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kpopnstarwars · 2 months

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Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

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lizlovestofangirl · 3 months

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have you ever considered a coquette! gf and luke 👉🏻👈🏻 teeheeeee 🌷🎀🤍 ur smaus give me a purpose in life and a will to live 🥹

"my good looking boy"

luke castellan x daughterofaphrodite!coquette!reader

smau - luke loves his girl so much he lets her walk him like a dog (but coquettley )

🎧 - good looking by suki waterhouse

a/n: ahhhh i love this request! (btw u give me a will to live) i can just picture luke being difficult with everyone else and then letting his girl put bows in his hair and like him sleeping in her fancy pink bed AHHHH IM DYING (also percabeth is PERCABETHING in this)

*possible swearing and suggestive content, not checked so there could be mistakes*

MASTERLIST

--------------------------------------------------------

liked by silenaaaa, iamchrisrodriguez, and others

yn_yln he loves bows now

tagged itslukecastellan

view comments:

larueclarisse LMAO U HAVE HIM WHIPPED

yn_yln 🐕‍🦺

iamchrisrodriguez LMFAOOOOO

_groverunderwood yikes luke you just got called a dam dog

percy.jackson me personally id never take that

whosannabeth yes you would

percy.jackson yes i would

itslukecastellan and im the whipped one??

percy.jackson stfu

larueclarisse marry me??? 💍

yn_yln I DO

itslukecastellan what 🙂

silenaaaa SO CUTE Y/N

yn_yln YOU SEL

itslukecastellan i ❤️ my gf

yn_yln i ❤️ my bf

silenaaaa I CANNOT W THIS I LOVE LOVE

itslukecastellan where are my photo creds for the first picture????

yn_yln photo credits for the first picture go to this little shit head

whosannabeth @percy.jackson you'd take that too shithead

percy.jackson yeah...

yn_yln 🐕‍🦺

_groverunderwood that dam bow

yn_yln still concerned about the timing of this original joke

percy.jackson @itslukecastellan wheres ur dignity man

itslukecastellan 🤷

whosannabeth IGNORE PERCY THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE EVER SEEN

yn_yln i ❤️ my annabeth

itslukecastellan i thought you ❤️ me?

yn_yln know your place pretty boy

rachel.edare coquette bf

yn_yln duh gotta match the aesthetic

hi_imtyson 🎀

yn_yln MISS YOU TYSON

larueclarisse where can i get one of those shirts?

iamchrisrodriguez please dont answer that

yn_yln i'll send you the link 😘

iamchrisrodriguez shit

liked by whosannabeth, clarisselarue, and others

itslukecastellan she thinks im pretty (ft. this week's flowers)

tagged yn_yln

view comments:

iamchrisrodriguez STOP UR KILLING MY RELATIONSHIP

itslukecastellan just do better chris

yn_yln yeah be like luke (this is the only time you will ever hear this advice from anyone)

larueclarisse hello is want flowers too???!?!??

yn_yln lmao

silenaaaa where do u find one of this kind

yn_yln the pound go for the ones w daddy AND mommy issues

itslukecastellan jesus y/n

yn_yln 😊😊

percy.jackson ur ugly

itslukecastellan ur uglier

percy.jackson nuh uh

itslukecastellan yuh huh

percy.jackson nuh uh

itslukecastellan yuh huh

whosannabeth ignore percy. again.

itslukecastellan ive gotten very good at it

larueclarisse REAL

iamchrisrodriguez not real clar he pisses u tf off

larueclarisse 💐???

_groverunderwood those dam bows again

percy.jackson HAHAHAAHA

yn_yln pretty sure thats a laugh of trauma

itslukecastellan quit grover

yn_yln i love you

itslukecastellan is love you more

yn_yln WHERE ARE MY PHOTO CREDS FOR THE SECOND PICTURE??? HMMM???

itslukecastellan this little rat took the second photo

rachel.edare 🐕‍🦺

itslukecastellan i hate you 🙂

yn_yln's story

view reply from percy.jackson:

percy.jackson im holding this against him forever

yn_yln good pls do

view reply from itslukecastellan:

itslukecastellan youre lucky i love you or else i would not let you expose me like this

yn_yln love you too castellan

view reply from larueclarisse:

larueclarisse IM CRYING

larueclarisse YOU SHOULDVE SEEN THE LOOK ON HIS AND CHRIS'S FACES WHEN THEY SAW THIS

larueclarisse LUKE TURNED EVERY SHADE OF RED AND CHRIS LOOKED LIKE HE MIGHT SHIT A BRICK

yn_yln LMAOOOO

view reply from silenaaaa:

silenaaaa y/n you cant have other campers in our cabin

yn_yln but you love love

silenaaaa fair

silenaaaa wait

silenaaaa wait what kind of love 😏

yn_yln JEEZ NOT THAT KIND

yn_yln just posted a story

view reply from itslukecastellan:

itslukecastellan im blushingggg

yn_yln good

view reply from iamchrisrodriguez:

iamchrisrodriguez Y/N STOPPPP

yn_yln no

view reply from whosannabeth:

whosannabeth how much do u think i'll have to pay percy to do this?

yn_yln nothing hed do anything for u

whosannabeth oh wait true

#luke castellan pjo #percy jackson #percy jackson smau #pjo smau #smau #luke castellan #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smau #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x aphrodite!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x coquette!reader #percy jackson and the olympians

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mysteriawrites · 4 months

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Hey 👐 How do you think LDS Boys will react when someone else flirts with their significant other in front of them? Thank you 💪

Love and Deepspace Boys when someone flirts with their S/O

Xavier:

Imo xavier has the energy of like a sleepy golden retriever.

He’s the quiet type so he’s not gonna get all macho or anything and he trusts you.

However he may (not) subtly get more touchy with you to see if the person will take a fuckin hint

If the person doesn’t back off or is genuinely making you uncomfortable then he’ll make up an excuse and have you play along

“Sorry to interrupt you conversation, but MC we have a very important hunter mission to get to right?” 😉

Once you get away from that guy he’ll be very cuddly and affectionate with you

If you point it out he’ll play dumb but you can see his cheeks turning red-

Zayne:

I don’t see him as much of the jealous type

He’s usually calm cool and collected and he trusts with p much everything unless you’re being an idiot

He’ll p much let you handle it yourself unless he has to intervene

If it does get to that point man will just tell it like it is he aint messin around

“The way you’re treating them is very rude and your behavior will not be tolerated.”

*gives the coldest glare he can muster*

And then he just grabs your arm and drags you away from the unworthy rat

When asked about it he’ll just calmly say that they were being disrespectful

“My lover does not deserve to be treated that way”

Rafayel:

As usual he’s petty af

Once he sees someone getting the slightest bit more of your attention than him he will get so fuckin handsy it’s not even funny

He’ll just saunter over all like “oh hey babe who’s this? *slings arm over your shoulder* “hey im rafayel nice to meet you”

his smile will be a bit too wide while not reaching his eyes lowkey looks like a psychopath

If the other person doesn’t leave he’ll start doing lovey dovey shit like swinging your arms together or holding your or putting his head on your head/shoulder depending on your height

May outright make out with you if he gets desperate enough

Once the other person feels awkward and leaves and you bring it up he”ll try and feign innocence but overall be like “i gotta show the world what’s mine”

#multi fandom blog #multifandom account #multifandom #multifandom writer #multi fandoms posts #multifandom fanfiction #multifandom x reader #multifandom imagines #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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auteurdelabre · 26 days

Text

A LITTLE SUN - SERIES FINALE

rating: 18+

tags: None. No spoilers in my finales!

summary: It's go time.

a/n: Y'ALL. Who knew this ATTEMPTED ONE-SHOT would end up being this fuckin' long and make me fall even deeper in love with the amazing trash panda/rat king Dieter Bravo? It was a labor of love, that's for sure (see what I did there? heh heh). I should note, your girl's never had a baby and I'm pretty sure a bunch of the shit here is inaccurate and borderline unsafe. OH WELL. This is a Hollywood romance type story so suspend your disbelief, k?

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS MEAN YOU LIKE ME AND THAT MAKES ME WANNA KEEP WRITING.

[ ppppsssssstttttt if you wanna be nice and send a broke writer some cash because you like her writing and her stories and they made you happy, the paypal addy is [email protected] because ko-fi is givin me a headache. ]

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

"This can't be happening," you say in the passenger seat as Dieter speeds you both towards the hospital. "He's not due for another week."

"He's a Bravo," Dieter tells you in a tight voice. "Bravo's never fucking do what they're supposed to. It's part of our charm."

You let out an agonized wail as he speeds around the corner, holding your belly as you lurch back. He spins down the highway, honking at passersby. When half the vehicle ends up on the highway you shout at him to drive normally.

When you settle, Dieter presses a button in his dash and your mom's number comes up. You hear a phone ringing in the car and then your mother's voice soft on the other end. There are hospital noises in the background, she’s at work.

"Hello Didi-"

"Hey Mimi," he says breathlessly interrupting her. "It's go time. Our girl's water broke."

"Oh my goodness," you can hear your mother flapping around in excitement. "I'll be there! I just have to get someone to cover my shift! Oh he’s early! I’ll see you soon, loves!"

"See you soon."

The call ends and you're left staring at the man intently focused on driving.

"Did you just call my mother Mimi?"

"Yeah," Dieter says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's my nickname for her."

Didi and Mimi? What the fuck? How did he get Mimi?

Before you can question their weird interaction further your hands grip around your middle, the strange stabbing sensation increasing with every mile that passes between the house and the hospital.

Thankfully Dieter gets you there quickly, pulling into the hospital's ambulance lane helping you out of the car.

"You can't park there," a man shouts after the two of you. Dieter gives him the finger before helping you onto the sidewalk. You can barely move and you double over, hissing before you can reach the doors. When you are able to right yourself again Dieter is there with a wheelchair he urges you back into.

"Dieter where did you get this?"

"Some old guy smoking on a bench."

"Dieter!"

"Relax," Dieter insists as he rolls you to the front desk. "He won't miss it."

Dieter feels like he's vibrating. After that emotional decree to you he was certain you'd been striding towards him before you doubled over in pain. But now he's not certain. As he follows the nurse now wheeling you to the private suite he's wondering if it was just wishful thinking.

But he doesn't have time to worry about that right now. You're whimpering in pain, one hand over your belly, the other groping the air next to you.

"Are you Dieter Bravo?"

A voice sounds out beside him but he ignores it.

"Can I get your picture?"

"Why are you here?"

He ignores them all, rushing to the side and grabbing your hand as they wheel you into the large private suite.

The space is beautiful if not sterile. Nurses file in, helping you into a pale pink robe before urging you back into the hospital bed.

Dieter steps back to give the medical staff room but it hurts him to be even this far from you. Your feet go in the stirrups and Dieter feels his heart crack. You look so tired, so scared there in the hospital bed.

"You gotta be gowned up, Dad," a nurse says helping Dieter into a blue gown. A hairnet is forced over his unruly locks and a mask over his face. He feels like he's getting ready for another part in a movie, dressing in costume.

Nurses crowd around you, taking your temperature, urging a device onto your finger. There's chattering, movement like some strange ballet.

"She's already nine centimetres."

"Call Doctor March in."

"Dieter!"

Your voice cuts through the overlapping chatter. He moves through the throng, going to your side, ignoring the huffs of irritated medical staff. You gaze up at him through watery eyes and Dieter feels a swell of indignation rise as he watches you squirm in pain.

“Where’s the fucking drugs?”

“It’s too late for an epidural,” the nurse tells you both cringing. “She’s too far along. I’m sorry-“

“What the fuck? I can’t do it without drugs! I can’t do this!” Your eyes are wide and terrified. You glance up at Dieter. “It’s going to hurt! Don’t make me do this!”

“You can do this,” Dieter insists, his thumb rubbing your palm soothingly. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You could do this in your sleep.”

"I can't do this," you whimper, terrified of what's about to happen.

What if something goes wrong? You've read about losing blood about emergency C-sections.

"You can," Dieter says, eyes big and beautiful. He cups your face in his large palms. "You've got this."

"No, I can't," you insist, eyes watery. "I... I'm not strong enough."

"Baby, that's not true. Who got me on SNL after my DUI even after they turned me down twice?”

“Me.”

“And who got me out of my contract for Hot Ones when I found out the chicken wasn’t organic?”

“M-me,” you cringe as a stab of pain goes through you. You can feel the nurse probing to see how far along you are, but all you can focus on is Dieter’s face in front of yours.

“And who wrangled me out of Russia with only a fake passport and a bad accent?”

“Me!”

“That’s right,” Dieter insists, his voice proud. “You don’t take shit from anybody, baby.”

The doctor swans in, a serious looking woman who spares a brief smile for you and Dieter as she reads your chart.

"Hi Mom and Dad, I'm Doctor March and I'll be delivering your son today."

You both give her a weak greeting before she sits on the rolling stool between your parted legs. Dieter isn't looking there though. His eyes are fixed firmly on your face. Your head is tossed back, your forehead damp with sweat.

"Alright Mom, you're ten centimetres so I'm gonna need you to start pushing."

Dieter watches your face blanch and feels a chill go through him at the terror in your face. You look up at him, tears clinging to your lashes.

Dieter doesn't even think. He toes off his shoes and crawls onto the hospital bed next to you. The nearest nurse shouts at him from behind her mask, hand reaching for him.

"Sir, you are not allowed in the bed-"

"I'm staying," Dieter snarls settling in behind you. His long legs go to either side of you, bracketing your body. You lean back against him, relief flooding you at his nearness.

"Sir, I'll call security-"

"Just let him stay!" You cry out. "Please!"

All of a sudden a pain rips through you, causing you to jerk back against Dieter's chest and give out a sharp shriek.

"Baby's coming," the doctor says irritably. "Nurse, I need you here."

The woman scowls at Dieter from behind her mask. The staff begins talking to one another and everything feels like it's happening too quickly.

"Alright Mom, gonna need you to push."

Your fingers dig into Dieters thigh. You feel like the lights are too bright and the room is too cold and the entire thing is just too… scary. You're brows pinch together in anxiety.

"C'mon baby mama," Dieter urges at your temple. "This is all you. You can do it."

You try your hardest, gritting your teeth and trying to push with all your might. But you can't do it. There's too much noise and chaos and the only thing that's keeping you grounded is the warmth of Dieter behind you.

Dieter feels your trembling body and wishes more than anything that he could calm you with his touch alone. Dr. March is calling things out to you but all Dieter can focus on is the way your eyes are darting around the room, the way your body feels trembling against him.

"S'too much," you groan. "Can't do it."

"You are," Dieter insists, his hand over yours braced on his thigh. "C'mon, I know you can keep going. You're so fucking strong."

"I can't," you weep, your body aching and breathing shallow. "I can't-"

"Who chased me down to the Chateau Marmont and snuck into a celebrity party just so she could return a watch to Cartier?"

"M-me," you groan as another ripple of pain goes through you. Dieter sees the doctor leaning forward, disappearing under your gown.

"And who threw me into a shower to get sober for an interview on her first day?"

"Me."

"That’s right,” Dieter smiles, recalling your first introduction to one another. “Know why? Because you don't take shit from anyone and you're not starting now. You show that baby who’s in charge.”

Something in his voice gives you resolve. You nod, hands going to his knees and bracing. You tilt back as you push, head falling on Dieter's shoulder.

"Push," the doctor commands again calmly.

This goes on for what feels like forever. You straining, pushing and crying out in pain as Dieter cradles you between his legs, ensuring how good you’re doing.

"Good job, good job," doctor March encourages.

“That's my girl," Dieter murmurs proudly in your ear. It makes you want to sob.

"One more big push," doctor March says.

You're exhausted and shaky and you don't want to do this. It wasn't supposed to be today. You had a week. You planned it out. This is all too soon.

"No more," you groan, sweat beading along your forehead. You don't want to let go of your son. Not yet.

It feels unnatural to have carried him so long just to be removed from your body this way. He feels like a part of you, like was always meant to nestle under your ribs. It's like removing your own heart.

Dieter lowers his mask and pushes back the sweaty hair from your face, replacing it with a sweet kiss.

"C'mon baby," Dieter insists, his voice a rasp in your ear. "He's almost here. Our son's almost here."

Our son. Yours and Dieter's.

Despite the frenzy of the moment your eyes drift from the doctors head between your legs up to Dieter.

"Our son," you echo weakly.

He's staring down at you, dark eyes so full of adoration. He's nodding, smiling gently at you.

"Our little boy," Dieter says, kissing your damp cheek. "And we're so close to meeting him baby; you just gotta push one more time. Can you do it for me? For him?"

Yes. You can.

You give out an animalistic growl that turns into a shriek. Dieter continues to hold your arms, murmuring that you're so brave, so beautiful.

"Holy shit I can see hair," Dieter whispers against your cheek, peering over your belly to see as the doctor encourages your son forward.

You give one last guttural scream, arching in Dieter’s arms before you feel that stinging between your legs settle. And then the most beautiful sound in the world - the tremoring wail of your sons first breath.

"It's him. He's here."

There is awe there in Dieter’s voice, his eyes wide as he watches the moment his son is pulled from you. Feels his heart constrict as this tiny boy gives out a shuddering cry for the very first time.

Dieter laughs through tears as he watches his son, gold and puffy emerge, his smile dropping as he views patches of white creamy something over his body.

"Wait, what the fuck is that?" Dieter all but shouts. For a horrible moment he's terrified that it's from him fucking you so deeply last night.

"Vernix caseosa," the nurse says with laughter in her voice despite everything. "Protects him from the amniotic fluid in the womb."

Dieter sighs in relief as the squirming baby is pressed to your bare chest for skin-to-skin contact. Your chest is exposed but for once Dieter isn’t horny. He’s just struck dumb at the sight of this small creature nestling there against your body.

"Hi little boy."

Your son lifts his head shakily, eyes blinking slowly, blurrily trying to take you in. He knows your voice, his face instinctually tilting in your direction. Dieter gazes down at you, tears spilling over his cheeks as he sees the love so clear in your gaze.

"It's you," you whisper down at the cherub-like face of your son.

I'd know you anywhere.

Because you would. You don't know how but the second you see his chubby cheeks and long lashes you just know exactly who he is. You would have known him anywhere. He's a part of you. He's been a part of you so long it's surreal to see him outside, here against your skin on this side.

"Look at all his hair," Dieter marvels. "You were right."

He's tiny with long legs and a thick head of dark curls. His skin is a golden color and his fingers long like his dad’s. He’s got your ears and your toes though, and the sight makes you feel strangely giddy. That’s you in this little body, a small piece of you.

The doctor and nurses murmur at your feet, and you feel relief when one says "all good". No emergency blood loss, no anything. The sound of a pager goes off and doctor March stands.

"Got another delivery down the hall. Must be a full moon or something. Congrats mom and dad!"

"Thank you, Doctor March."

The doctor and most of the nurses file out of the room; leaving only two nurses standing beside the bed making notes on a clipboard before one gently removes your son from your chest. You give a little whimper of protest, eyes going wide.

"Just gonna weigh him and we'll bring him right back, Mom."

You watch them leave, already feeling incomplete without him there against you. You feel tears welling at your lash line.

"He's perfect," you say through hiccups.

You feel as Dieter shifts behind you, gingerly removing himself from the bed. He makes sure to do so slowly, ensuring you're propped up comfortably for when they bring your squirming newborn back.

"You did such a good job, baby," Dieter says, kissing your temple before his attention is drawn back to his son being weighed and measured. "Can't believe he's finally here."

You both watch as your son squirms and grunts during his examination, smiling gently when they lift him up and the tall one announces: "Seven pounds, three ounces and twenty one inches."

Dieter holds back his desire to make a dick joke.

The nurse holds your son clad in a tiny diaper. He looks so tiny in her hands. She prepares to hand him back to you but Dieter looks strangely animated, reaching into your go-bag bag next to the bed.

"Oh shit, I almost forgot. Petra made him this."

It's a tiny blue knitted hat. Both the nurses give girlish awwwww's at the sight of it. One gingerly puts it on your sons head before smiling at you.

"Okay Mom, let's do some more skin to skin and see if he'll eat in a little bit."

Mom. Mom. Mom. You’re a mom.

You're already nodding, arms outstretched. It feels wrong not to have him against you right now. The nurses help to wrap the robe you're wearing around him, almost like a swaddle.

You breathe slowly, taking in every second of this moment. He's so fucking small and his eyebrows are so tiny. Everything is just so little.

His mouth smacks together, grunting as his pink lips strain towards your nipple when they place him on your chest.

"Like father like son," you murmur to Dieter, so quiet only he can hear. He gives a loud chuckle and his son makes a small hiccupping sound in surprise. Dieter’s long fingers trace down his son’s back, marveling at the softness of his skin.

"I'm a Dad," Dieter murmurs, as if it's just hitting him now. His eyes slowly travel over to you, your gaze locked on the squirming infant on your chest. "And you're a mom."

"I'm a mom," you whisper and it feels right when you say it.

You were always his mom, from the moment he began to grow in your womb. You were mom. He'd known it long before you had. The kicks and the flutters. He knew you were his and tried to remind you at every turn.

"Thank you," Dieter whispers, eyes damp. "Thank you for bringing him to me."

"Thank you for helping me make him," you whisper back, the hot tears staining your cheeks. "Fuck, I feel like all I've done lately is cry."

Dieter and you share a laugh while the nurses call out that they'll be back to check on you three in a little while, pointing out the call button beside your bed if there's an issue.

They close the door to the suite behind them and suddenly the room is quiet, save for the sound of your son grunting against your chest as he gets comfortable.

"I want to be his mom."

"You are," Dieter says with a smile as he grabs the chair next to the hospital bed, his large palm resting on his son's back lightly when he settles back.

"No I mean... I want to be in his life. I want to see him every day. I want to help raise him."

You see the way Dieter’s body jerks as if he's been slapped. He stares over at you, eyes wide.

"You do?"

"Yeah," you sniffle. "Is that okay?"

"Are you kidding me?" Dieter is leaning over you gently, kissing you so soundly you whimper.

He pulls back, but not before giving a gentle kiss to the top of his sons head.

His eyes search yours, the sweet chestnut color softening the longer he looks at you. He brushes the hair from your face, thumb lingering on your jaw.

"That's all I've ever wanted."

The sincerity is there in both his expression and his husky voice. He means it. And suddenly guilt is the emotion that overtakes you, almost surging through your veins.

"I feel so guilty," you say, overcome with emotion. Your son makes a little squeaking noise before settling.

“Why, baby?”

“Because I closed myself off to everyone. Even him.”

How could you have ever thought of giving your son away? How could you have imagined he was nothing but cargo to be bartered? You kiss the top of his head, hoping that a lifetime of love will make up for months of apathy.

"I think losing my dad just made me so scared of loving someone else," you sniffle, kissing your son's downy head. "I mean my dad was a part of me. And now-"

You look down at your newborn son. The scrunch of his face as he yawns and you think that you've never seen anything quite as beautiful before.

"He's a part of me," you say softly. The tears fall down your cheeks without effort. "And he's the most perfect thing I've ever seen."

Dieter gazes down at his son. "He really is."

"I thought if I could just separate my feelings I could do it, you know? I could walk away unhurt. But then..."

You break off, but Dieter is riveted. "Then what?"

Your eyes blink furiously.

"That day I saw him for the first time I knew I couldn't walk away. I knew it. But I told myself I had to. That I couldn't stay attached."

This hurts Dieter. Knowing that it was months of this personal torture hurts him in a way that makes him breathless.

"Why, baby?"

"Because losing something you love breaks you. It takes a piece from you that never comes back." You rock your son gently. "And I've never loved anything as much as him. Even before he was here."

You’re trying in vain to hold the sobs back now. Your son makes a frowning face, lips smacking together once more before you falls back into his drowsy slumber.

"And I'm scared," you whisper. "Terrified, actually."

Dieter suddenly understands it all. The loss of you father, your inability to cope, your need for control and order. He sees how this challenged all of it and his heart shatters. Dieter runs his hands through your hair, pressing kisses to your cheek as he gently soothes you. You're crying, eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay to be scared," Dieter murmurs against your ear. "I'm scared too."

You're exhausted and sore and emotionally wrung out. But that doesn't stop you from smiling gently up at him, hand going to brush the tears clinging to his lashes.

Soon the emotional and physical exhaustion comes in, lulling you into a slow slumber. Dieter watches the two loves of his life sleeping, both making the same little nose scrunches in their sleep. He sees so much of you in his son, the curve of his ears, the full of his upper lip. It makes him feel warm and contented.

You haven't confessed any long standing love for Dieter, but now that his son is here and you want to be a part of his life it doesn't matter. You'll be near him and that's enough for Dieter, even if that's all he can have. You'll be the most amazing mother and he'll support you any way he can. Of course it's been a draining day and he feels his emotions spinning off in all directions, but with a rosy hue of compassion.

Of course it hurts that you likely don't feel the same for him.

Images of Dieter and a toddler son dressed in suits dance across his exhausted mind. You under an arch in a wedding dress, leaning down with a smile and arms open as you son toddles down the aisle towards you. You marrying someone else, but with Dieter's support. Dieter doesn't look forward to the day you find your future husband, but he'll support it.

Love always felt selfish for Dieter. A way of staking claim: mine. But this love feels different. He just wants you happy. That's good enough for him.

One of the nurses comes back a short while later and you're still dozing with your son sleeping on your chest. One of the nurses pushes in a bassinet on wheels.

"Gonna put him in this so Mom can get some real rest," one of the nurses tells Dieter in a hush. "Do we have a name yet, Dad?"

"No, not yet," Dieter whispers back. "Can I put him in it?"

"Of course," the nurse says happily. "You know the correct hold?"

She shows him how to correctly hold the newborn supporting his neck and his spine. Then she leaves giving him a quiet congratulations.

Dieter looks down into his arms, rocking the small child - his son - gingerly as he begins to blubber. The tears slide down his nose and one lands on his son's bare belly. He twitches in his sleep before yawning and blinking up at Dieter.

And he feels it pass between them, this ancient sensation of home, of lineage, of love. Dieter thinks of his own father and his ambivalence. He can't understand how he could have ever walked away from his own creation. He stops crying long enough to see his son give a flash of a smile and then fall promptly back to sleep.

"You have your whole life ahead of you," Dieter tells his son, going to stand at the window, looking out into the sunshine filled day. "This world is just yours to conquer. Me and your Mama are gonna be there every step of the way."

You stir in the bed when you hear Dieter’s gentle rasp from the other side of the room. Your eyes flutter open to see him holding your son by the window, rocking him.

"Gonna give you everything I didn't have, gonna spend time with you and play catch and all that good dad shit."

You giggle gently at this, drawing Dieters attention your way.

"Did I wake you?"

You shake your head, watching with adoration as the man you love comes walking back with your son. You think Dieter has never been as perfect or as beautiful to you as when he’s holding your son safely in his broad arms.

"He needs a name," you murmur, watching your dozing child. "Where's your list?"

"Up here," Dieter says tapping his temple with his free hand before looking down at the slumbering infant in his arms. "But... Now that I see him, none of ‘em fit."

"Hmmmm," you purse your lips in thought, watching as Dieter carefully places him in the bassinet. The two of you lean over, watching your son in mild awe. A thought occurs to you.

"My mom doesn't know what room we're in."

"Oh I already texted her," Dieter says. "She's stuck in fucking LA traffic of course. She should be here soon. Lemme check.”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out and dropping his keys in the process. He picks them up and the keychain makes a soft clinking noise. The baby stirs in the bassinet, kicking out his tiny legs and tilting his head in the direction of the keys.

Dieter grins, holding them above his son. You see the green Jameson bottle from Ireland hanging off of it. You both look on as your tiny son’s fists tap against the enamel item, sending it spinning.

“He’s got good taste,” Dieter grins. “I’ll have to take him when he’s older.”

“Much older,” you say with mock warning.

The keychain spins again as the baby attempts to grip it with his tiny fingers. But he can’t, it’s much too early for that kind of coordination. The name of the brewery glints in the light and then like a flash you both meet eyes over the bassinet.

"Jameson." Dieter breathes with a crooked grin. "James."

"James Bravo.”

The two of you smile so widely your faces might break.

“I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s perfect. Hello James.”

Dieter and you gaze down at your son who’s now grown still, sleeping deeply.

“Now we just need a middle name," you say quietly as the two of you sit staring at him.

"What was your dad's name again?" Dieter asks quietly after a beat. "Michael, right?"

You slowly gaze up the length of Dieter, seeing the soft way he's looking at the baby and then over at you. Something swells behind your sternum.

"Yeah, Michael."

"That's a nice name," Dieter nods before smiling down at the squirming infant. "A good middle name for our son."

Our son.

Affection hits you like a ton of bricks in that moment. The fact that he remembered your dad's name. The way he calls Jameson your son as much as he is his own. The way he loves you so fucking ardently, the way he wanted to take care of you even if you didn’t feel the same as he did.

You think of this past year with Dieter, all the ways he showed her loved you, the way he protected you. You think of nights in his arms, laughing with him and the way you don't want to be without him anymore. You stare up at him from the bed, taking in the sleepy edge of his eyes, the tussled hair, the full mouth. He's fucking beautiful. How did you miss it this long?

You don't want anyone else. You just want him.

"Will you marry me?" you whisper without thought.

Dieter blinks over at you, eyes rounding and for a moment you tense. He's made it clear that he cares for you but maybe this is too much too fast. You haven’t exactly been forward with how you feel about him until now.

"You wanna marry me?"

"Yeah," you say smiling dopily up at him. "I do."

Dieter lets out a little sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and before you can say anything more his broad palms are on either side of your face, holding you there so that he can kiss you soundly before pulling back, looking concerned.

"Might be the drugs," he worries.

"No drugs remember?"

"Might be post birth delirium."

"I don't think that's it," you assure him, thumb stroking the patch in his beard that doesn't grow. "Might be because I've never had someone care for me like you do. Might be because I don't want to be apart from you or our son. Might be because I'm madly in love with you and have been for a while now. Might be because I’ve never loved someone the way I love you."

Dieter feels like his heart is expanding so rapidly it might crack his ribcage. Seeing you there in the bed with your hair disheveled, your face flushed and your eyes starry and soft as you gaze up at him, Dieter feels an almost incapacitating sensation of adoration for you.

You're so rarely soft with anyone. Because of this he knows what you've admitted is monumental for so many reasons. Tears spring to his eyes, and his smile is watery.

You picked him. You want him.

He clamors into the bed next to you again, pulling you into his arms gingerly. His mouth is pressing against yours again, wet eyes squeezed shut. He holds you with the kind of care and affection he has always shown you.

"Fuck yes I'll marry you," he whispers against your lips.

You giggle against his mouth when he kisses you again and the sound hits him everywhere.

"I want you to come home with our son as my wife and I want to make you two the happiest people alive."

He melts against you as your arms wrap around his neck, fingers trailing in the curls at the base of his skull.

"I love you, Dieter."

He whispers his love for you against your neck, rocking you. You let him kiss you slowly, mouths moving languidly. You sigh as he dabs his tongue against yours before he abruptly pulls back.

He pushes back from the bed, gaze suddenly distracted. It startles you.

"Diet-"

Before you can even finish his name he's taken off, his crocs slapping against the hospital floor. Then it’s just you and James in the suite, shaking your head with a laugh.

"What is your dad up to?" You ask the sleepy baby in the bassinet. You turn back to face the doorway, heart leaping when you recognize a woman in scrubs strolling by.

"Mom!"

Your Mom is already sobbing when she runs into the room and you expect her to make a run directly for the baby. But instead she’s going to you, holding your face in her hands and kissing your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, the fucking traffic-“

“It’s okay,” you assure her. “Dieter was and he was wonderful.”

“He’s early,” she comments, eyes flitting to the bassinet before going back to you.

"Just like his dad, he has a flair for the dramatic," you grin. "Couldn't wait until his due date."

“How are you feeling?”

“Good Mom, I promise,” you say, smirking at her frazzled expression. Your mother takes a deep breath, nodding. She shrugs off her jacket before going to scrub her hands in the sink. She comes back over to you, her eyes wet.

“I’m so proud of you. Your dad would be too.”

You let the tears fall again, accepting that this is just what you do now, you cry all the fucking time. Your mother stands next to the bed, holding you around the shoulders and rocking you like she did when you were little. You cry into her shoulder, overwhelmed and hormonal.

“So do you want to meet my son?” you ask sniffling.

Your mother’s eyes alight to the bassinet before drawing back to you.

“Your son?”

“My son,” you confirm, chin wobbling. “Your grandson. Jameson Michael Bravo. James for short.”

And now your Mom bursts into tears, thick fat ones that pour down her cheeks. And you know she’s not crying for James, or for the beauty of this birth. She sniffles heavily before going over to the bassinet. She sees Jameson's shock of dark hair and you watch her melt.

"Oh he's beautiful."

“You might be a bit biased.”

"I am," she laughs.

The two of you are still laughing when Dieter returns to the room slightly out of breath, a young man in tow. When he sees your mother he waves and pulls her into a tight hug. You watch the two of them embrace, still shocked at their closeness.

"Mimi! Perfect, we need a witness."

You realize now that the young man Dieter urges over to your bed is wearing a collar and holding a bible.

"Dieter, why have you brought a priest here?"

"He just gave last rites to some guy on the other floor," Dieter explains with a wide beaming grin. "I told him about you and me and he said he'd be happy to perform the ceremony right now."

Dieter is absolutely lack of impulse control personified.

You're about to answer when you hear the sound of your mother's voice.

"No, no, no," your mother tuts, shaking her head. "You are not getting married in a hospital ten minutes after giving birth."

Dieter gives her imploring eyes. "But Mimi-"

"Didi, you and my daughter got pregnant, hid it, gave birth and are now engaged." Your mother lists these off with sharp clarity. "I beg of you, let me have my way with this. I only get to be mother of the bride once."

“Okay,” Dieter relents, understanding that perhaps this is a fair compromise.

He debates something for a moment before taking your right hand. The claddagh ring he bought you is tight thanks to the pregnancy, but it finally slips off. He slips it onto your left finger, heart facing out.

And so the wedding is postponed for six months.

(If you’re honest, you’re pretty relieved. Getting married wearing a sweaty hospital robe while your vagina healed wasn’t exactly your idea of a dream scenario.) It takes about that long to move all your things into Dieter’s place and to get life sort of under control.

Being together as a family of three is better than you could have ever imagined it. You’re both fucking exhausted and unwashed for the first few weeks, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it together.

Watching Dieter as a father makes you fall in love with him in a completely different way. Watching as he carries your son in his arms, gently swaying him after being fed.

"He smells so good," he murmurs.

Dieter is as much a parent as you are, insisting that you did the heavy lifting for the last nine months and that he should do his part. The first time he tells you this after changing and putting James back down at 2 am you suck Dieter’s cock so well he almost cries.

Your mother all but moved in the first three weeks insisting that you’d need her help. As much as you wanted to deny this, Dieter had been excitedly setting up the guest house for her before the offer was out of her mouth. Roach free.

You definitely get on each other’s nerves for the following months, tired and grouchy at times. Petra and Magda are there and like to give advice. Sometimes you take it; sometimes you and Dieter roll your eyes at one another.

But mostly you grin stupidly at each other and kiss like you’re in high school. You love kissing. He’s so sweet and gentle until he’s licking into your mouth and grinding against you on the couch. Dieter doesn’t want to rush you into bed after the birth so it’s you two months post partum who tackles him during James’ nap time and rides him, telling him he’s “such a good Daddy.”

Dieter is in heaven. That’s the only way to describe it.

“I love you,” you murmur in the mornings when he brings you over a smoothie. He always kisses you slow and sweet before replying.

“I love you too, baby.”

This love, this free flowing mutual adoration incapacitates him at times. It brings him to his knees knowing that his love is returned in equal measure. His phone is full of covert photos he’s taken of you with James. His favorite is the one of you passed out on the couch. You’re wearing only your panties and socks. Your hair is unkempt and James snuggles against you, both back lit by the early morning sun.

He wants to show everyone the photo, wants to tell everyone proudly that this is his son and soon-to-be-wife. But you’ve made it very clear that while Dieter is fine with the spotlight, your son will not be until he’s old enough to choose it.

He shares only one photo on his social media announcing the birth. One of Jameson’s left foot with the caption: He’s finally here.

Diane approved it.

You’re relaxing in the tufted chair in the nursery, feeding James when an alert comes through on your phone.

Bravo spotted looking at engagement rings.

Oh right. You still have his name flagged for alerts.

You smile a little to yourself as you read the article about Dieter travelling all over California in search of the perfect ring. Your heart races even though you know very well that you're getting married shortly.

There's another alert ding on your phone and you see it's a text from Mia.

[3:21pm] MIA: Congrats lovebirds. I knew he'd get his shit together eventually. So happy for you both.

You grin widely.

You didn't expect to find such deep affection for Mia, but you can't help but love her. After all, without her you may never have truly faced how you felt about Dieter. And from the stories Dieter has told you over the last few months, Mia may have been instrumental in the two of you getting together in the first place. It’s what prompts you to reply with a photo of you and James snuggling.

[3:22pm] Any chance you feel like taking on the role of godmother?

You and Dieter had talked about it; he’d been worried you’d think it strange. But it hadn’t felt strange at all. It had felt somehow right that she be a part of James’ life.

[3:22pm] MIA: Thought you’d never ask.

The wedding is an intimate one of less than fifty people. Your dress is over the top and exactly the kind of thing that Dieter imagined you in. Your son is done up in the tiniest and most elaborate baby tuxedo you’ve ever seen. You both cry all the way through your vows as your mother sits with James in the front row, a picture of your father beside her.

The wedding takes place in a sweet little village in Chile where Dieter grew up. It’s where his parents met and where his mother is buried. He has a few relatives there who insist on helping with everything.

Dieter isn’t expecting the emotions that come flooding back. Ones that take his breath away when he sees the photos of his mom still hung in his Aunt’s house. The ones of him missing teeth, arms around her and a look of absolute contentment in his youthful features.

“She would have loved you both so much,” he whispers as the two of you stare at them.

“I know, baby.”

And just like when he took your hand and led you through that sea of paparazzi, you take his hand and do the same. You guide him through the first few days where he feels emotionally raw and strangely quiet. You lead him through the days of family reunion and wedding planning. And finally you take his hand and walk with him to the graveyard where his mother is buried.

He takes his son from you, kissing his tiny nose before kneeling in front of the tombstone. He places a hand on its marble surface and he lets the tears fall.

“Mama this is your grandson, James.”

Not long after you return home Dieter is called to do online press for a franchise he’s been signed on for. One that will keep him filming locally for the next couple of years. The interview is being streamed on Tiktok Live, much to your amusement as you watch from home, reclined with a sleeping James on your chest.

Dieter sits in one of the chairs, looking remarkably handsome as the interviewer asks him questions from those that pop up in the comment section. The viewers at home would never have known he’d been covered in baby puke only hours before.

“Mr. Bravo thank you so much for coming out.”

“My pleasure,” Dieter smiles. You sigh at how handsome he is just existing. Your eyes draw down to the comment section that pops up, many of them causing you to giggle to yourself as you read them.

He’s so fucking hotttt Hit my line, Daddy, plz SPIT IN MY MOUTH Is he wearing a wedding ring??? I love his hair SHUT UP HE’S SO HOT. I’M EATING DRYWALL I have thots

“There’s a lot of frenzy from the comment section,” the interviewer says, shaking her blonde hair from her face and reading some of them out loud.

“User3766 wants to know: will you be wearing the cape that others have donned in the past for the same character?”

“Nah, I’m not a cape guy,” Dieter says shaking his head. “They seem a bit overdone.”

“That seems to be the consensus online,” the woman says with a nod and warm smile.

“GlitterPonyz asks: Why did you choose to be in this franchise after famously telling the world that after Cliff Beasts you were done with franchises altogether?”

“Because the filming takes place mostly around California which means I get to be home to my wife and son most nights,” Dieter says with a crooked grin.

"So the rumors are true?" The interviewer asks.

"Yep," Dieter smiles with a slight blush to his cheeks. "She'd have been Mrs. Bravo a long time ago if she wasn't so damn stubborn."

At this he winks playfully at the camera before the interviewer dives into more questions. You can almost feel Diane rolling her eyes in frustration off-screen.

"Dieter!" You groan with a pained laugh at your phone.

So much for waiting to share the good news! At least your mother knew about this one before the rest of the world.

Jameson stirs slightly in your arms, still sleepy and warm after swimming with auntie Madga and Petra all morning in the pool. He smells like the coconut lotion you rubbed into his pudgy arms and face and you inhale, sighing.

You compose a text to Dieter.

[11:02am]:You said we were gonna keep it quiet! [11:02am]D: Couldn't help it. Wanted everyone to know you're all mine.

You send a photo of Jameson that you took earlier.

[11:03am]: He says he's worried he'll be fatherless once Diane gets through with you. [11:03am]D: Nah. She told me she understood. [11:03am]: Really? [11:04am]D:Yeah. Said that a child and a wife could only help my image.

You laugh to yourself. You take another photo, this one of you and the baby in frame, you smiling up at him.

[11:05am]: We miss you. Xo [11:05am]D: Can't wait till I get home to you both. Shouldn't be too much longer. Love you baby mama!!!!! [11:05am]: We'll be waiting for you, baby. Love you more Xo

Your mother comes in smiling and carrying a cup of lemonade for you.

"So he couldn't keep it a secret," your mom says with an affectionate shake of her head as you tell her about the video.

"Silly boy."

She says it with a mother's fondness.

She takes Jameson from you, citing that she needs some time with her grandson as if she doesn’t already see him three times a week when she visits. You don’t mind at all.

Most of your days are taken up with James. Baby classes, hiking, swimming and more. Your education isn't going anywhere, but time with your son at this age is fleeting. You like that there's not that pressure to perform anymore.

When you do return to your studies after Jameson’s’ first birthday it’s for your love of learning, not because of some pressure you’ve put on yourself. You do a course once a semester online, just to keep yourself sharp for when you decide you'll return full time.

On days when you really have to study Dieter takes Jameson out to the park or for ice cream and you can hear him whispering "Shhh we have to be quiet so Mama can study and get even smarter!"

When you’re not doing that, you’re on the board for Dieter’s charity funding medical procedures in developing worlds. Something you find yourself so passionate about and as Dieter commented you spend his money well.

Award shows still have you on edge. The screaming and the flashbulbs always have you gripping Dieter, but he is always there with a hand at the small of your back, never letting you go. Sometimes if Dieter has to film overseas and you miss him even after hanging up with him, you watch old interviews or old movies with him in it. You can’t help but giggle every time you see him. When you watch The Rogue Heiress you giggle and send him off a photo of you pointing at the screen and winking. His response is immediate.

[9:07am]D: Missing your favorite sausage?

“Bravo!” you say with a light chuckle.

“Bwavoh!" A tiny voice echoes behind you.

Your son comes toddling towards you, his large eyes full of mischief just like his dad. His hair is your color, but it’s got those wild waves like his father. No matter how much you brush it, it’s still impossible to keep looking tidy.

"No, no baby," you say gathering your son into your arms and giggling. "That's Papa. See him?"

Jameson nods and claps at the screen where a serious looking Dieter frowns at his colleague.

"Papa!"

Jameson is three when you and Dieter decide to renovate the main bedroom. Now that your Masters is done and your attention not as fixated on it you want something a little more ‘you’ in the space and Dieter is more than happy to oblige. He’d tear down the whole thing if you wanted to.

You’re both midway through pulling out things from the big closet when he hears your muffled shout from the back.

“What the fuck?"

Dieter looks up to see you laughing.

“Why do you have an old camcorder in here?"

"I used to use it for.... Adult sleepovers," Dieter tells you with a sly grin. "When we wanted to...immortalize the moment if you will."

"Oooo," you give him a flirty wink. "And when was the last memorable performance captured?"

Dieter squints his eyes as he folds a blanket, trying to recall. "Uh, some blonde guy I was seeing for a bit. Ryan something."

You're immediately taken back to the time you walked in on Dieter with the hot guy blonde man with his head between Dieter's legs.

"Was he blonde with facial hair by any chance?"

"Uh, yeah," Dieter looks at you curiously.

You feel your thighs clenching tightly together. Dieter doesn't miss this and a mischievous smile crosses his features.

"You wanna watch it, baby?"

"I mean, Jameson is at Grandma's all night" you say with a cheeky grin. "Why don't you go get this hooked up to the television while I pop some wine?"

"Sounds perfect."

“Oh my gosh we look so young!”

“It was only four years ago, Dieter.”

“Yeah, but look at my hair.”

“Ugh, look at mine.”

“I love it.”

Dieter pulls you tighter to him, practically onto his lap as you watch the two of you drunkenly move onscreen.

"My name is Dieter Bravo and this is my assistant," he slurs as he motions to your wobbling frame attempting to stand beside him. "And we're making this video because we're gonna make a baby together."

You tilt towards the camera, your eyes half closed.

"And I want it on-on-on record," you stutter. "That I'm getting three hundred thousand dollars for this baby he's putting inside me right now."

You point to your stomach as Dieter nods blearily.

"We're so fucking drunk," you say with a laugh as you and Dieter sip your wine. "It's a miracle we didn't pass out before we got to the bed."

"I'm half convinced you picked it up from the toilet seat at this point, Christ. Did I just fall?"

You look back just in time to see Dieter tripping over himself onto the ground before jumping back up as if nothing happened.

"Okay, let's make the baby now," Dieter says, taking your hand in his.

"Okay!" You nod, walking with him towards the bed a few steps away.

"Left the fucking camera on," you say with a roll of your eyes. "So dumb."

"Too excited to get to the good stuff to remember things like turning off cameras," Dieter grins, fingers trailing down your spine in the soothing way he knows you like.

When you see Dieter sit on the edge of the bed and pull you into his lap you can't help but flush.

When he grabs your face and drags your mouth to his you're shocked to see how easily your arms wrap around his neck. This is further compounded by the obvious sight of your tongue slipping into his mouth, causing you both to groan onscreen.

You and Dieter hold your breath as you watch the screen. Despite it being yourselves only a year ago it feels strangely voyeuristic to watch these two morons kiss sloppily on the bed.

Suddenly you pull back, cheeks flushed and panting.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah," Dieter nods, looking excited. "I love secrets. And I'm good at keeping them. No one knows that Hugh and Taron fucked the whole time on-"

Dieter pauses, looking concerned.

"Oops, wasn't supposed to say."

You're only half paying attention because apparently undoing your strappy shoes is a struggle at this point. Dieter sees this and flops to the ground, tugging at them. You glance down at him with a smile when he finally unravels both.

"Tada!"

You give an exaggerated clap at if what he's done is truly remarkable. Dieter shifts into the center of the bed.

"So what's the secret?"

"My secret is I have a crush on my boss," you say with a drunken giggle as you kick off your heels and crawl towards him.

"Really?"

"Yeah." You draw your face to his. "But don't tell him."

You situate yourself on his lap, hips rolling against his.

"Okay I won't," Dieter agrees, his mouth chasing yours before he suddenly stops, eyes wide. "Wait, I'm your boss!"

"Oh right," you say, pulling at your shirt and giggling.

"Well well well," Dieter says from beside you on the couch his mouth on your ear. "Looks like someone had a crush on their boss the whole time."

Your cheeks burn as your drunken self makes this proclamation. You can’t stop watching as the two of your younger selves continue on.

You struggle with your bra for several moments as Dieter tugs off his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

"Fuck you have nice tits," Dieter slurs as he leans back into the pillows.

"Yeah? I like em," you say proudly cupping them, running your fingertips over them until they're hard little buds. "Wanna touch em?"

"With my mouth."

"Okay."

“Still got nice tits,” Dieter says, hand slipping up your t-shirt. You sigh, leaning back against him and feeling as his palm cups your breast.

You keen onscreen, head tilted back as Dieter licks and sucks at your nipples before Dieter pulls his mouth from you.

"I like you," Dieter says almost shyly as you sit in his lap. He's holding you there, naked and waiting and instead of fucking you, he's looking into your face, utterly entranced. "I've liked you for a long time."

Your drunken self obviously isn't one for heartfelt remarks because as Dieter admits this, you have a mischievous look in your face.

" Do you touch yourself when you think of me?" You ask in a slur. It's not visible due to your positioning and the angle of the camera, but you can see that your hand goes to grip his cock and begin to stroke.

"Yeah," Dieter whimpers, eyes on your hand and then back to your face. "All the time."

You grin, your hand pumping him quickly. Dieter's face goes slack, eyes half closed as he leans back on his hands.

"Y-you gotta stop," Dieter grunts. "Or I'm gonna f-fuck, gonna come."

Your drunk self shrugs at this before you raise yourself up only to slide down his twitching length all the way until your cunt is nestled in the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. Immediately his arms are around you, holding you as your hips move against his.

You sigh, head lolling forward as Dieter whimpers.

"Wanted to fuck you for so long, Dieter."

Even in his drunken state, Dieter looks shocked at your murmured admission.

"Yeah?”

"Yeah," you nod, wrists on his shoulders. "Ever since I saw you with the blonde man... I just .. oh fuck, right there... Fuck... Ever since I saw you with him I couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to ride your cock."

"Fuck," Dieter groans, mouth kissing down your sternum. "You're riding it so well, baby."

"Wanted to bounce on it," you say breathlessly.

Dieter makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Fuck, bounce on it," Dieter all but begs, gazing up at you face. "Bounce on it for me now."

You do, sliding your feet to either side of his hips. You arch back, sliding up his glossy length before sinking down onto it. You do this several times and with each pass Dieters moans get louder. You tits jolt with every bounce.

You are not immune to Dieter's cock lengthening in his sweatpants under you.

"You're so fucking big," you groan, hips rutting against his.

"Keep talking," Dieter all but begs as he starts to fuck up into you. "Keep going, baby, I'm so fucking hard right now."

"Wanna do this all the time," you groan, arms behind your neck, stretching lazily above you, showcasing your body, your tits, your sensuality.

"Fuck, you do?" Dieter pants, his hand going to caress your ass as you roll your hips.

"Uh huh," you nod, your rhythm increasing as your arms go around his neck. "Wanna do this every night and then go out for pancakes."

"I love pancakes," Dieter enthuses. Your head moves towards his, eyes half open.

"So we'll get pancakes?"

"Yes, baby," Dieter promises, mouth finding yours.

You give a satisfied hum as his arms go around you and he gently maneuvers you onto your back. He holds your hands on either side of your head, fingers laced as he gently sinks into you.

He groans when he watches your head tilt back into the pillow, exposing your throat and your tits.

"Dieter, it’s so fucking good," you groan as your head tilts back, eyes closed. "How do you feel so fucking good?"

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmurs, eyes transfixed on your rolling breasts.

His hips drive into you now, but it's slow and tender. Your thighs flex slowly around his middle. You're soaked, practically dripping onto his sheets. Your eyes are open, glossy and gazing up into his face.

"Never knew it could feel this good," you murmur up at him.

"It doesn't usually," Dieter grins down at you. "You must have a magic pussy or something."

"Christ," Dieter mutters, holding a hand over his eyes in embarrassment.

You've been hiding your face in your hands, humiliated at everything showing up on the screen. But at Dieter’s admission you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Magic pussy, Dieter? Really?”

“I swear I’ve never used that term before.”

The two of you continue writhing slowly against one another on the screen for what feels like forever. The sounds of your kissing and your moans flooding the room.

"You close?" Dieter groans, tongue coming to lick your neck.

"Uh huh," you nod, your hips starting to rut against his in earnest. Dieter still holds your hands pinned to the mattress as he drives himself up into you, his movements still slow and measured.

"C'mon baby," he encourages. "I wanna feel it."

"Yes," you breathe, hips rolling against his. "Fuck yes, I-"

You've never watched yourself orgasm before. The sight isn't anything like porn. You don't make cute little faces or noises.

You arch almost violently, brows knitting together as you make a stuttering cry in the back of your throat. Dieter fucks you through it, eyes transfixed.

"Fuck baby, yes, just like that. Oh fuck, come for me."

You shudder around him, your voice cracked as you cry out his name. Dieter kisses his name from your lips before he begins to piston in and out of you, grunting your name before he too follows. His body shivers as he finally empties himself into you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, panting heavily and gazing into one another’s eyes. Then he dips his face to yours, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. He pulls slowly away from you, averting his eyes as you pull on your dress.

You roll onto your side, facing Dieter. Your arm goes around his neck, and to Dieter's obvious delight, you kiss him gently. Then you spin around, facing the camera once more with your eyes closed and a little smile on your face.

"Goodnight," Dieter says, pulling your back against him.

"Night," you reply back with a yawn, snuggling back into his embrace.

The two of you lay like this for a moment and Dieter raises the remote, about to turn the video off when you hear his voice on the recording.

"I hope we made a baby," Dieter murmurs, eyes closed.

You smile, hand going to cover Dieters at your waist.

"Me too."

The tape continues on with the two of you sleeping. After a minute Dieter turns it off and the two of you lapse into a thoughtful silence. You’re still in his lap and you tilt your head to face him, seeing his eyes damp.

Your heart hiccups at the realization that you both wanted each other long before you could even understand it. Your mouth finds his, and it’s not long before the moment is heated, his hand crawling up your shirt again.

"Fuck baby, I need you," Dieter groans, tugging your panties off. He stops for a moment, hand groping in his sweatpants pockets for a condom.

“Don’t,” you say, hand coming to rest over his. “Let’s do it without.”

You’ve been thinking about it for a few months now, surprising even yourself. You thought you’d never want to be pregnant again, but thoughts of a dark-eyed girl with a dimple in her cheek have been there in your dreams as of late.

“Really?”

“Thought we could do it properly this time,” you tell him with a soft kiss, arms around his broad shoulders. “Baby showers, Lamaze classes, being in love at the same time and all that.”

You wait for his decision, nibbling at your lower lip. Dieter beams, holding you tightly to him and marveling that you’re here, still as in love with him as he is with you. He kisses you sweetly, mouth curled into a smile.

“I mean it’s unconventional but I’d love to give it a shot.”

-------------------------------------

a/n: Thanks to everyone who loved Bubble as much as me.

One thing I do wanna address is that I wanna make it clear that women do not have to have children to be a family. You can be a family with just your partner. I also don't believe in shaming those who chose to remain childless (I'm the president of that club) or women that choose to have them (thank you! I love being an auntie!)

Okay, that's a wrap folks - onto my next tale!

-------------------------------------

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tarjapearce · 1 month

Text

Mi Dulce Cereza

Ranchero! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Synopsis: Revenge's path is never an easy feat. Not when love for the enemy and other feelings get in the way. Would it rise and come out as a victor? Or would it succumb to the sweetest of beings?

WARNING: Novela level drama, Toxic relationships, character introduction, mild and brief sexual tension, No use of YN, Family feud, scheming, disingenuous behaviors. No proofread

Summary: Miguel's revenge is set into motion.

A/N: Centuries later, here it is <3, hope you enjoy this new version! So nervous about this jskjs. Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 for the help <3

"Ma!"

The ten-year-old boy called, desperate as he searched and scourged the house he lived in, to eventually find her mother in his younger brother's room.

Ravenous and long curls adorned her back. Brown beautiful eyes stared with adoration at the little six-year-old boy, carefully tucked in her arms as she combed her child's wavy strands away from his innocent face.

"Ma!" the boy called a bit more urgent as he tugged on her skirt, earning him a hushed grunt from her.

"Gabriel está durmiendo, Miguel!" (Gabriel is sleeping)

"No, Ma! Debes venir a la entrada! Hay gente buscando a George!" (You gotta come to the door! There's people looking for George!)

Conchata quickly put Gabriel into his crib and darted to the entrance. Panic and bile rose in her insides.

The banging on the feeble and rusty metal doors alarmed Conchata the more she approached the main hacienda's door.

Much to her and Miguel's surprise a group of men, awaited outside. Dressed in the blue and white colors proper of a Santa Margarita's Town police officer.

Miguel's eyes wandered over the guns that nested on the men's hips as they rode their horses haughtily. But paid special attention to the man leading them.

Hardened and weathered face, partially obscured by his camel brown Stetson hat, dressed up sharply, letting his belt and the overall imposing aura to do the talk for him, same as his horse and everything that donned his body. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw Conchata.

"Miss Stone. I believe it's the third time I ask for you to leave" He acknowledged sternly.

A surname that made Miguel's churn in utter discomfort, but his mother always told him to give that name to strangers, since the O'Hara was only for the family. But even that one didn't sit right in his heart either. Not when the provider of such surname had been long gone from their lives, with no intention of returning.

And the men before his home were everything but familiar, strangers at best. Invaders. Trespassers with a penchant for intimidation as they were all armed to the teeth.

"The hell you want?!" Conchata crossed her arms and returned the steely glare the handsome and powerful man gave her.

His mother's bravado was certainly something Miguel could look up, despite the woman not being her best title of mother with him. But her bravery made him courageous.

"For you to leave my property."

"What are you talking about?! This is not your property, Anderton!"

A man like Pastor William was hard to ignore, not when power and influences oozed from him by merely existing.

"It is. You're living in Edenton's. Half the area is mine now."

"I have my property papers! This is outright ridiculous!" Conchata huffed as she sent Miguel to to get them.

"My lawyer is here. So we can have this settled once for all."

"There is nothing to settle!, I told your people I wouldn't sell my home and now you're acting far from someone that believes in God to get it!, maldita rata!" (fucking rat)

William narrowed his eyes at the last words that spilled with venom from Conchata's plump lips. He wasn't a man to give easily into anger, but his patience wasn't something to be tested either.

He had bought a good chunk of Edenton's territory and much to Conchata's dismay her home was right in the middle of said property.

The boy wasted no time into retrieving her mother's proofs of ownership as she opened the door to see the man that ground her nerves in seconds. Face to face.

And when the policeman and lawyer took a brief look at them, they could only snort in derision upon reading them.

"Not only are they outdated, but the important signatures are missing. This is fake."

Conchata paled, and she clutched her chest. Her heart pounded so hard she had to grab Miguel's lanky arm to support herself. Everything was slowly falling apart.

"Ma?"

Her boy looked up at her, concern plastered over his young yet understanding face

"T-That cannot be! George left it all arranged before leaving!"

"He didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

William gave the papers to his lawyer as he climbed off the horse and Conchata immediately tried to get them back, but tore them im the process

"No! No! That's not true! My papers " She shrieked and the police officer intervened as soon as she tried to go for Anderton's lawyer.

"Stop! " Miguel was held back after kicking the officer's shin.

Conchata freed herself from the guard's grip, only to deliver a hard slap on William's face.

"La vas a pagar caro cabrón! A mi nadie me sacará de mi casa!" (You'll pay for this. None kicks me out of my home!)

The officers held Conchata back and Miguel, since the boy attempted to defend the remnants of his mother's dignity. But there was little they could do.

Conchata's land was prosperous, and so far it provided a good income to live rather peacefully and away from the rest. Until now.

William was rather strict and apprehensive about his properties. He owed half the town, and for Conchata to live there, right in the spot he wanted to build his home for his new family, rendered nothing but a black and ugly spot to his future dream.

Buthe would erase it. And if he needed to get over the law, to get it, he would. Influences had their perks. And these worked to his favor without a hitch.

"I'll give you three days for you to pack it up 'n leave."

"Three days?! Where am I going to find a place to live? My children... I can't leave-"

"I'm sure the local shelters will take you in gladly. Be grateful I got you time."

William seethed with his usual calm, sending shivers down Miguel's spine, as the boy held onto his mother's skirt.

The men turned around in their horses and soon began galloping away, but William got up on the beast back, remaining high and proud. Looking down at him.

For a man to make Conchata to clutch and hold on to him so protectively, meant she had no power at all. That she had been defeated. Something his childish brain thought impossible.

It reminded him the ways she sometimes protected him and Gabriel from George in his usual drunk fits.

That day, Pastor William Anderton remained forever engraved in Miguel's core memories and in his heart's growing rage.

Resentment wasn't often a feeling a boy so young like him should experience. But there he was, memorizing every dip, pore and soft wrinkle from the man's features so his heart and mind wouldn't forget him.

So he wouldn't forget who had been the monster that forced his family to leave and abandon everything he had known so far.

Miguel O'Hara had no longer a home.

But if there was something William had forgotten, was to never scorn a woman. Much less one with a fiery temper and a heart full of fresh wounds.

He had doused her wounded heart in salt, rubbed with it and then tossed it to the fire. To let it break and burn to ashes.

William hadn't shown mercy, despite the word coming from his mouth every Sunday in his church as part of his speech to the masses.

But Conchata's mind was already turning and plotting.

----

Miguel's upbringing was everything but easy, but that didn't stop him from achieving whatever goals he proposed.

Shelters and rental homes were left behind, and soon he earned a scholarship into a college, earning him a degree and masters in agronomy and large-scale management.

Gabriel in the meantime helped Conchata around the house. Having little side hustles for himself.

But as he grew up, so did his hatred for the Andertons. It didn't help that Conchata threw more dry hatred bones to the vengeful fire with her bitter tells. She always boasted on whatever little thing the Andertons did with spite and hatred in her heart.

William's face remained intact in Miguel's brain. Ever hardened and cruel, impassive to anyone else's suffering. Indifferent to his mother's pleas.

The day they left everything they knew, scarred him to this very day. Miguel sworn to one day, he'd owe his own estate, full of everything he always wanted.

He wouldn't have to sojourn through shelters and temporary homes ever again, having a hard time sleeping because of his mother's safety. He wouldn't have to look down in fear and shame when people that breathed and exhaled money, talked to him.

He wouldn't have to see his mother, shitty as she was sometimes, breaking down for not having for the most basic of needs. And he definitely wouldn't let himself to be trampled all over again by anyone. Not rich, nor poor.

Now, with a master's degree in his pocket, a new project rose in his mind. Train and rehab horses professionally. An emerging and blooming business within Santa Margarita.

Everything out of hearing that William entered a new venture. Purebred horses.

Of course a man like him had to be in the mouth of every people in town.

William ran the biggest church in the city, had multiple successful and clean business thanks to his estate, Cherryville. And now, the horses.

A novelty in town. He'd often see through the newspaper images of William and his wife, Rosaura, telling how wonderful and valuable they were for the community, and how much their philanthropic tendencies helped those in need. The man was rotting money after all.

Oh, the irony. Miguel sometimes wondered if William did it out of genuine vocation, cause he had to give the man some credit for keeping a saint facade in front of the rest for so long. He was doing it go hard or go home.

If people only knew the scum he is.

If everyone truly knew who Pastor William J. Anderton was, none would spare him a glance. None would look at his way twice to spare him some kind words. Everyone would shun him and mark him a fraud. His world would collapse. Something Miguel needed to achieve.

The purebred training horse's business opened his contact list, and with his smarts and the follow of his intuition, it took him a couple of years to get him in the map of those that were in dire need of help and could afford it.

Cause if he could exploit the rich, he wouldn't waste the chance of earning good money. Not when his personal estate was under construction and renovations, away in it's own heaven, outside Santa Margarita.

He stopped introducing himself as Miguel Stone long ago. He didn't want anything to do with that surname that stirred nothing but hatred and suffocating anger, towards the man that harmed his little and already broken family even more. And the O'Hara had earned him a bit of reputation.

A credible and respectful renown to meet people that gave him the chance to not only learn from the best horse trainers, but gave him the chance to apply everything he knew. Adding even more value to his resume.

Gabriel also graduated college, following Miguel's steps. Although the latter was more inclined to production than management. He was a more practical man than the over thinker of his brother.

Together they made a phenomenal duo, but when separated, months could pass before they saw eachother again.

But with Miguel's plan running, Gabriel promised him to remain close and available as possible to see it through.

In fact, William sought him out himself to ask him if he could train his horses and took full on responsibility of his farm.

-----

He was ready to set his plan into motion. None other than his number one enemy had hired him.

Miguel's body buzzed with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Being the best to get hired was scratched off his list.

Soon all the hatred festering in his heart to the man that destroyed his childhood and family, would come to fruition. But there was a remaining distraction.

Dana.

"Remind me again, why are you going to a farm to be exploited and mistreated by rich people?"

The soft voice behind him echoed in his room. Miguel sat naked on the bed, as the short-haired brunette with blue eyes hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek and neck.

"Gotta make it as believable as possible if I want to expose the Andertons."

Dana just hummed, seeing him so determined and focused into getting this family feud, settled once and for all, amused her to no end.

Dana rolled her eyes while resting her chin on his sharp and well worked shoulder, "But no need to be so serious."

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes and stand up, reaching his underwear in tandem.

"Don't be cold, Miggy. I just wanna see you again, once you're victorious, so we can keep celebrating"

Miguel chuckled with derision as he took a towel and wrapped it up loosely against his waist.

"I'm good, thanks. And there's no we in this."

"Are you sure? I mean, I spread word around on you and look at you now. The best trainer. I'd say I'm also part of this too"

Her voice irked sometimes whenever it got like this. Sickly sweet and full of lies. Even more when she purred nothing but half truths.

In truth, he had met Dana for the past six months, all thanks to Gabriel that suggested her as a contact link to those he wanted to get at. Filthy and obscenely rich people that needed someone to help them out with their properties as soon as possible, to salvage them out of sentimentalism.

Even though the initial chemistry was undeniable, it had worn out thanks to her insufferable and possessive attitude. And no matter how many times he'd tell her a plain and outright No, she kept insisting. She was the one that always returned and always ended up in his bed.

"Yeah, no. Look, I don't want you snooping around. And I mean it."

The only that believed that they were something. Sure, Dana served his purpose to keep those physical urges away, but other than that, there was nothing substantial about her he could say he was attracted to, besides her contacts.

Dana's hands tried to reach him, but Miguel stepped away from her touch, recoiling with haste and heading for the shower.

"If you ruin this for me, I swear, We'll have problems."

More than they already did? Impossible.

Dana just laughed, "Don't be mean, you gotta reward me one way or another for your clientele."

"Dios mio... Con qué loca me vine a enredar" (My God, what a crazy woman I came to get involved with)

He mumbled while stepping into the shower.

"I'll see you soon, baby." Her giggles had his eyes rolling with annoyance and his shoulders squaring.

He'd leave in a couple of hours, to start what his whole self had been preparing for years. Soon the Andertons would know him.

----

Returning to the place he grew up had his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, tighter than a hair's tangle.

The once colorless and rusty metal doors he loved to slam with his soccer ball while playing with Gabriel, were now turned into sturdy, iron structures that moved automatically. Sliding to the side to let him in as soon as he reported himself through the camera's speaker.

A Stony L-shaped wall held a metallic letters into another metallic structure. Cherryville Ranch.

He had arrived and his heart beat at the uncomfortable sensation of seeing his home destroyed and turned into a colonial-like resort.

Where there was a modest yet firm built, one floored home, was now a two floored manor that extended left to right. A vibrant sunset orange dressed the walls of the structure, adding enough color to the place sumptuous grandeur.

The staff ran up and down, bustling and moving like busy ants through the anthill, obeying the queen. Or rather monarchs.

His black Chevrolet Silverado parked outside, following the instructions of a man that gave him the ok with a good smile.

He had arrived ten minutes earlier, just in case. Miguel stepped out and put on his hat.

A black and brown flannel dressed up his torso snugly, a pair of jeans that did a wonderful job into containing his well worked legs, the belt just hugged his narrow waist, accentuating his sculpted physique.

The man offered his help with his suitcase, but Miguel refused with a polite smile.

"Keep going straight and you'll get to Mr. Anderton's office. It's the only brown door in this floor."

Strong hands clenched at the name of his enemy.

"Thanks."

Miguel had to take a moment to breathe in and take his surroundings.

Everything he remembered from his childhood, gone. His heart felt mike coming home to a stranger's home. Foraying in someone else's territory.

A someone that obliterated every single bit of his childhood, every piece of memory he created with Gabriel, forever gone and buried.

Replaced with over the top decors, a fake sense of coziness, hidden lies embedded in the sunset like sturdy walls, and people he once strived to be like. All now trespassers and inconnus.

Conchata always fed his brain into believing greater things, alway encouraged him to keep the hatred alive.

Would she be proud to see how far on his plan had he gotten? Probably. Even if she was busy with her new boyfriend that provided everything.

Some women shushed and spilled their gasp as he passed, leaving his presence alone to do the talk for him regarding the effect he had on women.

But this land, his once forgotten and forlorn home, would be his again.

With steadfast steps, he ventured in the enemy's territory, passing rooms and people that unavoidably watched him with brief curiosity.

But all those hubristic thoughts sapped away as soon as his eyes came in contact with the door.

A thrilled and anxious chill ran down his spine upon hearing the terse voice of his sworn foe, giving orders to someone in particular. Miguel's throat felt arid.

His heart thumped a miles per second, his breath paced into a more agitated pace and his eyes kept blinking, readying themselves to face his nemesis.

"Come in."

He obeyed and his nose flared, releasing a shaky exhale when seeing William. Same weather and cold face, the only difference was him looking a bit more rugged and his white hairs even more prominent.

It was as if time had barely passed over him.

It took every single cell and fibre of his body to control the urge to punch him in the face. But the satisfaction of having the reversed roles for a moment brought satisfaction like no other.

This time William had to crane up his head to see him, and a chill ran down his spine when meeting Miguel's red-ish brown eyes. Piercing and judging with all the intention of doing so, as if the very man before him knew his deepest secrets.

The door shut with a quiet click and Miguel stepped closer.

"Mr. O'Hara." William stood to meet him with a brief and firm handshake.

"Sir."

William nodded with a brief smile and gestured for him to sit before him.

"Must say what people say about you, do you justice."

"Good things I hope."

"Now. The property you'll be in charge is in a bit of a mishap, I've barely had the time to fix it-"

"S'alright. It's part of the barn you said?"

"Indeed. Your functions are detailed in the contract, payment is every fortnight, unless you'd like to choose another type of payment time."

"Fortnight is alright."

William pushed the contract to Miguel, and this wasted no time in reading it and taking a picture of each page.

"Any doubts you, can call me and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Miguel signed and pushed the paper back to him. William put it on a folder and then put it on a file. He turned off his computer, and lead the way towards the stables.

"I've tried everything, and nothing works. People have told me to sacrifice the horse, but I can't do that."

Miguel wandered after William through the never ending halls of the estate, there was nothing left of his home. Not even the built in stone oven, where he'd watch Conchata prepare dinner and he'd help out with the tortillas.

Now full of modern equipment and full of people cooking different things he couldn't name.

Miguel had to admit that the stables were his favorite part from the whole dollhouse. William knew no concept of budget. But that was alright, cause every horse in it was worth every single penny and had turned it into a lovely stable aisle.

Each horse had its own fortified enclosure, well kept and clean. There were no bad odors, dirt, mud. None of that. Matter of fact, his eyes blinked when seeing some horses having a swim in a giant custom made pool.

Everything in Cherryville oozed with power and money.

Having revenge and interacting with horses he only dreamed of while getting paid, felt the ultimate fantasy came true.

The angry neigh of a horse snapped him out of his thoughts. The black Friesian stallion kicked and nipped another brown horse nearby. The caretakers immediately separated them both.

William sighed deeply and defeated. And Miguel approached to inspect the brown mustang horse.

"That's Joaquín. The black one is Agustín."

Miguel quirked his brow at the name choices but was glad to have something he was familiar with.

Miguel chuckled and nodded

"Do you know spanish, Mr. Anderton?"

"The amount enough to understand when my wife is angry."

"I see."

As much as he wanted to let out an array of insults here and there to test his words, he'd keep his sharp tongue for himself.

"You can start tomorrow, I'll let you get installed. The barn is in good conditions to suit your needs. If anything is missing, ask any of the helpers around."

With a final and firm handshake, William left.

Miguel gave himself a tour. He wanted to familiarize with the property as much as he could. He didn't like to rely on others for the simplest of task.

Even his way to the barn had been paved and well lighted. No longer being the muddy a d dark road he loved to splash his feet in, even if that meant to have his ear pulled by Conchata later.

The barn, like the rest, took his breath away. It looked like a house for himself.

He wasted no time into admiring the work, and effort put into it. The tack room was sure a thing, but his bedroom and office were even better conditioned. It was a place worth of his skills and knowledge.

Miguel begun unpacking and installing himself. From his window he could see yet another extension of property, Bodegas and the staff living quarters he supposed.

One thing he had forgotten about the place were the torrential rains that always seeped in. Sometimes the blackouts were so common he'd rather be candle lit.

And another entrance to the whole facility adjacent a couple of blocks from his barn.

---

He had finished his shower after spending his evening trying to get acquainted with Agustín and the rest of his crew. Overall and so far it seemed the perfect place to work, but also a challenge.

Thunders roared outside and rain kept flogging every surface it could, permeating to the core. He was ready to make his bed and call Gabriel when the lights were out.

A loud whir echoed through, before the lights returned, the generator wasted to time into working.

What alerted him was the main entrance opening and closing shut.

Had a worker slipped in?

Another blackout happened as he approached to the door only to find a soaked and gorgeous woman shivering on the entrance.

"Ma'am?"

----

Your friends had promised to be a casual party among the singletons in town, nothing more, nothing less. But time and drinks kept going, like the fun.

Until you had enough. As an Anderton you had a reputation to keep, but you were glad your friends made you feel a normal woman, free of keen and expecting eyes and societal etiquettes.

Free of the overbearing role model you had to be for being the Pastor's daughter.

But right now all you cared for was to get inside the barn to give your body a rest from the cold.

The once lovely dress you wore was now hugging you with a vice like grip, suffocating your curves like a second skin. The red and short cardigan around your shoulders did little to nothing to protect you from the unforgiving rain. Hair stuck to your shivering face, teeth clattered as you looked through the window. The rain had no intention to stop.

Your hands removed the cardigan, then tossed the clothing piece to the floor, as you rubbed some heat back.

"Ma'am?"

The rich and deep voice got you jumping in your spot.

"Oh, my god... I'm-" You swallowed when seeing the handsome man before you, dressed up in nothing but his grey sweatpants and some slippers. A towel hung loosely on one of his shoulders.

His brow quirked as his face remained serene.

"I-I'm sorry didn't know the barn was occupied."

You kept rubbing your arms, hoping for the rain to drop. A loud thunder made you recoil from the door, while the drip drops scurrying off your body rolled down to the floor, joining into a puddle beneath your red heeled sandals.

If it wasn't for your hair sticking on your cheeks, the man would definitely see the profuse blush emerging on them. Shirtless men weren't in your everyday occurrence, much less handsome and tall men with beautiful eyes that seized your soul.

A smirk came on Miguel's face, as he retrieved another towel from the bathroom and he approached.

"I got installed today, it's ok."

He gave you the towel, and you took with a grateful smile. Immediately pat drying your face, neck and arms.

He watched you with sharp eyes, following your hand's movement as he slicked back his hair.

You were gorgeous. And drenched to the bones. That little dress did little to keep his eyes wandering to your thighs, marveling at the soft and plumpness of them. He had to look away as soon as his eyes stopped on your chest. The outline of your nipples poking out the dress, gave him enough distraction for a moment.

You didn't look past twenties.

"Uhm..." Your sweet and stammering voice made him curious.

Such a polite girl.

"Yes?"

"Can I use the barn's phone, please?"

He shook his head softly and opened his office. Letting the door open for you to enter.

"Of course."

"Sorry for the floor."

Your arms crossed on your chest, giving him a glimpse of your cleavage. Then fetched the phone, the number however made him frown as it was William's personal contact number.

"Hello? Papa? Can you send someone to the barn with an umbrella, please?"

Papa

Miguel blinked as he stared your way from the door frame. This was even better than he anticipated.

He was so deep in his scheming that forgot William's family. So far he knew, the Anderton man had only one child. And he was now looking at said person.

He could see some bits of William in you, specially in your nose and cheekbones. The rest was your mother's doing.

And what a good job they've made.

"I know, I'm sorry. Got too caught up in the party."

Miguel luck couldn't truly get any better. He could even taste his revenge through his mouth. It was sweet as your perfume.

"Thanks. Love you!"

You hung up the call and smiled his way.

"Thank you. Mr...?"

"O'Hara. Miguel O'Hara."

You gave him your name with a sweet smile as he shook your hand amiably.

"Right. So you're the new trainer?"

His lax frame slanted against the doorframe, blocking your way from the entrance with his form. His eyes fixed you with an enigmatic smirk.

Your nervousness was making your mind a jumbled mess by simply being around him. Half-naked men and men were off the list. Mainly because your parents' strict beliefs. And the man that would get you, would be your future husband. Without discussion.

"I am. Yes. Quite impressive the settlement you've got."

"Ah, well. Dad takes seriously his businesses, and he needs all the help he can get. So thank you for coming."

"My pleasure to help, señorita."

His lip curled, almost imperceptible upon your flustered reaction. Your skin remained with goosebumps.

"Come. Let's get you warmed up."

You followed him to the fireplace and soon he got another towel since the one you had was soaked through.

You sat in front of the fireplace and he draped your shoulders with the dry and cozy towel to then sit across you.

"Thanks" You gulped and extended your hands towards the fire, gaining a much needed wave of heat.

He couldn't wait for you to leave and call Gabriel to tell him everything he had seen so far. Everything was beyond perfect, like if the universe itself had delivered his revenge on a silver platter.

A couple of minutes passed before a familiar voice to you echoed from outside the barn.

"Mi niña! Let's go!"

The ever familiar voice of your nana called, and you stood.

"Thanks for the help, Miguel."

"Anytime, señorita."

He nodded with a softened smile, that didn't reach his eyes and watched you leave.

"See you soon!" You waved and headed back to the main doors. Your heels clicking on the floor.

"Vicky!" you squeezed under the umbrella after your nana secured the towel.

You wanted to give Miguel a last thanking but the latter had already closed the door. You left to the manor.

Miguel rushed to fetch his phone and immediately called Gabriel. He picked up after the third ringing.

Miguel talked and rambled about everything he had seen, and Gabriel could only listen. Expectant.

"Lemme get some months in and then you can come. That way we gather more evidence."

"What about that woman? Anderton's daughter."

He sighed with a dreamy heave.

"She looks the type that's perfect for luring."

"Use her to your advantage. Hit em right where it hurts."

"I'll do it. Don't worry. She's too kind and sweet. Won't see it coming."

With this new piece of information, Miguel could do so many things. But his goal was clear.

He'd hit William right where he dared hit Conchata a long time ago.

He'd go after you. And if that meant to act like he adored you, then so be it.

His revenge was finally in motion.

----

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #ranchero! miguel #mi dulce cereza

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lilith-91 · 1 month

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My favorite Aang's quotes! :)

"When we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change".

"It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive."

"I would rather kiss you than die! Thats a compliment!"

"If I try, I fail. But if I don't try, I'm never gonna get it."

“The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.”

"You know Zuko, I don’t care what everyone else says about you. You’re pretty smart :D"

"Baby, you are my forever girl"

"Roku, it's that girl who didn't even know you were alive"

"Gee, i'd love to help, but i'm supposed to be boiled in oil."

"I wasn't there when the fire nation attacked my people. I am gonna make it different now."

"So... pApAyA"

“Why would I choose cosmic energy over Katara??”

“Is that all you got? Man, they’ll make anyone an admiral these days”

“I KNEW I shouldn’t have asked Kyoshi”

“If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends too?”

"I gotta say sokka, you continue to impress me with your ideas"

Aaaannnnd

"Don't worry about them, it's just you and me right now."

\~ Rizzatar Aang and flirt character development :)

#avatar the last airbender #atla #aang #katara #sokka #zuko #serious quotes #sassy quotes #and flirt quotes #:)#i love him #kataang

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skylarsblue · 2 months

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★RDR2 Incorrect Quotes★

(If you see duplicates from my COD version of these? Shh, no you didn't) ★Border made by @fairytopea★

Ms.Grimshaw What are you doing, you oaf? Young!Arthur, staring at Y/N: They’re pretty. Ms.Grimshaw …and you’re ugly, now get back to work.

- (Pre-joining the gang) Abigail, trying to get paid: What’s your favorite color, John? John: Blue. No, green. Abigail: Awesome! I love learning about you. John: I fucked up, it’s yellow.

- Arthur, cutting a huge knot out of John’s hair: I fucked up, we gotta go bald. *head locks him still* Young!John, flailing violently: WAAAAAHHHH-

Seán: Psst, Lenny, ay mate, wake up! Lenny: Huh- Wh-what? What is it? Seán: I heard something outside the tent. Lenny: What? Seán: Like a woman crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear her footsteps. Lenny: Okay?? What do you want me to do? Seán: Come look with me! Lenny: Hell no! Seán: Why not? Lenny: I got too much melanin and too much sense for that white people shit. You wanna let demons get you, be my guest, leave me out of it.

- (John HAD to have SOMETHING that captivated her, for humor’s sake? We’ll say he had jokes)

Abigail: You have to find my darling husband, I’m so worried about him. Arthur: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? Abigail: He makes me laugh.

- Micha: I've got the urge to say something. Arthur: And what's that? Micha: The N-Word- Arthur: WHOA-

- Bill: But seriously, is it your whole emo thing that she’s into or what? John: …yeah, long flowing straight hair, very emo.

- Karen: This- Hmm. Tilly: Be nice. Karen: I’m findin’ it. Mary-Beth: …it takes you that long to find- Karen: It does, it does.

- (O’Driscoll troubles) Kieran: Arthur we’re going to get murdered. We’re going to get murdered by a man who can’t tie a fucking bow tie. Arthur: At least he won’t torture us, can’t tie a rope either.

- John: Ugh, you know they’re gonna make us do one of those tacky family happiness photos that comes in the restaurants shitty frame. Tilly: Why are you so fucking negative all the time? John: Wh- uh- I just- Arthur: *slowly sucks tea through straw*

- Seán: Someone just said; “You’re a criminal!” Seán: *handkerchief on, gun in one hand, bag of money in the other* Seán: Well I’ll tell ya what, Sherlock Holmes. You are unbelievable.

- The Gang: Arthur is dying and Micha is a rat! Dutch, dancing with money: *insert that audio that goes “I don’t give a fuck cause I’m a ✨millionaire✨, I do what I want, middle finger in the air!”*

- John, drunk: You think the wind is ever tryna tell us something and we don’t know how to hear it anymore? Charles, loading up a drunk Arthur into a wagon: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

- Abigail: If we lose, I’m gonna cut the judge. John: Wh- you brought your switchblade?? Abigail: Mhm. John: But they patted us down on the way in, where did you hide i- ohhhhhhh.

- Arthur: …you ever wish you could just, turn into a bird and fly away from everything? Charles: I think we need to get you to a therapist for depression. John: I’d wanna be a wolf. Charles: And we should get you psych evaluation for Autism.

- Sheriff: You seem like a reasonable and good natured person. Arthur: *looks around* And you look like you need glasses.

- Abigail: What would your father say?! Jack: Uhhh “I’ll fix it!” And then make it worse until luck comes around and makes it work, and then act like that was the plan the whole time? Abigail: …that’s my bad, I should’ve used a different phrase to express my disappointment.

- (I dunno why but John being super mean to some people is so fucking funny to me. I don't hate Bill, but bullying him is fun)

Bill: You enjoyin’ the wife everyone else paid to have? John: You mean the woman I never had to pay for? The woman who liked me so much, she didn’t ask for any money to sleep with me? In fact; she liked me so much, she married me? The woman who makes me a warm dinner and kisses me everyday? Mother of my child? John: I am enjoyin’ yeah. What about you, Bill? Bill: John: You enjoyin’ your lonely life, you unlovable sorry sack of shit? You enjoyin’ having to pay for someone to pretend they like you? Cause they never actually do. They hate you actually, like me. I hate you. Eat shit and die, Bill.

- Arthur: …him? Really? Mary-Beth Don’t be mean! Arthur: He looks like a rescue dog, Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth: I know, I like that! Arthur: ….you like that?? Mary-Beth: His pathetic wet eyes and general wimpy stature have captivated me. Arthur: *sigh* Whatever makes you happy.

- Bill: At the end of the day, Arthur. I am a MAN. Arthur: A MAN WHO’S GAY. You like fellers GETTHATTHROUGHYOURHEAD!

- Dutch: I have a plan. Hosea: You haven’t planned shit. Dutch: I’ve planned it.

- Hosea: Arthur! What on earth are you doing?! Young!Arthur: Getting rid of this demon. Young!John: *screeching and trying to get out of Arthur’s grip* Hosea: And why do you plan to get rid of him? Arthur: Because, Hosea! He woke me up by leaning over me and whispering, “I know what death feels like, it’s cold. Have you felt death?” Arthur: HE’S CLEARLY EVIL, HOSEA Hosea: That’s just how children are, Arthur. Dutch: He’s right son, put the boy down. Dutch, leaning and whispering to Hosea: But maybe we should buy a Bible just in case. Hosea: And a cross.

- (Modern au and suicide joke)

John: It’s not a phase! It’s a lifestyle, you just wouldn’t get it! Arthur: You think I didn’t go through the “I can’t tell if I want to kill myself or everyone around me” phase? Come on. John: What? I don’t wanna kill myself at all. Arthur: … John: … John: Should I- should we go talk to Hose- Arthur: We should forget this conversation happened. Take this Nirvana CD and keep your mouth shut.

- Abigail: …John. John: Yes, my angel? Abigail: You forgot something. John: No I didn’t! I took the list with me, checked it three times, even crossed things off when I put it in the cart! See, look. Apples, frozen hamhocks, cranberry juice- Abigail: John. You took Jack with you. John: Abigail: John: Abigail: John: SHIT I LEFT HIM BY THE PASTA SECTION Abigail: STOP STANDING THERE AND GO GET HIM!

- Jack: Pa, how did you get mom to marry you? John: Well son, I- John: John: I have no idea. Jack: Should I ask mom? John: I’ll be honest, I don’t think she knows the answer either.

- Charles: You did good back there. Arthur: Oh? Heh, nah, you did all the fancy stuff. I just helped. Charles: Don’t undersell yourself, Arthur. I wouldn’t be complimenting you for no reason. Arthur: Oh yeah? And here I thought you were just trying to fluff up my ego. Charles: Wouldn’t hurt to do when you work so hard, no? Arthur: Now you’re just being’ sweet- John: Can y’all wait til we’re done before you start your spiritual dick sucking? Arthur: Can you repent to the lord fast enough to save your soul in the time it’ll take me to throw you into the damn ocean, Marston?!

- Arthur: Do you even have a brain? John: Do you even have someone that loves you? Arthur: John: John: I heard it that time, I’m sorry. Arthur: This is what Abigail hears sometimes, just so you know. John: I heard it that time, I got it. I- I’ll just- Arthur: Whiskey, full bottle. The nice kind. John: Apology alcohol, got it.

NPC: My husband’s parents are so crazy. In-laws always are, huh? Abigail: Well, uh-

*John being an orphan* *John’s adoptive dads being criminals, one particularly off his rocker*

Abigail: ….aha, yeah;;

- Abigail: John Marston, you useless, foolish, stupid man! Bill: To hell with John! Abigail, suddenly with a very large gun: NO ONE INSULTS MY HUSBAND.

- Arthur, holding up a proper painting he actually put time and effort into: Could a depressed person make this? Charles: The painting: *a wolf in the rain laying it’s head over the body of a deer shot with an arrow* Charles: I’m, in fact, more convinced you have depression now. Arthur: …yeah this wasn’t the best evidence for my argument, huh? Charles: No. Not at all.

- John: What are you talking about? That’s completely normal, it’s like having opinions. just cause it doesn’t happen to you doesn’t mean- Tilly: No, John! No. It’s not normal to have that reaction to the sound of hearing metal on metal. John: No look, uh- Arthur! Arthur come here! Arthur: What now? John: What happens when you hear metal on metal? Like, a can bein’ rubbed with a knife. Arthur: Ugh, I hate that sound. It makes my damn skin crawl, like I got beetles underneath. Makes me wanna skin myself to get’em out. John: Right! See, Tilly? It’s not just me! Tilly: ????

Charles: …and you never got them evaluated? Hosea: In hindsight, an autistic diagnosis probably would’ve made more things make sense. But, what can ya do.

- Arthur after a dog didn’t positively react to him: Maybe this is my final straw. Charles: No. Arthur: It might be. Charles: It’s one dog. There are twenty that you stopped to pet along the way here, plenty more for you to pet after this. Arthur: You don’t understand, this is devastatin’. Charles: Arthur, please- Arthur: Utterly devastatin’, Charles.

- Arthur, tipsy: Just cause you’re gorgeous don’t mean I’ma do whatever you say. Charles: Drink the water, Arthur. Arthur: *grabs the glass* Yes, sir.

- (Got a Y/N one, also, modern Au)

Arthur: That’s the Aberdeen farm. Y/N: …what’s wrong with it? Arthur: What’cha mean? Y/N: The vibes, they’re off. Arthur: …the…vibes? Y/N: The energy, Mister Morgan. The vibe of the place. They’re off, they’re weird, wack even. I sense insidious and wretched wavelengths wafting from the aura of that property. Arthur: I see…well, to answer your question, it’s cause they are weird. And I ain’t even confirmed why cause I don’t really wanna know. Y/N: I see you can also sense the vibes are rank. Arthur: …sure, whatever that means.

- Micha: Well I think- Y/N: Well I’m certain no one fucking asked, Micha! Not a single damn person asked what the hell you thought, ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t think. I’m pretty sure your skull fills with all the bullshit in your organs, and it just spills out your mouth! Micha: Micha: I- Y/N: Shut up, Micha!

- Arthur, after Albert explains some super dangerous plan in order to get wild animals near him to photograph: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

- Y/N: Bye Arthur, bye Karen, bye Hosea, bye Arthur. Sadie: You said ‘bye Arthur’ twice. Y/N: I like Arthur.

- NPC: Lovebirds, eh? Sadie: Arthur: Sadie: I’d rather eat a poison ivy plant with Holly Berries for dressing. *looks at Arthur* No offense. Arthur: No no, none taken. All things considered, I’d rather dive into a pit of tar and then drag myself face first through a plain of rotten chitlins. Sadie: Completely fair!

- Bill: I need you to realize you ain’t in charge here. Y/N: I need you to realize I don’t give a shit.

- Arthur: Hey Charles, uh, I got an Uhm…a spiritual question. Charles: Any particular reason you chose to ask me? Arthur: Uh well- I didn’t mean for it to be like that- I just- Charles: *sigh* What is it? Arthur: Do you know what it means when an elk stands up on its back legs? Charles: That means- Charles: WE SHOULD LEAVE, we need to leave, that’s what that means!

- Jack: …why are your boobs so big? Charles: They’re not boobs. Jack: Do you have to wear a brasier? Charles: *sigh* Arthur: He asked me the same thing a couple weeks ago, don’t think to hard bout it.

(Story spoilers!!) Y/N: I'm sorry, let me get this straight. Y/N: You picked up that man when he was a destitute child, grieving and starving. Taught him almost everything he knows. Y/N: Then, you did that with, what? Three others? In similar circumstances? Y/N: Created a sense of family and community, a strong bond between so many misfortuned people. With your trustworthy long term friend by your side. Y/N: And then. Y/N: One RAT. WHO IS OPENLY ANTAGONISTIC AND REEKS OF SUSPICION AS MUCH AS HE DOES HORSE SHIT, SOMEHOW CONVINCES YOU TO GO OFF YOUR ROCKER AND HARM YOUR GANG?! Y/N: Explain! Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: He praised me- Y/N: YOUR PRAISE KINK GOT YOU TO AIM A GUN AT YOUR SONS????

- Arthur: Naaah they’re an angel. Lenny: They punched Bill in the face. Seán: They told Strauss he was a waste of human material, in his own language, which they’re not fluent in. Mary-Beth: They framed Micha for a crime and got him put in prison again. Arthur: Like I said, an angel!

- John: Woman. (Translation: Darling.) Abigail: Moron. (Translation: Lovebug.)

Arthur: You tellin’ me they’re being affectionate right now? Jack: Can’t’cha read subtext, Uncle Arthur? Arthur: ???

(Insert Alcohol is truth serum reference)

Drunk Bill: Not to be gay, but you’re gorgeous bro. Kieran, afraid: You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty. Absolutely shit-faced Bill: Nah, like I’d fuck you, bro. Kieran, terrified: Okay, never mind!

- (How I imagine their first couple years together went)

Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: Dutch: How do you feel about me? Hosea, naked & beside him: ….we’re sharin’ a bedroll, Dutch. Dutch: Yes, but what are we, Hosea? Hosea: ….we’re both naked, alone, in a tent, Dutch. Dutch: That doesn’t answer my question. Hosea:

- (This one's sad, not funny, sorry-) John: You’re such a hypocrite, why is it that anything I do that you’ve done before that you get so bent outta shape?! Arthur: Because I’ve done it before you, John. John: So why do you think it’s fair to tell me not to?! Most people are proud when their younger brother ends up like’em. You don’t want anyone like you, is that it? Arthur: John: John: …oh. Arthur: Now that you got my point, will you take my god damn advice without a big fuss…please.

- John: She drives me insane! She somehow managed to make me the angriest I’ve ever been almost daily. NPC: Then leave her. John: The fu- no. What? She’s the wind beneath my wings, my darling wife, my beautiful angel. How the hell could you even think to suggest such a thing? NPC: But- John: Get outta my sight, you fuckin’ disgrace.

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toji-girl · 22 days

Note

thank you, m'lady, the peasants have been fed well (maybe a bit sour from the recent mamaguro angst, but we'll ignore that). i hath brought forward a kind request prison bf toji? (beggin on my knees, with guilty toji next to me) -👺

KDNKFFJET GIGGLING RIGHT NOW RUBBING MY RAT HANDS TOGETHER PLEASE Y'ALL ARE NOT PEASANTS ME LOVE YOU LONG TIME ahhhh the mamaguro one yes lmaoo

tags: fem reader + long distance relationship + sending erotica/love letters

Despite his guilty sentence, you stood by Toji through it all.

When he went to jail you both were beside yourselves, and you knew that going there was something he deserved after getting caught trying to pickpocket someone after a dare by a drunken friend.

Toji tried to play the he was drunk card but the video feed in the casino showed that he never ordered an alcoholic drink and the bartender told the cops that only his friends got booze seeing that he didn't like alcohol and drank water throughout the night.

He liked to demonstrate he could do it until he was caught.

Now his side of the bed was cold and empty, it had a dip to it that you now curled up in clutching his pillow trading his scent for yours slowly but surely as the pillowcase soaked up your tears.

You missed him dearly and he missed you too.

The both of you wrote each letters and called each other as much as you could. Every time when you'd get off work you'd wait for his call.

It didn't matter how much you got charged to answer you did anyway. "Toji, hi baby. How are you? I miss you so much. Maybe soon I can come to see you." You told him as you laid down in his spot.

He leaned against the wall wishing he was with you instead of standing in front of a group of men, the whole joke went south and Toji was sure to replay it over and your voice too.

"My darlin', I miss you too somethin' fierce. I'm fine, how are you?" He asked imagining you curled up in his lap scratching his scalp softly.

His voice was rougher around the edges making your insides melt into goo. Tears welled up instantly and you tried your best to hide it.

However, it was too late when you sniffled softly. "What's the matter sweetheart?" Toji proded gently wanting to be there himself.

It killed him every second he wasn't with you but he knew it was his fault. "I miss you! And I'm angry that you got caught!" You blurted out loud as you sat up and wiped at your tears with your palm.

The truth would always come out and you couldn't hold it back anymore.

"I know, I'm mad at myself enough for the both of us. I miss you too, come by next week?" It was a plea that you couldn't ignore.

Your heart felt like it shriveled up as you thought about having to wait to visit your man inside the jail cell. "Okay, I'll be there. I gotta go, I love you." Before he could even reply you hung up on him and sighed before grabbing your notepad to write him a letter.

Tears spilled over the ink smearing it on the white paper as you poured out your thoughts, anger and resentment fueled your fingers to write out your true feelings. Once it was done you stared at the words and decided to rip it up knowing it would do more damage.

While Toji did mess up you knew it wouldn't be helpful to hold it against him but it didn't lessen the need to have him next to you.

On another page, you wrote about the first time you both had sex going into vivid detail about it hoping it would help aid when he masturbates, something he's told you about every time he calls.

The next day you filled it up with things on your current to-do list as Toji filled your mind, he is supposed to be here with you doing all of this and it brought forth more anger and guilt.

It weighed on you all day as you bounced back and forth between going to visit him, and as it grew closer you found yourself packing a bag to make the hour journey to go see him for less than the ride.

Friday afternoon after getting patted down and leered at by the men you passed by the holding cell until you reached the meeting room where Toji sat looking around sensing you hesitating by the door.

A loud buzz filled the air before the metal door rolled open then you met Toji's gaze and hurried over to him not caring that the guards watched him grab a handful of your ass when you kissed him deeply.

Your tongue stroked along his as you wrapped your arms around his neck pecking his lips a few times before pulling away to pat his chest. "I miss you more than anything, I hate having to see you like this."

His words made your heart hammer in your chest as you took the spot across from him holding his hands and kissing his scarred knuckles as tears smeared your mascara. "I miss you too baby."

Toji wiped away your tears with his thumb feeling the guilt eat away at his stomach. "You're gorgeous as hell darlin'." He whispered.

You held his gaze and pulled your hand away to grab the letters in your purse to hand them to him. "I added a few pictures too." You whispered softly and cupped his cheek gently.

He pulled your hand away and kissed your open palm. "I'm a lucky man."

"Something like that. I know I can't stay long, I'll be by next month."

You knew you only had twenty minutes which were spent talking about everything going on before you kissed him goodbye to go home alone, once again.

#💌incoming #toji x reader #👺anon #toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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sjw-publishings · 5 months

Text

Lit Gud Streamin

With much encouragement from @dumb-and-jocked

>First Time Streamin’ bro?

The house husband blushed at the first comment coming to respond to him.

Carson Green was anxious…he’d heard of streaming but never tried it until some pestering from his Gaymer group as of late.

The stay at home husband wanted to help with the finances, hence why he even considered it in the first place. Sure it was nice being a homemaker, and definitely had a flair in cooking, but he wanted to do something different.

“Y…Yeah, it’s my first time.”

>LOL K

He was relatively unsure of this, but he had known and spoken to several of the guys a week ago, and though he could have sworn they talked about a different topic entirely, he recalled about many of them bragging about ‘raking in the dough’ for gaming.

True enough, many of them are not only being paid handsomely in royalties for streaming, but they have a surprisingly large fanbase!

Admittedly, he was sort of shocked…and sort of jealousy that many of them are quite popular online, almost like they reached stardom within a week or less.

But regardless, his group also promised that they will help out with ‘assimilating’ him into the platform and moderate his stream. So surely he would reach a certain level of success with their guidance.

Though he’s still unsure how exactly will do they so.

“W…What games will we be playing?”

>Dis the game dude

>Ur in it, brought in da Boiz to watch the stream.

With that, the number count rose exponentially, from single digits, to doubles.

The house husband blushed, twiddling his thumbs at being watched by wide audience. Is it like a reality show game? Or is it something different entirely?

Granted, there weren’t any instructions or briefings given about it. Maybe it is a more on the spot, spontaneous kind of thing?

“D…Do I need to do anything in particular?”

>Just be yourself , LOL

>You gotta impress us Noob.

He…kind of doesn’t like being called a noob, but he is new to streaming after all. So he ought to listen to them, no matter how they are like.

>Dude, ur Tagline?

Tagline…?

Oh yeah! All the cool streamers he watched had one.

Wait? Since when did he watch…well he is a gamer after all, so it’s only natural that he DID watch streams, at least some of em by proxy. He is rather connected to the other guys.

“Ummm…ok LOL, what kind of tagline. Do you all have any suggestions, dudes?”

>Just Lit Gud man.

>Yeah RAT

He thought maybe it’s tough love or something…though it really feels extremely rude. Almost draining even, like yeah it was exhausting trying to keep up with his group’s gaming shenanigans, but even in their streamin’ advice?

C’mon Man!

Plus he’s just got married not a while ago! They could’ve at least be NICE to him since he’s now tied down! Like don’t get me wrong, he loves his husbro, but when all is said and done, he does miss the glory days of being with the rest of the guys.

“Look, I-D-K if Lit Gud Noobs is such a nice tagline?”

Desperate for a win here. Yeah, he may be getting quite aggro. But it’s justified! Bro.

“And who you callin’ Rat, RATZ!”

His mouth slurred at that remark, a very sleazy…immature slur as he quickly covered his mouth in that regard.

Though admittedly, he kinda liked that.

After all, if he was the rat, then these noobs are his goons. And while he usually isn’t the dominant one in his relationships, admittedly he kinda liked roleplaying as one of the typical bros, even if he wasn’t THAT asian compared to them.

>RAT BOD

>You lift Bro?

“My body…its not that well off-“

>Get lit or get Shyt on

He’s gotta get LIT.

Watching as his weight sizzle away down, melting away the bubbling tummy fat into a faint trail of a six pack, straining loosely on the shirt being his college grad pectorals.

Gotta show off after all. Specially during the bachelor’s party!

His diet consisted of pizza, soda and chips. And so ducking what? Body trim as DUCK, that’s how he lived and how his rats loved it. Some people said it was his GENE-tics or some shit that he had this bod, but you know what he says to em’?

Get lit or get Shyt on!

But even so, da shyt? Why did these bastards gotta treat him like that? Weren’t they all buds or somethin’?

“You RATZ are always so rude.”

>We rude? KAPPA

>Haha Noob!

With every interaction and vocabulary pollution, hunching lazily towards the screen, eyes entranced by the masses of comments.

LIGHTING and EMPHASIZIN’ random words, like an obnoxious mixture tainting his patience. Persistent name calling and being on the receiving end of the relationship kinda pisses him off.

>LOL K, How’s the stream?

But admittedly, a growing part of him is really getting pumped, while irritated, a small part of him liked broadcasting to these gamers.

If only they had some MAN-NERS, sheesh!

“How the streamin’ goin? Dude IDK, just a Jerkin’ stream today, nothin but insults.”

> Git Gud

> Just Git Gud

> Noob

Chat, filled with your run of the mill, cloned responses. Your typical mocks and insults, passive threading onto aggressive, a fine balance of being slightly very aggro but chill, producing RUDE DUCKIN’ INSULTS.

Each one after another, a shytposting blend that makes the stupid obnoxiousness rise higher and higher. Calves toning out from jumping upwards in sports as his body shrunk downward, making sure he sees eye to eye with dem BOIZ.

One liner aggressiveness alongside swarms of memes and complete nonsense. Idiotic behaviour, fitting a ‘RatChat’. Blending in with the other dudes, speakin’ their language, participating campus exercises and roughing around with the other bros!

Like a game, course, they are gamers after all. They know the COMBO, dissecting their streamer bud like it’s nothin’! Insults kicking right from the beginning!

He wanted to beat them at their own game!

Be hetter-BETTER! Calson Greo wanted to be a PRO.

“Alright RATZ, What’ll make me less of a noob and g-”

>Git Gud Noob

“GIT GUD?”

His voice slurred, eyebrows raised as he slumped back in his gaming chair. Like a simple command burning into his skull.

He just gotta GIT GUD! No instructions needed, except you gotta be IN DA LOOP. At TOP! As his buttocks clenched at the refusal of being BOT! Cheeks meant for exercise and gamin’.

He had to GIT GUD! And that’s being on top of his game always!

>You gotta be LIT Fam

“LIT?”

A delicious fuming rage erupted from his screen, as a multitude of laughing frogs and emojis filled his entire chat.

Igniting a fire within, his skin tanning till its just RIGHT. Made for a BOI who spends time gamin’ both online and in sports. Just like every other of his classmates back on campus.

>Stop being such a QUEER

“QUEER? Da SHYT?”

SHYT, these men tryin’ to get under his skin. Really making him all pent and rock solid. NO HOMO!

Wait WUT?

DUDE! LIEK…man he’s really even sounding immature in his thoughts? Wasn’t he some sort of QUEER? DA FK? He was g…a…guy, A GUY! YEAH! He was a guy like em!

“Thought you all stand for GUY RIGHTS?”

HE ALWAYS TOPS! Yeah so maybe he had a PHAG, but it was clear they are ‘sabotaging’ his GAY STREAM and tryin’ makin’ it the way it ought to be!

Full of SHYT-talkin’, assholes are dragging him down to THEIR level. A more rodent, nastier bunch instead of friendly GHEYS! But alright! If these idiots want to game, then they gonna-

>Look PHAG, if you want to WIN you gotta stop sucking

“SUK DEEZ NUTS!”

GOTTEM

An obnoxious Tenor bursted out from the man, retaliating like an immature douchebag as he finally sunk to their level. Height stooping at an average 5ft 9, GPA scores barely scrapping by the median. A fellow backslider like the crowd.

And HE was going to let these DOUCHEBOIS get it HARD!

>Just Chillax Gay Boi

“I AM CHILLAX!”

He sneered, as his voice rose into a stupidly obnoxious loud tenor, allowing that youthful tone engulf him in an asian tan like his peers, makin’ sure he is part of the Hivemind that is Snitch culture.

“No Sweats allowed…Just CHILLAX man…”

Feeling his mind sinking into the mass rebellious conformity that is his gamin’ community, his voice cooled slightly, gifted the flexibility to yell when he WANTS to BOIIII!

His buttoned down fused, as the simple white tee clung over his frame with slackened glee, bluntly accentuating his pectorals, as a typical print was plastered over like another typical meshed up shirt that the zoomers would wear.

He was NO SWEAT, Trousers shortening up to his thighs, lightening up into a more mesh, flexible material. Hanging loose L-sized on his waist are his flaming red basketball shorts, stickin’ out like a sore thumb whenever the dude stands up or goes for a bathroom breaks.

>Yo streamer, you a player?

“Am I a play-yer?”

The young man slurred, smirking as he acknowledged that remark, teasing those thirsty PHAGS and RATZ like he always does.

ResidentSnorer and various funny frogs spammed the chat box like no other, skyrocketing his view count to the thousands.

The young Boi loved every minute of it. He was getting the fame, boi.

“Course I am, ain’t easy being this good…”

>u dating someone?

“DAY-TING?”

Slippers took a hit in their quality, soft material becoming a pair of stretchable basketball shoes. Made for the kind of guy who keeps his options open.

Both in da basketball court, and in da bed. And yeah, it was technically his home. Well, he and his GAY fiancé’s. But it’s mostly a BRO thing! Roommates with benefits!

“Boiz, I have a fiancé , but..”

>Sounds Sus

>you gay or what?

His eyes widened, SHYT, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Not that he minded the older man…except when he was being GHEY-but weren’t they a couple…of MEN.

But aren’t they together? Da SHYT! He was a playah! BUT what about that time when they cuddled-BRUH that’s GHEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT-YOU GHEY BROSKI? BRO? B-

“BUTT-FK! I mean…I MEAN my BOI-FRIEND!”

>MEGAFAG

Fiddling the ring, the band stretched beyond the size of his palm, turning into pure eleastic as it slid down his right wrist, loosely fitting like its part of some showoffy trend.

As the chat continues to spam various emotes, including a distinct rainbow head, don’t these douchebags know he’s single and ready to mingle? Why are they thinkin’ he’s gonna be bangin’ it with some dude?

“Who you noobs calling GAY? It’s just ONE night!”

> QUEER ALERT!

> GAY GAY GAY

One hand palming below, the other one flippin the stream. Colson Groh’s darkened hair flicked down the side, his new asian ethnicity fully taking hold without remorse, blending in with the group of bullies pickin’ on him and his-FAG!

“One night of PRANKIN FAGS!”

Picking on em hard, he wasn’t one of em, but man is it HOT setting them STRAIGHT! The twenty two year college dude smirked, as PHAGS couldn’t resist starin’ at his clean-shaven slack-jaw and risen cheekbones till they get completely RAT PRANKED.

GGEZ

>Ayyy LIT

>Lets go BOI

>AFKin’ RAT!

“Bet you all can’t get ladies to your doorstep.”

>Check GayPay

GayPay my arse, StraightCoin’s the deal bro.

Though speakin’ of ladies. Hot damn…is he THAT dry? Cause he’s having that fantasy every straight, gamin’ charged college guy’s has.

Surrounded by hot ladies.

Then again, he’s always THIRSTIN’. Course, a guy like him can get a bunch of women in a flash. But he totally can jerk like a maiden-less douchebag like a bunch of the idiots watchin’ him.

Makes him relatable to his RATZ, yeah? Sides, nothin’ wrong with a lil jerkin’ on cam, nothing GHEY bout it!

>Yo RAT, check out your numbers

>BRO past 7k

>NO CAP

LIT_GUD: +7k subs

“Nggh!”

Rapidly vibrating his 7 inch joystick, brows raised as they thinned out. The last bit of hesitation melting away, making way for youthful gamin’ bravado as a seedy wide grin beamed in the stream.

“How to LIT GUD getting chicks?”

>PRO-DUCTION BRO!

>GIT LIT STREAM!

>YEEEEAAAAH BOI!

Comments flooding all over his stream, a mass mindset and mentality calling all to pump. PUMP! Pumping his POG-O STICK to the MAX! The Go-To-Game for men of his kind.

The HIGH score, as his eyes narrowed in utmost dumb simplicity, tilting his head upward to the ceiling as he grinned wildly as he thought bout’ that simple fantasy!

All da LADIES comin’ at him. YAAA BOIII!

“JUST LIT GUD BOIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”

Colton Goh no scoped all over his boxers, slumping back as drops of youthful rebellion spluttered all over, mucking it with obnoxious bully testosterone like he always does.

Feels so LIT! Being able to climax whenever the heck he wants, why abstain when he can just LIT GUD MAN! All those goody two shoe brethren back at campus grounds are really missin’ out.

But of course, he’ll scoop the remaining wads of mayo to his jerk off bottle later. He may be a backslider, but he gotta be up in his production game, beat his last record and all that shiz.

Speakin’ of which.

“E….Z….”

7k’s still just rookie numbers for a guy like him, but considering he got it all in a bunch of hours, he’s as good as the pros like the rest of em’!

“Yo…and that’s how you dudes get the ladies, man.”

>AYYYOOOO

>MY STREAMER!

>YA BOIIIIII

“Boiz, if you see any gays going all homo on ya. You gotta give em the LIT GUD!”

Normally he would collab with his streaming buds, but he really oughta help his Bromies out by teachin em.

Especially ratting out GHEYS until they turn into a couple of rats like he is. And what better way than to create his own Streamin’ channel? All he got to do was be himself bro.

Brings in the subs, and sides, hot chicks dig him, and fags thirstin’ over him get weeded out until they are a bunch of rats like he and his gamer crew.

‘[TOP] Gay Dude Joined the stream’

Speaking of fags…

“Ayy, a new fag joined the stream, sweet.”

Not sure how did ‘Gay Dude’ squirmed into his ‘TOP’ friends list, but he must’ve added him during that stupid RNG game he tried last night while he drank Heteroade with the bois.

But honestly, heh, he doesn’t give a Rats arse bout em’. After all, he needed someone to dunk on to celebrate his 7k Subs, so why not make sure the fag gets the whole RatChat streamin’ experience?

Heh, this will be hot.

“Give em a couple of Lit Guds in the chat, noobs.”