#save quit and load the game again

[aurorangen]

stupid eye keeps disappearing lmao

[zaddyazula]

OH MY FUCKING GODDDDD

[zevrans-remade]

idk whom she reminds me of

[phoenixcatch7]

Nearly at the end of bayonetta and honestly whoever green lit that missile/Jeanne final fight chapter -

[rebouks]

Keeping Lag to a Minimum...

I was chatting about a few things I do to combat lag over on discord and realised I do quite a bit of maintenance to reduce lag/load times. I decided to write em all down and before I knew it, I had a big ol' list. Here's hoping it helps!

Save/File Tips:

Clear your caches (located in the same spot as your mod folder fyi) I usually delete the onlinethumbnailcache, avatarcache and localthumbcache caches every time I exit the game, the main one to delete regularly is the localthumbcache file, they're just temporary files but it can get pretty big after a while.. if you're having any mod issues, particularly ui ones, it's always worth deleting that to see if it helps.

Remove any saves you're not using from your saves folder, and keep an eye on save file sizes. In my experience, any saves over around 30-40mb start to get a bit laggy. Things that bump this size up are the amount of townies in game and the amount of lots/objects in the world.

Regarding the above point, I regularly bulldoze lots I don't need anymore, just to save the game from having to cope with extra shit to load in the background and reduce save file bloat.

Similarly, I delete a lot of unnecessary townies. Also, try to keep the amount of outfits on townies to a minimum, ain't no townie need four swimsuit outfits, the game will thank you..

If you have cheats enabled you can usually shift-click/delete object on things like random coffee cups or stray cupcakes sims foolishly drop around the world (or eat em.. whatever tickles ur pickle) just get rid!

Whilst we're keeping objects in game to a minimum.. I try to clear sims inventories now and then, including townies. You can do this via mccc even if you're not currently playing that household by heading to MC Cleaner -> Sell Sim Inventory/Sell Household Inventory. RANDOM LUMPS OF CLAY BEGONE!

Think of a save file like a lot.. the more objects in it, the laggier it gets! Try your best to remove anything or anyone unnecessary where you can.

Hit "Save As" instead of "Save" now and then - the more you overwrite a save, the more chance it has of going wonky, treat your game to a fresh one now and then and remove the old one from your saves folder (maybe don't delete it right away in case you wanna roll back, keep it somewhere safe).

If you can (although ik it can be a pain) set up a new/fresh save, you'd be surprised how bogged down old ones can get! For legacy players, it's usually best to do this whenever you have a small family to save yourself some pain, since you can just save the household and take em to a new save (you will lose sims inventories/household inventories/relationships with sims outside the household tho so beware! Pictures/other collectables can be saved to a lot however, and you can always cheat back relationship bits etc.. bit of a last resort but new saves are shiny and fast!)

Make sure your Screenshots/Video folders are empty - move em somewhere else, it works, trust me. If you have a lot of custom music installed try n' clear some of those out too.. the smaller that Sims 4 directory is, the better.

Delete any last exceptions/last crashes (same spot as your mod folder again) you don't need em unless you're planning to upload em somewhere for help.

Settings Etc:

If you get a bad lag spike, opening the main menu and/or saving can randomly stop this. If it doesn't, try exiting the game, clearing your localthumbcache and restarting.

Clearing all notifications from the game panel can also help.

If you can, close all other apps and background apps you don't need whilst playing, ts4 is super memory hungry so it can definitely help.

The GraphicsRules Override file by Simp4Sims can reduce lag/latency and make your game look a little better in the process!

Srslysims Simulation Lag Fix mod can help reduce lag too (if you've altered the game speed via mccc tho, don't use this unless you plan on resetting it to default).

If you aren't keen on, or barely use a pack, consider disabling it.

Not ideal, especially for those of us taking screenshots, but lowering the graphics settings whilst playing definitely helps.

If you use re/g-shade, consider switching it off whilst playing and only turn it on for screenshots.

A clean and tidy pc/laptop runs better in general. Remove anything you're not using/don't need anymore to free up space, remove temp files, clean up your folders now and again etc etc.. especially that dreaded mod folder, speaking of...

Managing Mods:

SORT OUT YOUR MODS FOLDER FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.. skdsjdjs it doesn't have to be immaculate but at the very least try n' clear it out now n' then. Also try to separate your script mods/overrides from the rest, patch days don't need to be so stressful ;-;

Personally, I don't merge my mods; if something breaks it's much harder to pinpoint! It makes it easier to find/delete specific mods too.. and let's face it, there's usually one or two items in that set you could do without lmaooo.. also, don't think it helps much tbh! Yeah you could say the game doesn't have to work as hard to load merged files but that's debatable, it's still the same amount of items/polys at the end of the day ¯\(°_o)/¯

If you like merging files and/or see results from doing so, you can merge stuff you definitely know you're never getting rid of, especially CAS/BB stuff.. but steer clear of merging gameplay/script mods! If a merged file seems to be the culprit when using the 50/50 method, try unmerging it and 50/50ing it again! You might not need to get rid of everything if something's borked.

Bulk Rename Utility can be used to remove all spaces and special characters from your mod files, the game doesn't particularly like loading those so it'll thank you.

The Sims 4 Mod Manager is a great way to sort through your mods, you can easily see, move and delete files from here (not great for build/buy, poses etc as thumbnails are usually missing, but great for CAS stuff). An extra hint with this that I've noticed is that if any of my mods get renamed with [D1] at the beginning after looking through them via the mod manager, it means it's a duplicate file so you can get rid.

I also use the Sims 4 Tray Importer to help me sort through mods. Simply save a sim/lot with any cc you don't want and find it in the importer, you can then go through all the cc in the cc tab and delete/sort it (I also use this to sort cc if a bunch has the wrong tags etc, makes it easier to find in my folders by saving em to a lot or w/e - it also spots duplicates which is handy).

It's a ballache, but the 50/50 method is tried and tested if you're having issues.

I like to keep an abandoned cc folder tucked away somewhere, that way you can remove mods willy nilly without stressing about losing them. If you change your mind, you can always grab it back!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[tqmies]

ZB1 + Jealous Sex

ZB1 after one of you is jealous!

note: legal members only (not including gunwook or yujin!) & as always, minors dni!

JIWOONG's eyebrows just furrow because, really? Did you seriously think any of these run-of-the-mill men at this party could make him feel insecure? They don't but they do manage to piss him off. Why were you so close to them? You were just being friendly? You're a liar.

You babble incoherently as he held the vibrator to your abused cunt, having climaxed more times than you could count before having it ripped away by his hands. All he did was crudely laughs at your expense. "What's wrong baby? Earlier you had no problems acting like a slut. I'm just treating you like one."

You knew ZHANG HAO was cute, everyone knew it. Doesn't mean you appreciate everyone flirting with him though.. And his seemingly oblivious act to it all has you seeing red. God, you had to teach him a lesson.

"Babe, s-slow down." He lets out, cock already spent, your eagerness to get him to cum again has him tearing up. His face red as he bites his bottom lip, letting out low whimpers. You continue bouncing on him though, fingers digging into his shoulders as you use them as an anchor. You scoff, trying not to let any moans slip out. "Think any of those girls out there could have you like this baby?"

HANBIN knows that it's not your fault, but it doesn't stop him from getting a little jealous! His friends had crashed your beach date, catching your body in its full glory in the cute bikini you donned. He swears one of them even popped a boner from it!

"You're mine," He growled, your leg thrown over his shoulder. He hadn't even managed to slip your bikini off, only pushing it to the side enough to enter his fat tip into you. Could you blame him? You just looked so good in it! "Only I get to touch you like this, right?"

MATTHEW had been begging you to join him at the gym for months and you finally gave in. Things were fine until you managed to catch a group of girls giggling at your boyfriend in a compression shirt. Leading to an argument that he found himself determined to make up for.

His tongue licked the stripe up your clit, placing light kisses on your thighs to tease you afterwards, before tongue fucking you. "Don't act silly my love, you know you're the only one I want. Those girl's can look all they want, but you're the one that get's me this way."

TAERAE felt the familiar green monster rear its ugly head into his life the minute he spotted you being asked out at the coffee shop he was here to meet you at. You immediately declined the other, but he still couldn't help but feel a little insecure. It was up to you to show him he had no reason to worry.

"Hmm," You mumble, jerking him off as you prepare to deepthroat. He whines, holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you press kisses to the flushed tip. "Prettiest cock in the world attached to my pretty boy. No where else I'd rather be then here taking your load down my throat." He can't even manage to stutter a response before you're gagging on his shaft.

You can't blame anyone who hits on RICKY, people flock to him like bee's to honey. But two can play at that game, and you played it quite well, but Ricky doesn't like sharing.

"Gonna fill you with so much cum that it leaks out," He has you folded into a mating press, your walls sucking him in as you jolt from how rough he was fucking you. He was determined to drill into you until your pussy was molded for only him. "Lets see you talk to the guys with it dripping down your legs."

He doesn't get jealous, or at least that's what GYUVIN tells himself. He likes that you get along with his friends! No he doesn't mind one of his friends offering you a jacket. Or saving you a seat by them! It's all perfectly fine.

"Please, please don't leave me. I'd cry every day and- haah - I promise, none of them can treat you like I can." He begs, too busy caught up in his own ministrations that he can't even notice you're fucked too dumb to properly respond. Your back arched as his balls hit your ass with every stroke as you try to keep yourself propped up. "I'm promise I'm good enough, I'll be the best boyfriend- shit - you could ever ask for."

[finalgirllx]

Mattheo Riddle - Gamer BF Headcanons

minors dni | smut implied at the end | F! reader implied modern au | this is so self-indulgent im sorry

-Mattheo gets very into online gaming with his friends, often being the loud and rowdy one who cracks dirty jokes on voice chat. -he isn't very good at multiplayer, though, but will never admit it. 'Definitely a glitch. those kills are way off. No way Enzo got more than me; he didn't do shit! This game has it out for me, I swear.' -he enjoys single-player games as well as a pastime. -loves horror games, zombie horror, to be precise (self-indulgent HC: he's a resident evil fan). -In a relationship, Mattheo encourages you to play games. He is your biggest cheerleader when he watches you play. 'You've got this, darling.' -He would be willing to play a cozy game with you, but somehow, it always devolves into chaos. You will probably quit inviting him for the sake of your Stardew Valley saves. -He often takes over when you game together, but more because he just likes to play for the two of you and not because he thinks you're bad! -Mattheo used to have a worse temper during gaming, but one stern look from you, the one and only time you witnessed him throw his controller, was enough to make him never do it again. -His happiest moments involve taking control when a horror game gets too spooky for you, allowing you to rest on him while he takes charge—a win-win situation. 'Don't worry, love. I'll protect you, just relax.' -He adores it when you nestle in and nap between his legs while he games. His tender side really comes out then, playing with your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear between games and loading screens. -Thoroughly enjoys your attempts to trash-talk him, which usually turns into cheeky flirtations and most likely a quickie. -Mattheo is very fun to tease while gaming. Put your hands on him, and he'll have to insist to his friends that he was moaning over Theo's voice and not your hand on his- -Will not hesitate to mute his mic and fuck your face while he stays online. His large hand grips your hair into a ponytail as he roughly pumps your mouth with his cock, grunting and panting. 'fucking take my cock, you little slut; this is what you fucking asked for by playing with daddy like that.' -And if he doesn't take that route, be warned that if you tease him while he's playing, you better count on not being able to walk the next day.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 1, In Which You Install The Mod

FOREWORD: inspired by this post

SUMMARY: Careful which mods you install for BG3. Did you read the terms and conditions carefully?

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

***

You hesitated for a moment before downloading this “Devil Wears Nada” mod. It felt slightly inappropriate, absurd as it may sound. There was something disrespectful about making Raphael deliver his final monologue in the nude.

Well, you would have to live with offending a bunch of pixels because you do want these screenshots. You put the salt and vinegar Pringles out of the way and wiped your fingers on a napkin before committing this digital sin.

Clickity-click-click. You dragged-and-dropped the mod where you wanted it to be and launched Steam. Now to load the saved game where you made the deal with the devil and gave him the crown of Karsus… pretty much any saved game really. 

Raphael had been spared in each one of your playthroughs.

A sigh escaped you when the devil still appeared fully clothed in the game; had something gone wrong? You double-checked, only to realize that you'd forgotten to activate the mod - odd, since you clearly remembered doing so. Leaving the game, you dragged the mod back into place.

On your phone, in the Devil's Den discord chat, you informed everyone of Raphael's stubborn refusal to undress.

MAKE HIM! came the immediate reply, followed by STRIP THE OLD MAN, accompanied by raunchy gifs. Couldn't help but grin at that.

Back in the game, you loaded an earlier save file and sank into your chair to watch Raphael emerge from the flames, clothed once again. “You son of a…”, you muttered to yourself. It was getting late anyway; this would be your last attempt before calling it a day. Tomorrow is Tuesday and thus another work day. 

“It won’t be long before you come knocking at my door”, Raphael said, looking straight at you from the wide screen. This wall-breaking sequence was brilliantly executed—you had to admit it—very eerie.

Raphael let out a deep, hearty laugh, head thrown back, pearly teeth glistening in orange-red lighting. You didn’t see this animation before. They must have added it with the latest patch, so you moved in closer. 

Handsome as sin, this devil - if he asked for your soul, you’d hand it over on a silver platter.

Suddenly, he fell silent for several seconds, staring directly at you from across the digital divide. You reached for the mouse to check if there was a glitch in the cutscene when Raphael's voice sliced through the silence.

“You are quite eager to see me naked, aren’t you? Naughty little mouse,” Raphael taunted.

What the fuck?

WHAT THE FUCK!?

You recoiled in shock and slammed your laptop shut. A shriek must have escaped your lips, but you were too stunned to notice. It took a moment for your heart to settle and for you to remember what date it was today.

A quick glance over the watch on your wrist confirmed: it was the first of April. April first, two thousand and twenty-four. 

It was an April Fool's joke from the modders.

Oh, fuck. Having recovered from the initial shock, you cautiously opened your notebook, only to be greeted by the familiar "ta-ta" outro. Oh, fuck. This is some kind of really fucked-up prank. How did they get this voice line?

AI, probably. Not probably. Definitely. There was no way they could have involved Andrew Wincott.

You scanned the game screen for any other surprises, but found none. Picking up your phone, you opened Discord and began recording a long voice message - your fingers too clammy to type.

The replies came soon after.

Haha, this is so fucked up, did they really do this? Hm. I have to try it myself. RECORD IT, RECORD IT PLEASE!

You stared at the loading screen but couldn't bring yourself to replay it. Instead, you searched “Raphael naked mod April joke” and clicked on the first Reddit thread that popped up. You didn't even bother to open it; a quick glance at the preview comment – “crazy I almost had a heart attack” – was more than enough.

Enough for today.

You quickly brushed your teeth in the bathroom and changed into short pajamas before glancing at the laptop on the other side of the room, its camera eye peering at you from across the room. You closed the shutter.

“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you”, you read somewhere.

You tucked yourself into bed, phone in hand, blanket between your legs. Was it time for a quick stroll through selected Raphael / Tav bookmarks?

No. Well, maybe. The threesome with Haarlep, just a quick re-read to help you fall asleep quicker. You were creeped out, but not that creeped out. You’ve heard of such meta jokes before. Black & White did it, Metal Gear Solid did it, too. 

But still… they really should tag this sort of stuff.

Your nightly reading was progressing nicely; things were getting interesting - “the ridges of his devil cock stroking your sensitive walls” interesting. Your hand slid into your underwear, working your finger past your hair down to your clit. This scene was very well written, you could almost feel it, picture yourself spread open between Haarlep and Raphael. 

The smut got better and better right until your phone vibrated in your hand, and you dropped it on the blanket.

Unknown caller ID.

Don't answer it, came the panicked, irrational thought as it grabbed you in a chokehold. 

You stared at the screen - the call went on and on - and pushed it aside. Swiped to the right in one quick motion and heard an automated female voice:

"This call is from Europol. We would like to inform you that your identity card number has been misused. For further information please press 1."

You hung up immediately, recognizing this as one of those scam calls that had been making rounds recently. Your mum had received one too. 

Nothing to lose sleep over.

You put the phone down and turned your back to it, trying to calm down. Screw the fanfic, you were not in the mood anymore. Well, you were, but…

Another time. 

It took some time before you could relax, your gaze fixed on the blank wall in front of you, re-playing that cutscene all over again in your head, occasionally wandering to the large window looking out over the courtyard (what a pitch black night). 

Eventually, you did. 

As you drifted off to sleep, a voice whispered in your dream:

“You are quite eager to see me naked, aren’t you? Naughty little mouse”.

The silky soft voice was so lovely; it made you feel less alone. A small smile crossed your lips as you slept.

Yes, Raphael. Very eager indeed. 

Tomorrow. You’ll try again tomorrow.

NEXT: Chapter 2, In Which You Meet A Tall Dark Stranger

[playstation-dreamcast]

This came to me in a dream. Anyway:

Now Loading...

Choose Your Character: Albert Wesker

Summary: For the sake of the mission, Albert Wesker is willing to do just about anything within reason to gain the trust of his S.T.A.R.S members. Apparently, building a snowman with his favorite new rookie is within reason.

Tags: Fluff, S.T.A.R.S Wesker, Nicotine use, Crack treated so serious none of my beta readers thought it was crack, Noncanon compliant RPD, Gender Neutral Reader.

Word count: 3k

It all started with that stupid fucking snowman.

A childish game he played to indulge his subordinate and gain their trust late one night after the S.T.A.R.S office had closed. He knew better even then, that it was an absolute waste of time. But, he complied, because it was you who asked.

Okay, maybe it didn't start with The Snowman. Maybe it started with the cigarette you shared. Sitting on the snow covered sidewalk, passing the smoke between the two of you while you talked. It came so easy to him, just talking with you. It was never that easy with anyone else.

He could still smell the smoke when he closed his eyes. He could see the snow caught in your lashes, and the fog of your breath. He could still feel how tight his chest got, and the roller coaster feeling of his stomach dropping when he finally had to admit to himself that he was sweet on you. And that he couldn’t keep lying to himself about it.

And you had no idea. You smiled like it was any other night. 

"Hey, can I bum a cigarette off you?" You asked him that at least twice a week since you started working as a member of S.T.A.R.S. It got to the point that he started to plan for it. Sadly, he was late to work this morning and didn't have time to buy another pack.

"Sure," he said, simply handing you the one he had just lit. You took it gratefully and smiled.

"Thanks Captain, you save me once again," you teased as you sat down next to him, taking a drag off the smoke. "You gonna light one?"

"That was my last one," he confessed with a shrug; chin resting in his hand, elbow resting on his knee. He thought about leaving, it wasn’t like he had anything left to do here. But he stayed anyway. He’d regret it later.

"What? Then why'd you give it to me dude?"  you scoffed.

He looked at you out of the corners of narrowed eyes. "Don't call me 'dude,'" he, half-heartedly at best, reprimanded as you rolled your eyes, "and because you asked for it. As your captain it's my job to take care of you." He didn't mean for it to come out like that, but he wasn't going to backtrack now and make it weird.

"Ah yes, taking care of me by giving me cancer. Truly, so selfless of you." You giggled as you handed him the smoke. 

He took it without thinking, easily taking a puff off it. "If I was worried about that, I'd have to fight a losing war with half the team- myself included." He took another drag to prove his point, "I like to think I pick my battles more wisely than that."

You hummed as you nodded, taking the cigarette back and putting it to your lips. You huddled closer to your captain, watching the snow fall and seeking his warmth in the cold. "It's pretty out." You smiled.

"It's nothing we don't see every winter." He took the smoke back.

You playfully pushed him, "Oh sorry Oscar didn't realize you fell out of your can."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm calling you a grouch, Wesker." He nodded in acknowledgement of your clarification, and didn't try to argue. Just took a particularly long drag and handed the cigarette back to you. 

You took your turn with it and continued. "You gotta be able to still see the beauty in the small things, and the wonder in the world. Or else you just become old and bitter, and nobody wants that." He didn't have the heart to tell you he was already there. 

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching as new snow covered the old. It had become a ritual between the two of you – one Wesker had grown quite fond of. Every night when the two of you closed the S.T.A.R.S office together, you took the time to share a smoke break before going your separate ways for the night.

Wekser looked forward to them more than he cared to admit. At first it was just another thing he did to ensure all members of S.T.A.R.S trusted him. Fifteen minutes at the end of a shift was a small price to pay for the confidence of his team, and as long as they had confidence in him they wouldn’t doubt him. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he started looking forward to your quiet conversations, just like he wasn’t really sure when he started buying two packs of cigarettes to accommodate them. Or how he wasn’t sure when he started looking for little excuses throughout the day to touch you, to talk to you, to have your attention. At some point you had wormed your way into his mind and made your home there. He would have resented you for it if he could find it in him to do so.

He almost jumped when you finally broke the silence. "You know, when I was a kid, my dad would always let me stay home for the first snow of the season- didn't matter if school was canceled or not."

Wekser took the cigarette from your hand. "Sounds like irresponsible parenting to me, keeping a child from their education." He finally killed the smoke, flicking it off into the abyss.

"Maybe!" you admitted, "but, those days were important to me. We'd always go out and make a giant snowman – as big as we could – and try to keep him alive for the season." You smiled at your warm childhood memories. "It was fun."

"I've never built a snowman before." Wesker confessed. He wasn't sure why he did, it's not like you were asking. It just fell out of him. You had a way of pulling things out of him without even trying, something he should have been more wary about than he was- all things considered. 

You looked at him shocked. "What?! No way! Not even when you were a little kid?"

He looked back at you and shook his head, "The boys home where I grew up had no time for such frivolous things. As long as the power was on, we were in school. And on the rare occasions it was knocked out, well. We had other priorities." It felt so natural, being so open with you. Maybe it was because you were always so open with him. Or maybe you were one of the few people that treated him like a person with vulnerabilities. It used to scare him, on some deeper level. It still did in a lot of ways.

Lately though, he's just grateful to have someone other than Birkin to talk to. "Captain, that's one of the saddest things I've ever heard. That's like, a super villain's backstory."

He finally turned his head to you. "What? Not being able to build a snowman?" He scoffed. You were blowing this out of proportion.

"Being a child and not being allowed to play," you clarified. Oh. He had never thought of it that way. It's not that you were wrong, he wasn’t allowed to play as a child – not really. It's just… he never really took the time to think about his childhood. He didn't like the feeling it gave him.

So he shrugged again, brushing off the memories before they had a chance to linger. "The past is the past. There's no use dwelling on it."

"Fuck that, come on!" You grabbed his hand and pulled him off the steps. He didn't even have time to fully comprehend just what was happening before you pulled him to the patch of grass the RPD called a lawn. "We're building a snowman.”

He huffed out a sorry excuse for a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious Rookie,” He said as he watched you gather the starting snowball.

“As serious as a heart attack, Captain,” you said, handing him the growing ball, “And I’m not a rookie anymore, I’ve been with S.T.A.R.S for six months now!”

He fought a small smile back at your insistence that you were – in fact – a highly trained soldier after a mere six months. “That’s still rookie status, dear.” The pet name came out so easily he hardly registered it, but you clearly did. He could tell by how you froze, your eyes widening ever so slightly. He needed a distraction. He held up the snowball, “And what do you want me to do with this?”

You relaxed as you remembered the task at hand. “Roll it around in the snow, I’m working on the base, so you work on the middle.” 

He made no move to hide his annoyance. “This is ridiculous, I want you to know this.”

“Then go home,” you shrugged. “No one’s keeping you here by force, no ones putting a gun to your head. If you don’t wanna help, you're free to go.” You acted so unbothered when you said it, focusing on growing the snowman's base. It hit a nerve in his heart he didn’t even know he had. You made it so blatantly clear that you didn’t need him there. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was proving to you that you did need him there. 

He started wordlessly working on the middle of the snowman, trying to focus on the smile on your face and not on how ridiculous he surely looked. “That should be good,” you said, pointing to the ball he was working on. “Go ahead and put it on the base.” 

He took a second to look at the base you’d made, and the progress he made on the middle part, then got right back to adding snow. “No.”

“No, what do you mean no?” you scoffed, trying to sound offended but failing to hide your giggle.

He easily hid his smile. “It’s still too small. It would look awkward on the base, and even more so once we add the head. It needs more snow.”

“Weren’t you the one calling this all a waste of time?” you teased as you started the head.

Without missing a beat he looked at you, “It is. I stand by that. But if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.” Finally, he was satisfied with the ball of snow he’d been put in charge of, and carefully placed it on the base. 

You giggled softly, “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

“It’s just how things should be done.” He shrugged, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth putting the effort into doing it right.”

“So you admit this is worth doing?”

“What? I didn’t say that.”

“But ya kinda did,” you pointed out. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right. And you’re trying to build this snowman right, so therefore – it’s worth doing.”

Wesker took the time to think of his next words carefully. He couldn’t just say outright it was worth doing because it made you happy. Because these small moments of connection built a trust between you. One he would inevitably betray one day. 

There was that horrible tight feeling in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought about how he would have to hurt you in the future. He pressed forward, “Somethings, as frivolous as they are, can be worth doing for the greater impact they have.” You nodded sagely at his words, as if you understood perfectly. Which, was genuinely shocking because even he wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck he just said. 

Finally, you put the head on the snowman. “Well! What do you think?” You smiled, making passionate jazz hands at the snowy creation the two of you had made.

He cocked his head to the side. “Something’s missing.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we’re missing a face.”

“What do you normally use for a face?”

You shrugged, “Traditionally, kids used coal and a carrot for the face. Sticks for the arms, maybe a scarf, you get it. You’ve seen Frosty the Snowman.”

He hadn’t, but that was a battle for a different day. “Seems like a waste of a carrot. And we don’t have any coal.”

You nodded again. “Yeah, sadly. Guess our little guy will just have to remain faceless.”

No, that wasn’t good enough. Not for Wesker. If he was going to make anything, it was going to be perfect. He’d accept nothing less. He quickly looked around, searching for a suitable substitute for coal. He quickly spotted what the RPD once called a garden that was now mostly filled with snow covered rocks and made his way there. You picked up on his thought process and went to go pull sticks off of a nearby tree for the arms. 

“Hey, I found a pine cone!” You called to him as you returned.

“Excellent, we’ll use it for the nose.” He replied as you reconvened at the snowman. The two of you argued briefly about the facial expression – you insisting the snowman should be happy and him arguing it should be miserable because who wouldn’t be miserable stuck out in the snow? You countered with a snowman wouldn’t, because he’s literally made of snow and probably can’t feel cold. You won the argument. This time. 

You assembled the final touches together, then stepped back to look at your handiwork. He smiled smugly, placing his hand on your lower back to hold you closer. “Not bad for a rookie.” He said, looking at you.

You smiled back at him. “Not at all,” you said as you rested your head on his shoulder. It was the closest the two of you had ever been to each other at that point. And the closest Wesker had been to anyone in a long time. It should have felt wrong, the way it tended to when he made contact with others. Instead, it felt comfortable. Natural. Like you were always meant to be right there on his shoulder.

He looked down at you resting on him. At your snow bitten cheeks and soft, content smile. You weren’t scared, or even nervous. You weren't going out of your way to impress him, or try to demean him for an ego boost. You weren’t looking at him with unrealistic expectations he’d still manage to reach, only to remain unsatisfied with him. You were just there. Content, and smiling in his arms, happy to be with him.

You looked ethereal in the soft moonlight, the streetlights of the city encasing you in a halo. He was suddenly overtaken with the overwhelming desire to kiss you. To take you home and hold you forever. And met with the blood cooling realization that he was more than just attached to you. He was… infatuated with you. He refused to use the L word for this.

He couldn’t do that to himself. He moved away from you, a sudden movement that caught your attention. His heart sank looking at your wide questioning eyes. “Thank you, for the experience Soldier.”

You smirked, noting that he didn’t call you rookie. “Thank you for indulging me Captain.”

He nodded and patted your shoulder. “It’s late. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Bright and early,” you confirmed. The two of you lingered for a second longer, the cold silence loud with everything the two of you wanted to say. He slowly slid his hand off your shoulder, and the two of you went your separate ways.

He spiraled for a good two hours when he got home. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. How natural it was to talk to you, how nice you felt in his arms, how breathtaking you looked even covered in snow. He dreamt of you that night, and when he woke up he could still feel the warmth of your lips pressed against his. He had to take a cold shower to get his head together. 

He had never felt like this before. His entire life he was too focused on other things for crushes. On being the best student, on graduating early and getting his doctorate, on researching the virus, on surviving. He’d had lovers, sure. But he never felt anything for them, aside from sometimes lust. He never felt tight in his chest, he never dreamed of them, never in a hundred years would have entertained the thought of building a fucking snowman with them. 

What the hell did you do to him? 

He spent the next eight months obsessing over you. Meticulously observing you like he would any other specimen. He found out how you managed your workflow, the gun you preferred to use at target practice, who you got along with at the RPD and who you only tolerated, how you took your coffee in the morning. 

He noticed all the small details. He noticed the way you chewed on your lower lip when concentrating, what kind of jokes made you laugh the loudest, the way your eyes crinkled when you were genuinely smiling. He noticed that you didn’t brush his hand away when he rested it on you, unlike how you did when Brad did the same thing. How you also went out of your way to be around him, and that you were always the first to act when he gave an order. 

He knew he shouldn’t do this to himself. He knew that he should have taken a massive step back and kept your relationship strictly professional. No more late night smoke breaks, or easy conversations in the break room. If he really wanted to do himself a favor he should have found a reason to fire you, or at least have you removed from the S.T.A.R.S team. 

He never tried to do any of that, because for the first time in his life he was scared he wouldn’t be able to do something. And where did that get him?

Here. Staring at the sinking ship that was Umbrella, and knowing he needed to get off before he was dragged down with it. He needed to send the S.T.A.R.S team to the Spencer Mansion to get the combat data he needed so he could do just that. The issue was, that meant the team was probably going to die. A sacrifice he thought he was willing to make. And he was, before you happened. Now the thought of sending you into that made his jaw clench. As brilliant as he was, he couldn’t think of a way to keep you out of the situation. 

Send you home? That would never work, Bravo team was in danger. You would never just sit idly at home while your team was in trouble – an annoyingly admirable trait of yours. Order you to keep watch at the office? Nope, that wouldn’t work either. That would be the first place Umbrella went when they realized he had gone rogue. So where did that leave him? 

Sending you into the mansion. But, maybe you didn’t have to die. You were just as capable as any other member of the team- if not more. As long as he could keep you alive until it was time for the mansion to go up in smoke, he knew he could get you out of there- and come out looking like the hero in the process. 

He didn’t have time to come up with a definitive plan, this was going to have to do. As unorganized as it was, he was confident it would work. It had to work.

He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.

[pixelplayground]

Infinite Loading DX11 Sept 18th Patch

It's not you, it's them (for the most part).

If after removing all of your mods you still cannot get into your saves using the load game > resume, method, switch back to DX9 and the issue should be resolved.

If the DX9 switch is missing in your game graphics options, quit, and enter the value manually in the EA Desktop app by clicking manage > view properties > type in -dx9 > click save

Obviously, this is less than ideal, DX11 has been buggy from the start, while it brings greater graphics performance and the ability to use more advanced reshade shaders, once again, I'd recommend protecting your most critical saves, and only playing those saves on DX9 until a solution can be found for this issue.

Presently, I take screenshots on DX11, but do gameplay on DX9, and ironically, DX11 doesn't allow my current save to load when I have all mods removed, but it does at least let me get into my one household with my CC folder, I just cannot travel away from the home lot without infinite loading.

*I spent cumulatively 5 days extensively testing this bug back in July with my own CC folder and there is no rhyme or reason for it. There was no consistency in this error occurring with CC, saves, lots, etc. the only time it occurred was when playing with DX11, and after generating a completely fresh EA Folder. Save yourself the headache, if your lots were fine before the update, and you have updated all of your mods but still getting the infinite loading screen with no error code, try doing this first.*

[butcherbabyx]

As Kevin, aka the Deep is hanging with his only friend, you, he learns something that will change him forever. Reader x The Deep and mention of Homelander

The night was still, the pier as quiet as it ever got, save for the occasional scurrying of a stray cat and the distant hum of boats passing by. The vast expanse of water reflected the dim glow of the moon, casting eerie shadows across the dock. You could almost feel the cool, salty breeze brushing against your skin, the solitude comforting in a way that only this place could provide. This place had become a sanctuary for both of you, a refuge from the relentless chaos of life at the tower. Here, you could escape Ashley's endless barrage of questions, A-Train's questionable taste in music, and, most importantly, the constant, oppressive presence of Homelander

A sudden ping from your phone jolted you from your thoughts. You looked up just in time to see Kevin, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight, scaling the steelwork fencing at the edge of the pier. His movements were fluid and effortless, each muscle in his body flexing as he reached the top. He paused, gazing at the water below, then stretched and dove gracefully into the dark depths.

For a moment, you watched him with a sense of quiet admiration. There was something undeniably captivating about Kevin in his element, surrounded by the very thing that seemed to make him feel alive—the water. As he cut through the surface and disappeared into the darkness below, you couldn’t help but think how perfectly he belonged here.

Your phone pinged again. This time, you couldn't ignore it. You took your eyes off Kevin and, with a slight hesitation, pulled your phone from your pocket. A new message, from Homelander. There was a picture attached, but you could not quite manage to open it right away. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm the nerves that had suddenly tightened in your chest, bracing yourself for whatever he had decided to send this time.

"Did you catch that dive, (Y/N)?" Kevin's proud voice jolted you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him clambering back onto the pier, water streaming from his hair and clothes, leaving a trail of droplets in his wake. He flashed you a wide grin, clearly proud of his dive.

"Yeah, dude, sick," you replied somewhat automatically, your tone distant as your eyes drifted back to the phone in your hand. You could feel Kevin's eyes on you, sensing your distraction, but the weight of that unopened message was all you could focus on.

You tapped your screen, unable to resist the pull of curiosity and dread. The messenger app opened, revealing Homelander’s text. "Have a look at this." The words sat above a slowly loading image. The signal here at the pier was spotty at best, leaving you in agonizing suspense as the photo buffered.

"Who are you texting?" Kevin’s voice startled you as he ran over, looming over your shoulder and peering at your phone. Before you could stop him, the image loaded, and in an instant, you both saw it.

A photo—flesh-colored and unmistakable—an unwelcome view of what could only be Homelander's… well, Kevin’s gasp said it all. "Holy shit!" he yelped, water spraying off him in a panic as he stumbled back laughing awkwardly.

You had learned to look at the images with a detached indifference. You knew the game. Homelander wasn’t just trying to shock you—he was reaching out in the only way he knew how. But this time, the picture was more revealing, more intimate, as if he was pushing the boundaries, testing how far you’d let him go. the pictures always came at times when he was low, when his usual outlets were out of reach. When the weight of being Homelander, the world's most powerful man, became too much to bear, he seemed to circle back to you. It made your skin crawl. Even now, with Kevin standing beside you, shaking off the water from his dive and trying to laugh it off, you couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your bones. Of all people, why did he always come back to you?

But you knew the answer deep down. It wasn’t about attraction—it was about control. Homelander didn’t see you as a person; just another plaything in his web of power, someone he could dangle on a string whenever he felt the need to remind himself that he could.

And that thought—more than the picture, more than anything else—was what scared you the most.

You let out a dry, humorless chuckle, forcing yourself to act nonchalant, even though every instinct screamed at you to throw your phone as far away as possible. "Guess Homelander's feeling... generous again," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Kevin, still recovering from the shock, gave a nervous laugh, clearly trying to shake off what he just saw. “Yeah… generous is one word for it,” he said, his tone awkward but attempting to match your nonchalance.

You could not help but have another look at the pale flesh, in the same way, people can't look away from a car crash, before you shoved your phone back into your pocket, pushing down the unease that twisted in your stomach. You couldn’t let it get to you—not here, not now. Homelander’s games were designed to get a reaction, to unsettle you, and you were determined not to give him that satisfaction, not when this evening had been so peaceful up until now. After he sent you the first photo many months ago, you realized that Homelander had handed you the tools to bring him down if you dared to take the risk. You could have shared those photos far and wide, turning them into viral sensations on Reddit, revealing the private, humiliating side of America’s so-called hero. But the risks were immense. Vought, ever adept at media manipulation, would twist the narrative. They’d portray Homelander as the victim and you as an abusive ex or disgruntled employee. The photos might be dismissed or even disappear, while you’d face severe backlash. And the best-case scenario, the scandal might focus on the disappointing size of his genitalia rather than the deeper issues, turning the situation into a sensationalized spectacle, and you'd still end up dead and burried.

Still, the thought of exposing America's number one hero to ridicule was tempting. Imagine how many might feel vindicated to outsize their idol? The thought of revenge against him, ignited a warm feeling in you stomach. A girl could dream. So, you did what you had done all these months and you remained silent, balancing between self-preservation and resisting Homelander's twisted need for control. Kevin, finally calming down, took a seat beside you on the pier, letting out a deep breath.

"I now know what girls feel," he said with a sheepish grin, guilt evident in his eyes as he recalled every unsolicited picture he had ever sent.

"If I ever hear of you doing that again," you said, half chuckling but with a clear edge of seriousness, "I'll cut your fucking balls off." You punctuated your threat with a friendly slap on his back.

Kevin laughed, his smile easing the tension. "No, (y/n), I’m getting better at this shit. Treating women with respect and all," he said as if reading from one of those flyers the marketing team had handed out.

He really was trying. You thought about your own past mistakes, the dark deeds you had committed to prove your loyalty to Vought. The blood that had once sealed your commitment still stained your hands. You were unsure of where to begin in making amends for those actions. In that sense, Kevin was already one step ahead of you, though it was clear that his progress wasn’t entirely without your influence.

In a world dominated by alphas and echo chambers of oversimplified, misogynistic takes, you were the only reasonable source of influence Kevin had. Truthfully and saddening, the only reason The Deep had managed to improve at all was because of you. ''Can I see it again?'' Kevin asked, ''Just to delete it for you after?'' ''Be my guest, I don't want to look at his cock and balls anymore.'' You took your phone from your pocket, handing it to him. You watched closely as Kevin reopened the conversation with Homelander, being extra careful not to click or send anything by mistake. His fingers hovered over the image, and from the corner of your eye, you noticed him zooming in.

“Kevin, what the fuck?” you muttered, trying to stop him. But Kevin had his hands firmly on your phone.

“It’s not even that special?” Kevin said, his tone more of a question than a statement.

“It’s just a regular, run-of-the-mill penis,” you said from your spot next to him. “What did you expect? For the tip to be made of gold?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin chuckled, his voice taking on a strangely light, almost chipper quality. “Something more impressive?”

A proud smile spread across his face, and you finally realized where this was heading. Kevin started laughing, and you couldn’t help but join in.

“Gosh,” Kevin said, patting his own upper thighs as he puffed himself up, “my cock is bigger than his.”

You reveled in his reaction, imagining how satisfying it would be if all of America could compare their dicks to Homelander’s. But for now, you settled for the smile on Kevin’s face and the true lightness in his laugh.

[qwertyprophecy]

The Illusion of Aggravating Player-ness

Pictured above: demo footage of me attempting to hit the Hero when their dodging program is turned to maximum. (I can only test this for so long before getting annoyed, which is exactly the vibe I'm going for.)

More about the feeling that has inspired The Dark Queen of Mortholme under the cut:

A couple years back I happened upon a tumblr post identifying a surprisingly common sentiment when playing Pokémon. The player has an edge over NPCs in battles for basically the entire game, because unlike those silly programmed losers we've figured out how to use healing potions. So upon getting to end game and witnessing our first case of the NPC trainer healing their Pokémon to full with a hyper potion, it feels like such bullshit. How come they get to do that? Only I get to do that!

There are instances of little details in many other games that evoke a similar emotion, like this one boss in Sekiro who can sneakily counter the player's charged attack with a move that till then only the player has been using. (Please let me know if you personally recall any examples!) The sheer audacity of non-player characters using player-only moves, being annoying as I am! It's a deliciously strong reaction that goes beyond the game's difficulty ramping up; I think it's about recognising ourselves, the essence of distinctly player-like behaviour in this fictional entity made from code.

While thinking about that I also happened to be mulling over what I considered a huge missed opportunity in the end boss of the game Katana Zero. Without spoilers, let's just say that it made me consider whether it would be even remotely doable to create a narrative boss fight against a player-like entity who appears to get to save and re-try the fight by themselves. In Undertale there's a brief illusion of a NPC saving and loading game states, but they don't quite do it like a player would.

The illusion would have to include a feeling that your opponent not only gets to try again but is learning from their mistakes. Furthermore it's specifically an advantage they have over you; you don't get to try again, nor do you get room to improve. And unlike them, your preprogrammed skillset is designed to have exploitable weaknesses and a static power level which can be surpassed.

No matter how skilled, you'd be doomed to lose against an opponent like that. The bosses we beat have it rough, huh. I myself am not particularly good at video games–when I try to get past a difficult boss fight in any game where those are designed to take a fair amount of attempts and learning, I feel in my bones that meta-level story of striving to overcome a seemingly impossible obstacle. It's a journey through various emotions from eagerness to frustration, culminating in the triumphant success.

But from the boss's point of view, that story takes a very different shape, involves different emotions, and (assuming the player keeps playing) invariably culminates in a predestined loss. Sounds unfun. So obviously, that's the experience I aim to provide! (Unfun games really are my forte, with my previous work simulating jubilant experiences such as job hunting blues! anxiety! exam anxiety! trying to fix a spaceship engine that's killing you!)

Who wouldn't want to enjoy being the most powerful being in their universe until some little dipshit bursts in and locks you in an unending battle till they’re satisfied and you’re dead?

[maryse127]

List of changes I hope to see in Xenoblade X Definitive Edition :)

I am hopeful because last time we got a definitive edition Monolith adressed basically all my issues with the original

LARGER TEXT. For fuck's sake please. I love this game, I would love it even more if I could fucking read!

Better online servers. I have no experience with Nintendo Switch Online but please let the online be more stable. The constant disconnects were so annoying. Especially because the only way to reconnect was going back to the title screen and loading back in. Which took forever with the loading times.

I never got to experience the game during the Miiverse days so I hope they bring the Miiverse features back to some degree just like they did with Splatoon

Change it so that the flight music only kicks in after flying for about 10 seconds instead of the instant you jump. And also the option to turn it off completely. I love the flight theme but it sucks you basically never get to hear the area themes again while travelling once you unlock flying.

Considering they didn't listen to the complaints about the vision reacts music in DE I am Very Skeptical about a flight music toggle tho :(

Hot take but I actually like talking to characters in NLA to put them in your party. However I HATE it when I cannot find them because they are not in their usual spot. Please mark their current locations on the map!!

Rebalance the audio and/or add audio options to the settings because I would love to hear the characters talk over the music

Wild card that won't happen but that I have always wanted: add a fashion boutique to the commercial district where you can buy fashion gear. And add more of it. I love the casual clothes in this game. I just wish it was easier to get specific things than randomly getting it from the basic mission board

Improve follow ball. That thing gets lost and confused when you fly

Better quest tracking for collectibles. Would love to be able to find my quest items without having to consult the wiki where they spawn.

Honestly, add better quest tracking for enemies as well. I have spend way too much time searching for tyrants despite having their basic mission active. Just anything that makes me use the wiki less while playing.

Offline option to gain reward tickets. I love the online but it would be so much better and more fair to all players if you could get the reward tickets offline as well. Being stuck in collection quests or grinding all materials for creating skells amd augments is just so bad without the tickets.

I feel like the map could use a bit more location names and would also really appreciate it if it would show exactly where the landmark/probe is in the sector. Because I have had moments where I warped and ended up being a lot farther away from where I wanted to go than I thought.

Option to change time from the menu instead if having to find a base camp or bench!!!

Better tutorials. Like they have to because the manual is gone. But even with the manual I felt like explanations were lacking at times. Especially when it comes to overdrive.

Not a change rather a very heartfelt request to NOT change how stupidly broken overdrive is. Infinite overdrive strats my beloved.

Option to quit out of a story or affinity mission. I never did get stuck in one. And I know there's an option to lower boss difficulty if you die a few times. But I just never liked the restricted feeling of not being able to give up and retry it later. Especially ones where you need items which can be a Pain without reward tickets.

Game is probably gonna get an easy mode anyway but I would really appreciate the option to quit a mission.

Make the skells easier to control in vehicle mode?? I don't know how this could be achieved. Maybe it's just a skill issue on my part (rather than a skell issue)

Unlikely but please: multiple save files per user. The whole reason I have a second profile on my Switch is Xenoblade 2 (and BotW) not allowing multiple savefiles per profile.

Maybe have inactive party members gain some exp? Like after you unlock overdrive you can basically solo the game anyway but it would be nice to not have a character stuck at level 20 when you are in late game grinding affinity for affinity missions

Somehow make it so that the Prospectors aren't constantly dominating the leaderboards. I too want salvage tickets for my skell :(

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟnagi thinks you look so pretty when you’re crying on the end of his cock.

♱ warnings: f!reader, a little dacryphilia, multiple orgazms, overstimulation, nagi is a needy baby, all characters aged up to 22+ / note: i’ve not written in so long so this probably sucks, but i hav loads coming so bare w me <3 ive missed him !

the first time nagi sees you cry on the end of his cock he feels like he might pass out, the starry-eyed wet look you send him, the way you’re hiccuping through pants of his name as your nails leave raised scratches along the ivory planes of his shoulders.

his skin feels sticky, sweaty as his huge body curls over yours — pressing you deeper into the pillows as his hips rock into you, pushing his heavy cock against the swollen, sweet spots inside of you that make your nerves sing with every grind.

nagi feels like he can barely breathe, think when he looks down at you beneath him — so lost in a haze of pleasure and him as pretty crystalline tears gather along your lashes. it was rare for him to find something that wants him to put in this much effort, to push his body to its limit — to push yours along with it.

“angel..” he mumbles, long and low before hes leaning into kiss you, drinking in the hiccuped little whimpers that pour from your pouty lips as he grinds his cock even deeper. he can taste the salt from your tears as they fall across your cheeks and he can’t help the way he groans, whimpers as he savours it on his tongue before dragging it along your own.

“f-fuck— quit looking so cute, pretty thing.. ‘ts no fair, g’nna make me cum again.” nagi’s words are breathless as he buries them into the kiss, feeling your walls tremble and quiver around him at the praise, like you’re begging him for another release that he’s more than willing to give you.

every slow draw back of his hips is deliberate, making his hips stutter when he feels you squeeze around him even tighter in response — desperate to lure him back into your walls, to dig another load out of him despite the way the sinful hug of your body already has him drowsy, breathing deep and fucked out when the kiss breaks wet and he whimpers.

“can—ah, can gimme more sei. please~” fuck, you know nagi can never say no to you, not when your voice breaks underneath the weight of your arousal, when it takes a pitch higher with your next wet look — he’d even let you overwrite his save data on every game ever if you asked right now, anything to have you squeezing around his cock again.

the pace he sets isn’t fast, but every thrust is driven by the weight of his heavy physique and you feel his hands tremble where they squeeze at your waist, palming at your body as he struggles to keep a grip on his own sanity. he buries his face in the crook of your neck as he fucks into you, every back and forth stutter of his hips making him shudder with the sensitivity he still feels.

“eh, jus’ be patient w’ me, pretty thing — ‘m tired. g’nna give you more jus’ feels too good right now, s-such a pain.” nagi slurs with his words as he smears wet, drooled kisses along the dip of your shoulder. his tone wavers with how drunk he feels on your body, the head of his cock hot and sensitive with how much cum you’ve already milked from him — his body trembling with every wet connection of his hips with yours.

he pulls back when he hears you moan, the sound breaking into a hiccup with a particularly deep kiss of his cock as you send him a pretty, pliant look. tears smear down your already wet cheeks until he’s almost crumbling on top of you, lips tracing the trails the crystalline drops have followed.

“ah—w-what a pain. lemme give you one more first.” nagi’s body claps against yours as he loses himself in the needy push and pull of your cunt, desperate to dig another orgasm out of you as your glassy-eyes close with the sudden bliss.

it’s eager, messy and needy the way he sinks into your plush walls, taking a slow, ragged breath when a new set of tears follow the trail of the last across your skin. your clenching tighter as you try to meet his thrusts, making his pace stutter before the overstimulation has him pressing you deep into the mattress beneath you as his groans take a breathier, whinier pitch.

“please, wanna feel you w’ me, come on.” nagi’s voice wavers with his own plea, feeling your fingers tremble with his words as they drag along his shoulders and you’re already so sensitive that it doesn’t take much. his pelvis grinds against your clit suddenly, making you melt underneath him before your lips part to sob with how good it feels, how good he feels like a sweet little reply as you cum, squeezing unbearably tight around his sensitive cock until he’s following you off the edge.

his body crumbles as his chest falls against yours, his orgasm hitting him so hard and good he can barely hold himself up as his drowsy gaze rolls back, whimpering as you grab and scratch at his skin while he spills into you for the nth time.

nagi’s hips press flush against the own as his body almost quakes, every grind of the blunt head of his cock making you whimper as his head falls back into its place in the crook of your neck. but every still milking compression only makes him press even deeper as he thrusts shallowly, heavy cock twitching and softening as you both breathe deep.

“how many more, pretty thing? changed my mind, not tired yet.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[redlegumes]

Dec 8th: Dead Give Away, Innit?

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles

prompt: Idiots to Lovers | AO3: link | wc: 861 | rating: G | cw: none | tags: Wayne POV, first kiss, oblivious

Summary: Wayne is tired of Steve and Eddie, beating around the bush. It's obvious that when their 'kids' ask them to host a holiday party together they're ready for these two to get together too.

❆˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗❆

Wayne ducked his head out of the kitchen to see Eddie struggling, arms full ,trying to get through their small home’s door. He was about to help when he saw a familiar tan hand and scarred wrist help his nephew. Steve Harrington, back again.

Wayne waited a beat and then headed out after them. Eavesdropping was something he rarely did around Eddie, the boy deserved his privacy, but… he was curious what the two were up to this time. He hung back a little, listening to the young men while standing just inside the front door.

continues after the cut

He didn’t quite hear what Eddie said but he caught Steve’s reply.

“No, this time Max called.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she wanted to make sure we weren’t just ‘throwing it together’ last minute.”

“What a little ingrate,” Eddie exclaimed.

Wayne cracked the door open and watched as Steve leaned in toward Eddie, startling him into a low chuckle. “You love her.”

“You… no, you ‘Mama’ Harrington,” Eddie said, poking Steve in the chest, inches away from his face now. “You know, that’s what they call you.”

Wayne held his breath. Is this it?

Steve stepped back. “I guess I’ve got a reputation to uphold. So you better be bringing your ‘a’ game Eddie.”

“Sports ref-”

Wayne exhaled and stepped outside into the chill, Indiana winter air. Idiots. “-what’s all this now boys?”

Steve waved, and Eddie grinned before picking his gear back up. “The kids insisted we host a holiday party for them,” he huffed, loading an amp and his guitar into the back of the van.

“Yeah, very specific that we head it up,” Steve added, grimacing. “I don’t know why. I mean I’ve thrown some parties but-”

“Oh, really Stevie?”

Wayne folded his arms over his chest as he watched his boy hip check the always well groomed Harrington, slightly throwing him off balance. He also watched as the blush covered the young man’s face, and groaned lightly. The two had been fawning over each other, teasing, and then pulling back every time it looked like they might be finally getting somewhere. It’d been like that since April, and Wayne had just about had his fill.

Steve had already won him over. Harrington wasn’t given a free pass just for saving his nephew’s life, but in the following months he’d proven to be no fair weather friend to the Munsons. He shepherded those kids Eddie cared about too back and forth to physical therapy and just about anywhere else they begged him to. Steve would put on a show, all put upon, but Wayne saw the protective glint in his eye and the smile he hid every time he was ‘pressed’ to help them out. Steve was good people. But tripping over his tongue in front of Eddie was getting a little old.

Wayne suspected their extended friend group felt the same way if Steve and Eddie had been pushed to plan a holiday celebration together.

“The ‘Hair’ and his masterful party skills squandered on a lil event for a group of sophomores,” Eddie wheedled.

“Hey,” Steve protested. “And us, and Robin, she’s bringing Vickie. Jonathan and Nancy will be back in town, your DnD guys-”

“-my bandmates-”

“-both.” Steve tugged on one of Eddie’s curls. “It’s not just the kids.”

Wayne shifted his weight, fighting the urge to light up a cigarette. This has gone on long enough. “So, it sounds like you two are planning. Are the other older teens bringing anything to help out? You know, the couples other than you two. Decorations? Food?”

Steve blinked slowly. “Um, Everyone is bringing white elephant gifts. I recommended they bring snacks and drinks, but I don’t expect anyone to so I make sure to have plenty.”

“Who all is dating who now,” Wayne asked as casually as possible. If these two knuckleheads are going to keep being dense I might as well act oblivious. “I know the redhead is with Sinclair. But I never seem to know who Hopper’s kid is or isn’t seeing. And your Robin is seeing the Carmichael girl.” Steve was mouthing words without sound. Eddie had frozen where he stood. “But I suppose they wanted you two to host since you're the ones who have been together the longest and are still in town.”

Eddie’s face steadily turned bright scarlet. “What would, Wayne, what… Steve and me?”

“Aw, don’t worry none boy.” Eddie’s jaw dropped. “What,” Wayne chuckled, “was it supposed to be a secret? Jeez, you both doing this holiday get together is a bit of a dead give away innit?”

Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Dustin, it was Dustin’s suggestion, and then everyone said we should…”

“Hmmm?” Wayne chose not to catch what he was saying. “Well, my two cents, if you care, is don’t get too worried about making it all perfect. Make sure you both have a good time too.” Wayne turned back to the house to hide his smile. “And don’t forget the mistletoe.”

…

Wayne parted the blinds a few minutes later to catch a quick glimpse of Steve and Eddie wrapped up in each other, kissing as flurries began to fall.

Finally.

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