad!

and I'm gonna risk a ramble exploring the topic… and I wonder how tumblr in 2024 will compare in reaction to hellscape of twitter

Something you often encounter in these discussions is an implication (sometimes a direct suggestion) that it is impossible to really engage with Japanese media as a westerner. That there's too many layers of nuance and too many centuries of ingrained tradition for anyone who has not engaged in lengthy study on the topic to penetrate. Often, this is framed as a desire to simply put things in cultural contexts. respect it and give due seriousness! Which is fine. I absolutely think if you wanna talk about something like the portrayal of the Japanese justice system in Judgement, it probably helps to… y'know… know details about the Japanese justice system. If you want to talk about how a game approaches gender, an understanding of certain social mores is important. No one debates this; it's important to understand art as arising from specific material conditions and places.

This is not really the approach people take however. Instead there is an insistence that the cultural difference between Japan and western nations is essentially insurmountable. Which has some bad implications. I think people are well meaning when they're like "hey, you gotta watch this YouTuber talk about Shintoism and JRPG boss fights for over an hour" but it comes at the cost of painting the culture as something of a puzzle to solve. and make no mistake: I'm glad anyone is doing the work but there's a bit of strangeness at play when folks are like "well you're American" and then tell me to watch criticism also made by Americans. especially since I do have a educational background that includes the study of world religions. i've studied plenty of this! and it's not impossible for me to have grasped.

the world is beautiful and nuanced and specific and full of vibrancies. but these things are not so singular that we can't connect with them or come to know them. and those nuances and specifics and vibrances don't create a protective ward around works. if anything, they're invitations to explore something new. if I walk away from Persona with a position that you don't agree with I promise that it's not something that's happened in haste. It used to be my job to think about games. and I've thought about Persona a lot! it's not inaccesible.

When we start to paint a culture as being particularly foreign we inherently exoticize it. We drape a degree of mystery over it which implies there is no universal connections found in art. Of course the concept of "police" is different in Japan to some extent as is the expectations that go into inheriting a family business. yes, the social nuances of a classroom differ. But Japan is not so alien to the western critic that we can't look at popular fiction and spot patterns. I certain don't need a 17 anime consumer to write me an essay on honne and tatemae or whatever in order to understand what's going on in the Midnight Channel. It's an easily observable truth that Persona often identifies issues within Japan society while also (particularly in Persona 5's case) concluding that these problems are not a consequence of specific power structures but rather moral failings of certain bad individuals. That's the text. Even when it wants to suggest otherwise.

Here's a little snippet from Persona 5. On face value, it seems to contradict what I'm saying. "Harper, how can you say that it only cares about individuals when it outright says that society itself needs to be addressed!?" DO YOU EVEN PLAY THESE GAMES YOU BITCH?! The answer is that the game does not have a model or idea of what it means to change society except vaguely to inspire people to more individual action. be nicer. stand up for yourself, speak your truth, do things for your own reasons. which has a radical element to it in the context to be sure but we've spent a huge portion of the game seeing how the abuse of power, particularly power placed in certain positions and social strata

a change of mindset is good but… is that sufficient? I'm not entirely convinced. not if this game want to truly deliver on everything it has explored. (side note, a lot of folks were like "why are you focusing on p5 so much here?" and the answer is that it's recent, representative of the series' values from the last decade or so, and because I'm a tired adult in their 30s who has stuff to do and isn't obligated to make a 300 tweet long thread breaking down multiple scripts. if you want me to do that labor, you better pay me for my time. otherwise I don't care to appease fan who have no plans of truly entertaining what I'd do anyway. no breakdown I do could please them)

but you fight Yaldabaoth Harper! You kill the collective gestalt representative of the status quo!. okay sure but the metaphorical battle falters as the game ultimately imagines many of our heroes (for instance Makoto, who also decides to become a cop even after her sister leaves the profession to become a defense attorney) are content to slide into the power structures as they exist. they've simply become "good apples" in the same basket that held the bad ones What does it matter if you kill the metaphor when you don't carry through elsewhere? It's not simply some vague human desire to be exploited that created the various monstrous villains we face throughout the game. There's real material circumstances, systems and long-held powers that gave them the carte blanche that enabled their abuses! Be they financial, political, or even sexual.

We might layer nuances on top of this of course. Notions of reticence to change or valuing of tradition, attitudes towards elders. But when we do so it's important be careful. When fans imply impenetrabilities in the works by virtue of cultural difference, there's a risk of veering into a kind of Orientalism. One which mystifies the culture and turns it into a kind of "other." Distant, strange. This sometimes comes paired with a kind of infantilization of creators but that's a different though similarly fraught topic that I think is particularly best left in the hands of the creators themselves. I'm not the person to talk about that!

Nevertheless, a frustrating part of the response to my tweet today has been a rush to say "This work functions that makes it necessarily elide your ability to critique it."

I'll be an ass and generalize. It's mostly people with Persona avatars making this suggest. That Persona, as a Japanese work, is imbued with an ineffable quality that magically allows it to side-step what's ultimately a pretty timid conclusion. Many of these folks are younger players, self-identified as such in profiles, who clearly have a deep connection to the series. It means something to them. But I'd rather they simply say "hey, I found this thing particularly moving at an important moment in my life" rather than conjure an impassable ocean between myself (or really anyone) and the work in the event they find flaws.

Otherwise, you just get this:

Stories are not merely about what happens on the journey. The destination does matter. It means something when the king grabs his shining sword and fights off the orc invaders or whatever. A value system is suggested Similarly, it does means something when Chie becomes a cop. (This is just a shorthand example mind you! But you hopefully get the idea!)

I don't think games or any work of art need us to defend them. The trap of fandom is that you often turn to any possible means to justify what you love. For Persona, a series which does have the decency to explore cultural issues, that same cultural specificity is often weaponize by fans (largely western fans even!) to deflect certain problems. This process inadvertently portrays that culture as a mystery, a shrouded thing that we cannot ever criticize. It's one thing to dig into some of those contextual specifics but it's another all-together to imply these specifics provide a mean to abrogate certain analyses. and I think navigating the line between due deference and something deeper and stranger seems to be something many of the fans reacting to me... have not managed. I had a peer talk to me about this situation and their feeling was that the animated members of the fandom that were coming at me, many of whom are self-identified as young and western, were kinda treating Japan like it was a land of elves. which it's not! it is a place on Earth and yes we need to take strides to understand and respect certain specificities... but we can't mystify an entire people. especially if the purpose is to turn those people and their culture into a shield. a means to justify and validate the specialness you see in a franchise.

I call Persona conservative because it cannot imagine a world in any other shape that what we have right now. God dies but nothing actually changes. I don't think it's enough to say "well, they defeated the god! and they needed the collective strength of society to do it! people did change because without that change of heart, the heroes wouldn't have the magical juice to fight the Kabbalah monster!" to toss Makoto's words back at the series: victory against a single god is meaningless if the true enemy is society.

If you can't show me what that grand spiritual change means for society, then I think you've kinda failed. you've certainly failed if the conclusion is that the world after that change is functionally the same and it doesn't really matter to me if "they talk about this in Strikers or whatever" because you can't offload your thematic snarls to side games. if the main stories you tell can't resolve this tension, that's a problem. these are often very beautiful games. they certainly have amazing structure and systems. but I don't think it's controversial to say they often hedge their bets at the end. and there's no impenetrable cultural wall surrounding the games that leaves the criticism off the table.

that's just What Happens. and it's fine for us to acknowledge flaws in even in things that contain beauty or meant something to us

really. it's fine.

[anonymous-dentist]

It's been a couple of days since the last QSMP lore stream and merch drop, and there have been two DRASTICALLY different responses from the fandom:

What the fuck oh my god why did they do this what the fuck >:( I'm very angry >:( I'm on twitter btw

Yayyy omg the Lore is back!!! :D :D :D Fuck twitter btw

I've seen SO MANY passive-aggressive posts coming from users on this website that are all saying something along the lines of, "I'm happy that the server is getting back on its feet! The eggs aren't in a coma btw, they're just out of service (looks at angry twitter users who can't get over the fact that things aren't being solved immediately)."

And, really, I think almost everybody on this website has missed the reasons why other fans are upset over the recent lore stream and the merch drop. They think it's all just whining about how things haven't been solved immediately, but it's really actually all about how things don't seem to have been solved at all.

See, the thing with the Egg Lore Stream was that, uh. None of the admins currently on hold know whether or not they have a job, including known egg admin Ryan. You might know them as Sunny's Actor, and they were pretty taken aback when Egg Lore was revealed to be happening last Saturday... without Ryan, or seemingly any other known admins whatsoever, knowing. And Ryan isn't a former employee, they're a current employee. They haven't been let go.

Ryan, and other current employees, have all been stating that communication between the QSMP higher-ups and the other admins hasn't gotten better at all. Nobody knows if they even still have jobs because the only way they find that out? Through livestreams.

Ryan, and any other suspended egg admins sticking around, only found out that they aren't, like, fired because of a goddamn lore stream.

And for former admins? It's interesting how the admin team put Pomme and Dapper in the little coma machine despite Pomme's actor, Lumi, and the French all saying that they'd rather Pomme die than get replaced, and Lumi isn't going back to the server. And Dapper's admin, Shade, isn't going back without Lumi.

So imagine being them and finding out through this stream that, oh, wow, you're just going to be replaced. An entire language group is quite possibly going to be lost, but it's fine! Actors can just be replaced, right?

Just like how Twitter admins can be replaced by a bot after being fired in the middle of the night with no warning.

Oh, and shall we mention how it seems that the whole Money Thing isn't going anywhere? How we had a paid writer admin come out and say that even after the changes were starting to be made internally that the higher-ups changed the writer's description of the Pomme figure to be as soulless as possible, because if there's one thing the QSMP admin team seems to have, it's a grudge against the French. But then, remember? The writer said that, despite being paid for February and being promised to get paid for March, that they haven't been paid? And they don't think they ever will be?

And how they thought they would be fired for speaking to their friends, aka former admins?

I think that quite legitimately every admin that has come out after leaving the company, or who is still part of the company but who still made a statement anyway, has said that they hope that the QSMP can continue because they believe in the project, but they don't know if it will because nothing seems to be changing behind the scenes.

But, yeah, sure, okay, say it's all just people whining about how change hasn't been immediate. It's people just complaining about the lore! They need to grow up, right? They need to touch grass? Right?

But, well. Being critical is absolutely vital. Does that mean people should harass the admins? Absolutely not. But that does mean that people should be like, "Hey, so why is the admin team still being so shady?"

Things can't be fixed immediately, but it's been over a month. The problems with communication are still continuing! They haven't stopped! It's just that nobody on this website is listening to the admins anymore.

Trusting ccs is fine and all, but keep in mind that they didn't know what was going on before, either. With the general lack of transparency still going on behind the scenes, how would they know if it's all been fixed now?

[0alanasworld0]

Partings & Reunions (Abde Ezzalzouli x reader)

Description: Abde's move to Osasuna is a horrifying prospect for both of you and you worry that it'll be the thing to tear you apart

Warnings: allusions to sex (not detailed)

You’re not startled when you hear the door slam for the umpteenth time of the month. You couldn’t help but feel bad for your boyfriend. You were both so excited and hopeful when moving to Barcelona together: he was about to play for the club of his dreams and you were going to study at your dream university. 

It all seemed like it was falling into place, you had been together for years and friends long before that so the fact that you weren’t going to have to be apart was a comforting one. Even money-wise, it was perfect. You could easily afford a nice place when you put your heads together.

And indeed it was all just that. The arrangement went by without a hitch. Sure, he had some habits that you made sure he ironed out before things got out of control but things were smooth. You were both pretty busy but always made the most of the time you did have together with movie nights, evenings exploring the city, you could have all the fun you wanted together without facing the interruptions you used to deal with back home. You loved each other with everything; you had done since before you could even process such emotion.

All of that only made your current situation that much more painful. The step-up to the A team was a big one that he initially felt ready for. His season with the B team had been phenomenal so the step-up felt so right. He was excited beyond words and you couldn’t have been any prouder of him when he told you about the promotion. Neither of you could wait until the start of that fateful season rolled around. Yet it was so different to what he initially expected.

Match by match he felt his hope and excitement dwindle and turn into something different entirely. Resentment? That didn’t seem like a strong enough word for what he was feeling. He didn’t realise it at the time but the term ‘promotion’ was a sanitised way of being thrown to the wolves. He was… fine but the stakes proved far too high for a 20 year old who had only just moved up. He felt underprepared and unseen. Sometimes the pair of you wondered if the club was letting the twitter experts make decisions for the club as he fell further and further down the pecking order. It was like they didn’t even want to try.

It tore your heart into pieces to see him grow so disillusioned with the dreams he fought so hard to achieve. He had overcome so much adversity from his less than privileged background to the simple fact that he was a Moroccan living in Spain. That last part, you also suspected, played a role in this. 

He had lived in Spain long enough. So when the time came for him to make a choice, it seemed so obvious to pick the team that had won the world cup not too long ago and had spent the years after in the very top of the FIFA rankings. It seemed like an offer he couldn’t refuse but his heart was elsewhere. He didn’t remember much of Beni-Mellal but it was home. Sure, he didn’t live there anymore but he visited often enough. And there was always a part of that place that he missed when he returned to Spain. The warm yet refreshing air, the sound of the Adhan loud and clear when the prayer times rolled around, the people who always seemed to be ready to talk and gossip, the colours. It was home and choosing Spain felt like a betrayal to not only the place he called home but to himself. 

The media had spent the first few months of the season spreading the rumours about his allegiance to Spain. His silence led their imaginations to run wild. They’d conjured quotes out of nowhere but his media-training stopped him from addressing any of it: he knew better than to take those news sites head-on.

His silence also meant that when the official news of his choice did come out, from him, it was guns blazing and Abde was in the firing line. Even some of his teammates and coaches were surprised by it. Spain’s upcoming golden boy had seriously chosen Morocco. The joy he had seen online from Moroccans was enough for him to not care about the Spanish media but he did suspect that he had fallen even further out of favour with his dream team as a result. 

It all made him angry. Every match gone wrong, every minute on the bench, every dig he received from his coaches, every time he saw the under-performing Spaniards receive the support that he could have only dreamed of, it made him angry. Over the past few months a painful routine had emerged: the sound of the door slamming, the sight of him seething followed by the feeling of his body dropping unceremoniously into your lap. He was falling apart.

You would spend some time in silence and your hands softly carding through his messy hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. It would almost soothe him to sleep but before you reached that point, you would slowly coax him to the kitchen where you could eat. Even that task was becoming even more of a struggle with his appetite dying into nothing. 

At first he would hold back his tears until he was sure you were asleep, quietly make his way downstairs and let it out alone. He wanted nothing more than to fall into your arms and surround himself with your comfort but he already felt like such a burden. So he kept it to himself.

Although he couldn’t keep that up for long at all because about a week into that routine, you had caught him in the kitchen with his head in his hands, sobbing and that was that. You wrapped him up in a tight hug from behind, pressing soft kisses into his back until he calmed down a little. 

Once you got back to bed, you pulled him into your chest and the tears only started again. Yours were about to start too but you had to stay strong for him. He had done the exact same thing for you many times while you stressed about your exams. You had cried and vented to him more times than you could even remember, the idea of your academic career falling through your fingertips was one that came quite often yet was always more distressing every time you thought about it. He was the one to talk you down from your hysteria, to stroke your hair, to remind you just how highly he thought of you. This was now your time to return the favour, you supposed. Reminding him that his problems were yours, that you could never think any less of him, your starboy.

That was the new routine and it persisted but it felt different this time. The air was heavier. You felt uneasy for whatever reason. The look on his face was the same as it had been so you brushed off the instinct for a moment.

Although your concern returns when he forgoes the routine of laying in your lap and instead heads straight for the fridge without a glance in your direction. you don’t want to be annoying but you couldn’t help but be worried so you’re hot on his heels as he grabs an energy drink.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep” he pops the ‘p’ sound, still not bothering to look your way. You can imagine how annoyed he would be getting right about now, you had been in his shoes before but he had taught you plenty on how to deal with these things/

“C’mon, talk to me…”

“It’s nothing.” you weren’t having it, the little huff at the end of his sentence was enough indication of that so you’re firmer with your next word.

“Abdessamad”

“They’reshippingmeoff.” he mumbles, almost as he didn’t want anyone to hear, not even himself but again, you weren’t having any of it. He was gonna tell you what was wrong and you were gonna help him.

“What?”

“They’re shipping me off.” you hear it this time but you don’t quite believe it. They couldn’t? Could they?

“They can’t do that!”

“They ‘strongly recommend’ that I accept the loan to Osasuna. My career is in tatters before it’s even begun.” he shakes his head, he finally turns to face you and you can see the tears begin to form in his eyes.

“How would we even…” you trail off, completely dumbfounded by the news. Everything you had built here, together, was up in the air now. Your perfect little miracle world was on the brink of splitting into two. Literally. You didn’t realise how that one little word must have sounded to him in your shock. 

“How would we what?! I’m about to lose the only thing that I'm actually good at and you’re worried about long-distancing?!” he scoffs, he’s not thinking straight. Normally he managed to calm himself and share news with you without raising his voice, normally he wouldn’t overanalyse a single word but the news dumped on him today had set him off. 

“No of course not! I just-”

“Just what?!” he challenges. The raised voice startles you and now it's his turn to see the tears well up in your eyes. He comes back to reality almost immediately, shaking off his uncharacteristic rage but you’re already walking away. He fucked up. ROYALLY.

“I’ll give you a few minutes.” you mutter, speeding off to your shared bedroom and closing the door behind you before he can say anything. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, scolding himself for blowing up at you like that. You must have been just as shocked by the news as he was, probably lost for words and you most certainly didn’t mean to come across in the way he had interpreted. And to add to that, you had every right to worry about the impact on your relationship, a move like this one was going to affect both of you. He felt like the biggest asshole, he probably was one. 

He decides to listen to your suggestion, giving you both a few minutes to cool off, banging his head against the fridge door as he figured out how he was going to apologise. That kind of outburst was new and he wasn’t going to let it become a habit. He was taught better than that.

Meanwhile, behind the bedroom door, you’re having your own little meltdown. You didn’t mean to come across that way at all. Of course you worried for the state of the career he worked so hard to earn, but at the same time, you were soulmates. The idea of being apart for so long and even worse, the idea of splitting up was unbearable. You just couldn’t help but worry for the state of your relationship. As you lay on your bed, wracking over your brain for what you were going to say, you’re interrupted with the door opening. 

Abde can feel his heart breaking at the sight of you. The tears running down your cheeks, the stress and fear in your eyes. He hated that he was the source of it.

He couldn’t stand to see you in such and he’s quick to take his spot and lay next to you, turning to his side to face you.

“I’m-”

“A complete ass.” you finish his sentence quickly. He couldn’t help but laugh a little and you’re fighting off a smile as well. He gets back to being serious so he can get a proper apology out.

“You were only trying to see things from a bigger perspective. I shouldn’t have made you out to be the villain when you were only trying to help.” you finally glance at him, teary eyes a little softer and he’s relieved.

He’s even more relieved when you shift position and pull him into your arms, head comfortably under your chin and nose against your neck where he can smell your vanilla perfume, his favourite. You weren’t a fan yourself, you often said you smelled like a bakery, but it was comforting to him for whatever reason. so, especially in his recent state, you made more of an effort to wear it for him. Your effort doesn’t go unrecognised as he tries to get even closer to you, his face pressed further into your soft skin and he can finally breathe out again. And he can’t help but allow his eyes to flutter to a close when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp.

“Look, if you do have to make this move-”

“Not ‘if’ , sweets, ‘when’ …” he mumbles tiredly, sounding defeated as ever. It was probably best if you didn’t flirt around the reality of the situation. It was killing both of you but the sooner you both accepted it, the sooner you could make the most of the upcoming summer and the sooner you could figure out how you were gonna navigate things. Delusion wasn’t going to do you any good. And most importantly, it was clearly distressing him so you correct yourself.

“When you make this move, we’ll figure something out, okay? I’ll… visit every holiday, we’ll facetime everyday, anything but we have to try." The idea of him being so far away was a horrible one, to be frank. And the idea of not waking up next to him, losing the scent of his body wash and aftershave from the sheets and pillows, getting some sort of gadget to open jars instead of asking him, getting a stool so you could reach the stuff on the higher cupboards rather than letting him use his long arms; it was more than you could bear at that point. You don’t register the tears falling from your eyes until you feel his soft hand gently wipe them away.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, anjo. This is gonna be hard for both of us but we’re soulmates, we got this.” he tries to sound sure, like you had been doing for him over the past few months but it was so hard. The idea of breaking up made him sick to his stomach. You two had seen each other through everything. He didn’t have a connection with anyone else like he did with you, He knew that no one else would compete. You were the apple of his eye, the pinnacle. 

Your arms tighten around him and his own arms follow suit, not another word is spoken that night. Eventually, you do fall into a slumber. It's not particularly peaceful and you couldn’t get close enough to your boyfriend as all the possibilities for the future played out in your mind.

The next few months are spent trying to make the absolute most of the time you had left together. That paired with packing up his stuff made it bittersweet. You loved seeing so much of him, waking up next to him, eating all of your meals with him, falling asleep with him but the reminder of what was to come still lingered in the far back of your mind. Nothing that you kept in because you both still spent a fair few nights crying together. 

You went all out, travelling to all sorts of places and doing all kinds of activities that you had both planned. He was the designated photographer of it all, taking thousands of shots of you both on both of your phones as well as the polaroid camera he had bought for the occasion. There was no way he was leaving without storing up enough memories for the lonely nights. He had even taken to vlogging, silly little tiktok challenges that you both would ultimately fail miserably at and burst out into fits of laughter that would leave you breathless and with abs almost as defined as his own.

Your nights were so much more intimate. No rushing, no laziness, you took your time to appreciate each other. Every dip, scar, mark, freckle was to be loved on and admired. Amidst the deep love, you could feel each other's pain. It was still almost unbelievable that the two of you were going to have to spend a year apart at least. Nothing was left unsaid, the distress, fear and hurt being poured out in every movement. There was no wonder so many of those sessions left you both in tears at the end. 

You never got sick of him, how on earth were you going to manage without him. You had never needed the space before, you never wanted it yet over 400 miles… it was going to be a massive adjustment for both of you, that was for sure.

It was perhaps to be expected that on the day of his departure, neither of you could control your tears. Letting go of that final hug hurt you beyond words. You had spent the past few months well so there were no regrets on either end but still… one whole year. 

“You have your passport, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And your-”

“Documents right here, anjo.” he whispers, arm still around you, the other patting the pocket of his suitcase containing everything.

“Text me when you get on the plane.”

“I’ll be facetiming you the whole way, hmm?”

“And let me know when you get off.”

“Of course.”

“And when you get all your luggage… And when you get to your new apartment!”

“Anjo, I’ll text you every minute of the way. How does that sound?” he teases with his signature smirk and you slap his chest lightly.

“I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure I get back to Barca, I promise you.” you smile up at him and nod. You trusted him. You knew exactly what he was capable of and you were sure that he was going to find the success he wanted. And if that success was finding his way back home, you were going to sit tight and wait for that day. 

You made sure to pack your perfume bottle in his suitcase and he left his aftershave (alongside a large chunk of his extensive sweater and hoodie collection) so both of you had a more intimate piece of home for when the loneliness got to you.

You’re trying so hard to hold back your sobbing when he finally has to let go and he walks over to his boarding area. He’s the exact same. It was just a year. You just had to wait and have a little faith and he would be back in your arms in no time.

Although you much preferred having him right at home, the year apart was far less excruciating than you first thought. You both keep to your word: facetiming and texting everyday, you visited whenever you could and sometimes he got a chance to come to Barcelona; sometimes to play against Espanyol and others to watch his new team play his old one. Those days were his favourite, although scarce as he wasn’t even allowed on the sub bench so he took to sitting with you in the stands. He loved being able to analyse the game with you by his side, it was like you had never been apart. He still made you laugh so hard you would cry and you still made each other's hearts beat faster when you took so much as a glance at each other.

But perhaps the best thing to come out of it, the thing that made it worth it, the thing that was giving you both faith in his return, was how well he was doing. You didn’t get to watch many of his matches in person but you still got the same rush of excitement and nerves running through your body when you watched him play, even from the TV. He had upped his game for sure and what warmed your heart the most was that he was enjoying himself. The smile on his face, even as he simply walked out onto the pitch to train, was so bright. You missed seeing it and his new club was clearly doing him a world of good. Not only was he improving at the speed of light but he looked happier, healthier. You were beginning to see the benefits of his time away from Barcelona, away from the fan surveillance and pressures, he wasn’t weighed down in the same way and had turned into a beast of a player in return. 

You could feel the excitement and hope radiating off him in your facetime calls after every match, win or loss. He would take you on mini tours of the pitches and introduce you to his teammates. 

Of course you both still had those nights where you felt lonely but there was hope. The months were passing by and the time had finally come in April in which talks were beginning about a possible return. He had kept his promise to you, he really had put his everything into improving and opening up the doors for a return to Barca. You couldn’t wait and you were now counting down the days until he would be back.

Perhaps the most rewarding thing you had seen was the crowd chanting his name during a facetime call. You weren’t quite sure how the team made it to the top of the belltower or how so many fans had managed to surround it but the atmosphere was somehow more electric than the pitch itself. He deserved every bit of the recognition he was receiving and moreover, he had found a family with Osasuna. It undoubtedly made his stay that much more bearable. It wasn’t even in the bearable category anymore, it was enjoyable!

It's mid-May when he is finally given the greenlight for his return. Not that any of it was being reported to the media, who would continue to wallow in speculation. You almost broke the sound-barrier celebrating when he gave you the glad tidings. Not that you ever had a doubt but you were so relieved that it was all coming back together again. Seeing your starboy light up the pitch again, seeing him find his smile again and now the certainty of his return… you could burst from happiness.

The next hurdle he had to overcome was his AFCON. The decision to move him to the u23s confused both of you but his mind was so much more at rest after his time with Osasuna so he didn’t find himself losing sleep over it. 

He found himself quite excited in fact, his first chance at captaincy and another chance at ending his season with a trophy. And he was ready to go for it. As if his loan wasn’t successful enough, Abde fit into the leadership role much more smoothly than he had expected. He was met with respect from his teammates and a level of trust that he wouldn’t dare break. He took it seriously, embarrassing his opposition and making his assists and goals look easy. He was truly on fire, match after match of carrying the games and embarrassing opposing defenders, he was loving every second of it. He especially loved the attention you paid to the armband; even across the phone you seemed spell-bound by the blue band around his bicep. Your captain. He loved being able to tease you for the little fixation, making sure to keep it in the frame of the camera and not-so-subtly flexing his left bicep so you would focus on it. 

Almost as fast as the tournament began, it was over and he was up on the podium, picking up his golden boot and then the trophy itself. When the celebrations had finally died down and everyone settled onto the ground, he called and you’re quick to answer, once again almost breaking the sound barrier as you celebrate his trophy. You wished desperately to be there with him but your schedule just didn’t align. Nonetheless, you were still going to enjoy the moment because finally, FINALLY, your boy was getting everything he deserved. It wouldn’t be too long until you had him in your arms either. Although you would have to wait another week as his family were planning on staying for a while, at least that was what he originally planned. 

“Dude, you won’t stop talking to or about the girl and you haven’t stopped since September. We can do this stuff another time, just get back to Barcelona and end my torture.” Mohammad teases and it has Abde excited again. He had an idea.

You take the setting sun as a sign to start getting on with your skincare before going to sleep but as you’re walking over, you hear the doorbell ring. You were due a package a couple hours earlier but you assumed that there was a delay but perhaps not. You open the door, ready to grab your long-awaited parcel and ready to sign the little device, not really bothering to look up but instead you’re met with a pair of familiar sneakers. There was no way.

You attempt to solve what could have only been a hallucination by looking up. But, no. You weren’t hallucinating at all. Those beautiful green eyes looking into yours again.

“Surprise!” he waves awkwardly and you still haven’t found words. So you do the next best thing and throw yourself at him for a hug that knocks the breath out of him. Your arms constrict around his shoulders and you hide your face in his neck as he slowly walks you back into the house. He’s immediately comforted by the scent of vanilla and he sighs out in relief. He was home.

He feels his shirt getting wet before he feels you sobbing. He knows exactly how you feel so he just places a hand on your head, keeping you close and reminding you that he was right there, in the flesh, and he had no intention of leaving for that long ever again.

Eventually, you manage to look back at him, eyes slightly puffy from crying but your joy was evident.

“It's not like you to be early!” you point out and he gasps, stomping over to the couch with you still in his arms. He gently drops you onto it before falling on top of you himself and you both start laughing at the situation. It eventually dies down though and he lifts himself up so he can look at you. You lift up a hand to stroke over his features and he does the same for you.

“You’re really home.” there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe it. Sure you were counting down the days but still, the fact that he was here now was simply mind-blowing for you. Abde, your Abde was home.

“And I’m not going anywhere for a long time, you had better get used to it!”

“I’m sure I’ll manage…” you roll your eyes and he huffs, dropping his head back down so he was laying on your chest. Neither of you have the energy for anymore words so you just lay there on the couch, in complete silence, revelling in the reunion that had felt so far away not too long ago. Your boy was finally back home.

Yh this wasn’t a request or anything, i just let this idea marinate enough in my head so i had to share haha. I hope u guys enjoy <3

[ghosttotheparty]

i’ll still be here after daybreak 5

originally posted on twitter // also on ao3 // prev

steve doesn’t like going to sleep. it’s stupid, he knows. sleep is good for you. robin keeps telling him.

he would like to stay up all night. it’s quieter. lonelier, in a good way. when he can ignore the little sounds from outside, the scratching of branches against the glass of windows, the rustling of rabbits hopping through shrubs, the fluttering of dry leaves, he can actually feel fine. no kids to drive around town, no customers to tolerate and smile at, no sun to squint in.

he stays up too late.

watching movies and baseball games, flipping through magazines and books, baking. he bakes now, apparently. mike teases him relentlessly, but he always seems happy when steve passes him an extra cookie.

but steve always gets sleepy eventually. he’s always tired.

nightmares wake him up. every night.

he opens his eyes gasping, searching the dark for anything at all. he shivers from the chill of his sweat drying on his skin even though he sleeps under blankets. and he’s shaking. he’s always shaking.

the dreams change.

the kids are usually involved. laying in their usual puppy pile, but their chests are still, their eyes glazed over blankly, their skin painted red. nancy is there, a bullet in her head. jonathan, gutted and eviscerated.

eddie. staring at him. arms fallen to his sides, palms facing the sky. blood seeping into the ground around him, red so dark it looks black.

robin.

her voice fading in her mouth as she says steve’s name.

blood staining her lips.

other times the dreams don’t make any sense.

one night he wades through broken glass that’s flooding the house. it slices his skin with every shift of his arms, and the front door doesn’t seem to move any closer.

another night he hears robin’s voice calling his name, but no matter where he goes, her voice is distant. desperate. scared.

every night is confusing.

dustin loses his teeth. lucas’s arms break. the wheelers’ house catches fire. robin’s freckles wash away in the rain. steve finds himself trapped in the hawkins high elevator, and the mirror shatters when he looks into it. his parents come home and he falls apart when they say his name. he gets trapped in his blankets and suffocates. he trips and falls through a crack in the pavement.

sometimes he wakes up with tears in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. his muscles are sore from how tense he is, and he feels more tired than he did before he fell asleep.

and it’s miserable. it’s so fucking miserable.

he longs for just a few hours of sleep.

for some fucking rest. he catches short naps sometimes during the day, during hangouts in the wheelers’ basement, while the kids are arguing about dungeons and dragons or whatever book series they’re all into. during his breaks at family video, as he’s lounging on the sofa.

he can fall asleep anywhere. sometimes he naps in his car, using robin’s forgotten sweater as a pillow. once he laid on the floor to color with holly, but he fell asleep before he finished his first picture. he woke up to a purple mustache and cartoonish glasses from mike.

it’s never enough. he’s perpetually exhausted.

and he wonders if his ghost can see it on him. can see him toss and turn and cry and wipe his face clean when the sun comes up. if it just watches him.

if maybe that’s why it helps him out, turning the water colder, pushing glasses across the counter so they’re closer to him. one morning he wakes up with his blanket tucked around him in a way it usually isn’t, and he’s curious.

when he starts feeling rested in the mornings, he’s mostly confused, but he’s scared to acknowledge it. like it’ll jinx him, like it’ll turn everything back to the way it was.

he’s still scared to go to sleep, even though he keeps waking up with no memory of nightmares.

he still falls asleep.

during movie night, he’s close to drifting off when something touches his face, brushing down the bridge of his nose. when he opens his eyes, he just sees the ceiling, and he suppresses a smile.

his ghost.

steve might love them.

his ghost taps the end of his nose when he closes his eyes again, and he holds back an honest-to-god giggle, like he’s a kid with a crush. and then he drifts off there, arm around robin, revelling in the ghost’s gentle touch.

after a while, he’s half awake, and he opens his eyes the slightest bit. it’s dark. robin is asleep next to him. the kids are still talking, their voices hushed around the sound of whatever movie they’ve got on now.

steve sighs and rests his head on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes again.

something brushes his cheek. he opens his eyes and then closes them again when he sees that there’s nothing there, and he turns his face into the touch.

it presses more firmly, spreading over his cheek and his jaw, and steve realises that it’s a hand, holding his face gently.

a hand. a man’s hand, strong and soft and almost fucking tender, like steve is fragile.

steve’s eyes burn. he doesn’t know why. he tilts his head, trying to turn his face into the palm, and the ghost lets him, stroking their thumb over steve’s cheek.

steve exhales shakily. robin shifts next to him.

‘you okay?’ she mumbles sleepily, and he looks at her. the fingers on his cheek stroke over his skin gently.

‘yeah,’ he whispers. ‘i’m good.’

she hums and turns to lay her head on his chest, her cheek squishing against him.

he gazes at her for a moment before he closes his eyes again, and he kind of wants to beg for the ghost to touch him again.

he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything like it. so brief but so…

he doesn’t know.

kind, maybe.

it’s a few moments later when the ghost touches his cheek. steve presses his lips together to suppress a smile. and the air shifts like the ghost is smiling too as they trace his face so lightly it almost tickles.

and he wonders where the ghost is right now, if they’re sitting on the side of the sofa, or leaning over him, looking down at him. steve squeezes his eyes shut, focussing on the feeling of the ghost’s fingers, the feeling of robin breathing against him, her chest rising and falling steadily.

he drifts off again with a sigh, and then smell of leather and earth wafts over him like a breeze, and it washes over him like sunlight. he melts into the sofa with another sigh, and he’s overtaken by an odd feeling he’s never felt before. a sad kind of happy.

permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectre @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

daybreak taglist: @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yourmom-isgay @millseyes-world @notaqueenakhaleesi

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[takecareluv]

a fic based off the song he’s mine by mokenstef?

a.n. i’ve had this song stuck in my head ever since i saw this request. i think i’ve annoyed everyone around me with it haha anyway, i hope you like it! mwah 🤍☺️

sorry but he’s mine || vinnie hacker x reader

after close to a year of being together, you and vinnie finally became public. while some fans were extremely happy for you both, having speculated that you two had been together way before you announced it. others were not too thrilled to see the internet’s boyfriend officially taken of the market.

having been in the public eye for quite some time, you were used to all the hate that came along with it. so the abundance of rude comments that surfaced from the news of your relationship didn’t faze you much. you typically ignored the comment section all together, not even taking note of what a bunch of strangers had to say about you.

what you did notice, however, was the surge of posts, ranging from tiktok videos to twitter threads, showing supposed screenshots of dm’s and text messages between vinnie and the girls who post it.

you mainly ignored them, knowing they were all fake and made by some jealous fans trying to break you and vinnie up.

it was quite sad, you thought, how far these people would go just to ruin a relationship between two people so clearly in love.

but it didn’t really bother you all that much. these girls could muster up all the fake conversations they wanted, at the end of day vinnie was yours, and a silly little post was going to change that.

it wasn’t until you were scrolling through your fyp one afternoon and saw a video of a girl you knew vinnie had a past with trying to make it seem like he was still in love with her, that you got slightly more agitated.

really? now one of his little ex flings not even girlfriend, is trying to break y’all up. when was it going to end? you thought to yourself. can’t these people just let us be happy.

you never wanted to respond publicly to any of the hate, knowing it would just add to the fire, but now you were feeling petty.

vinnie told you all about how horribly this girl treated him, like he was some prize for her use and exploit. how she tried to ruin his career after he finally found the courage to end things with her. and how she continued to harass him months after things were done between them.

with that being said, you were not going to let her get away with the tiktok she made full of lies. especially after reading the plethora of comments believing and supporting her. oh hell no.

one thing about you, is you were protective of the people you loved, especially your boyfriend.

you wanted your response to be subtle. you were a classy bitch after all. you didn’t want to call her out directly, but you wanted to send a message. vinnie is yours and will forever be yours, no matter how hard she tried to split you up.

-

later that night, vinnie returned from the warehouse looking mighty fine in his wife beater and grey sweats. you were instantly on top of him, telling him how good he looked and how much you missed him.

things escalated quickly from there, i mean you couldn’t help it your boyfriend was hot. and an hour and multiple rounds later you laid in bed exhausted and sore.

you were ready to fall asleep, but before you did, you grabbed your phone, pulling up the tiktok app to begin recording a video.

the video showed you and vinnie in bed with nothing but the sheets covering you. you both looked sweaty with messy hair and tired eyes, clearly fucked out. you began lip-syncing to the song that played in the background as vinnie cuddled closer to you, placing a kiss to your neck.

he’s mine.

you may of had him once,

but i got him all the time.

as soon as the you finished recording, you immediately posted it, not bothering to add a caption.

that should get the message across.