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endless-ineffabilities · 10 months

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this world was never meant for a fire like yours

part three.one - lovers adrift

Daemon Targaryen x modern-f!reader / nurse!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST: part one - part two - bonus chapter: unalloyed - part three.one - part three.two - part three.three

word count: 5.6k ▪︎ main masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: separation, Daemon in his New Moon Bella Swan era, reader in full/overly hectic nurse mode, Viserys losing (even more) hair because of Daemon, Daemon is severely whipped, language

August 2023 / the 8th Moon, 113 AC

A flash of bright red passes by, your peripheral vision drawn to it as if on instinct. You don’t look back as you turn a corner, not wanting to see if it is a similar vehicle.

If it is, then that’s just fucking cruel. As if the universe itself is mocking you.

Because no matter how much you deny it, every single thing reminds you of him.

Cars. Broken laptops. Your worn-out couch. Old movies. Pizza. Burnt food in your kitchen. Helicopters. The dog-eared paperbacks on your shelf.

Damn him. Damn him to his ridiculous seven hells.

It has been weeks since Daemon Targaryen disappeared from your life, as easily and as abruptly as he had entered it.

Without a trace, as if you plucked him from your imagination. Except he did leave a mark so indelible it cannot be denied. He left his mark alright, in the form of constant sleepless nights. In how you space out each time his memory hits you. In how nothing in your little apartment seems to be yours anymore. Every corner, every inch of the space screams his name. He has made your world his own. He had claimed your heart… and then left. And now you’re here to pick up the pieces.

You remember the torture reflected in his face, the rage, when his brother came to take him away. You knew how badly he wanted to go home, so you made his choice for him.

You told him to leave.

Stupid girl. You want to go back to that very moment, and tell yourself to make him stay. You know you should have held him in your arms, keeping him rooted in place. In this world, with you.

But you opted for selflessness. You chose to have your heart broken, so that Daemon can go home. You know that he would have stayed if you only asked.

Fuck, I should have asked.

______________________

The Rogue Prince has been unpleasant and volatile ever since he returned from that strange other world. He has been made welcome, feted and tended to, day and night. Everyone was initially glad to have their Targaryen prince again. Until they realized how much he had changed.

Daemon quickly went back to his roguish ways, but it seems as if these tendencies increased tenfold. Something was severely wrong with the Rogue prince. Something other than his usual myriad of dangerous flaws. Only a handful knew of his predicament, of his loss.

When the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, chooses to make some remark about how you were just some woman, and an unknowable outsider at that, someone who might never fit in the Seven Kingdoms, Daemon says nothing at first.

For an entire minute, he sits at the council table, his mind stirring.

Some of the small council members think the conundrum solved. Their prince must have finally realized that what he wants - who he wants - is an impossibility. But the more discerning of them, those more familiar with Daemon, know otherwise.

Lord Corlys could have all but predicted what came next, after a grievous line from Ser Otto that goes, “Perhaps we should finally arrange for a union between the Prince and one of the Ladies of the Kingdom. Lord Baratheon’s eldest daughter might be - ” Of course, he does not get to finish imparting this idea, as Daemon rises in a flash, Dark Sister drawn across the table and directed to Ser Otto’s sternum.

The Kingsguard springs into action. Any harm conducted during the small council meeting, could of course also extend to their King.

“Daemon!” Viserys growls, his patience having run out.

The prince simply warns, “I will not have this snivelling sycophant make decisions about who and when I am to wed. And I will not hear any more slander about the woman whom I love, do I make myself clear?”

Ser Otto merely stands his guard, hands half raised by his sides as a gesture to the Kingsguard to not make any sudden attempts to remove the prince from the room, lest he should suffer any grievous harm to his person as a result.

“Daemon,” Viserys implores again, “Ser Otto was merely making a suggestion. What else is the small council for if not to freely discuss matters of import for ourselves and for the Seven Kingdoms? You are their prince, after all. Whom you wed will be most crucial, indeed.”

Daemon begins to relent. Slowly lowering Dark Sister, a sly smirk materializes on his lips, as if to show just how little this perceived threat to Ser Otto means to him. It isn't even enough to warrant an apology.

Daemon seats himself once more, appearing to look unfazed as he inspects the calluses on his hands. “There is only one reason as to why I even deigned to participate in today’s council meeting. I wish to know if we have finally received word back from those bloody witches who had me returned… the ones who can apparently travel through our realm and the other.”

Viserys sighs, knowing his brother is not there for anything else. Not for his duties. Not for the realm. But for you. “Nothing yet, Daemon. But we are trying-”

He stands abruptly, without any mind to formalities. “Then it appears there is no reason for my presence here.”

In a moment, before any plea could be spoken, the Prince was gone from the council chambers.

Lord Beesbury, confused, addresses the table, “Was the Prince not meant to report on the recent dealings of his Gold Cloaks with-”

“Oh, what does it matter, my Lord?” Ser Tyland interjects, with a scornful whip of his hair. “Prince Daemon wouldn’t be aware of all the goings on in the Red Keep, seeing as he’s either holed up in his chambers or too busy hunting down those shameless heretics who can miraculously send him back to-”

“Ser Tyland,” Viserys commands, his voice clear for once. “I shall ask that you leave that matter alone. Unless you can be of any help, which I highly fucking doubt.”

A hush falls over the small council. Their King has never been prone to swear freely like a drunken Lyseni, unlike his younger brother.

“Perhaps,” Ser Otto says, “we should convene this council meeting for another day, my King.”

Viserys merely huffs in response. “Very well.”

As he departs the room with the Kingsguard, he wonders if things will ever be even just an infinitesimal amount of simple when it concerns his brother.

His conclusion comes swiftly - no, it never will be.

______________________

You lower your clipboard on the nurses station, leaning against it in exhaustion.

“Ms. Carlson is stable now, thankfully.” You address Dessa, an older colleague who has been newly stationed at the desk. “We just need to monitor her blood pressure from time to time.”

“Sure thing.” Dessa gives you a once over, clearly not approving your current state. “But sweetheart, why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ve been taking way too many extra shifts just out of the blue like this, and you have to give yourself a break.”

Taking a deep breath, you roll out the tension in your neck and shoulders. The bright wash of hospital lighting makes you feel slightly nauseous, so you shut your eyes tight. Briefly.

But not brief enough. In the recesses of your mind, in your memories, you can almost feel him. Hear him.

Leaving this world for but a moment, and gently slipping from consciousness, is enough to make you remember.

And you remember everything.

‘My love. Come lie with me,’ he would say.

Your mind reels from exhaustion, and from the perpetual echo of his voice. Leave me alone.

Come back, is what you meant. It’s what you’ll always mean. But his desire to return to his Westeros, to his Seven Kingdoms, was too strong for you to ignore. He swore he wanted to stay with you, so you had to make the choice for him.

This measly world was never meant for Daemon, whose fire can set everything ablaze. And there surely were plenty of times when he almost let his rage and his usual ways get the better of him, if it weren’t for you. His anchor.

You know that he would be too much to bear, and this world would try to quell him.

It was the right decision. So why did you have to feel so wretched about it?

Because you love him, you big idiot.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, opening your eyes.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dessa’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, the expletive taking her aback. Poor girl just expressed concern, and here I am over her desk, eyes glazed over like a zombie.

“Oh, it’s just… you’re right, I do need some rest. My shift ends in an hour and I plan to sleep for the next 24 hours. At least.” That isn’t the truth, but you don’t feel it necessary to deepen her concern. You could be upfront and admit that you find it hard to fall into slumber, because almost every time, without fail, Daemon is there to welcome you.

His voice. His touch. His burning gaze. Your dreams could be there to offer a sense of comfort, a safe haven that can temporarily ease you out of heartbreak, but all you can feel is a painful loss.

You don’t think it right to lose yourself in what was, or what could have been. Where would be the point in that? It isn’t as if this is a typical long-distance relationship, and Daemon simply went off to live in another city.

No. The damn bastard had to go off to an actual other dimension, didn’t he?

How can anyone expect any less from someone like Daemon?

Dessa relaxes, and sighs audibly. “That’s good. Go do that, hon. If you want, I can cover for your next rounds, whenever that’ll be. You’ve been taking up all the extra shifts around here as it is.”

“Thank you, Dessa,” you say genuinely. “I think I’ll go check on 517 one last time before I go.”

You start to push yourself off of the counter and get your bearings, but Abby reaches out for your hand, keeping you in place for a moment longer.

She smiles, and you can’t help but notice something lingering underneath her expression of comfort. As if she knows.

“It’s going to be alright, y/n,” she says, and the sentiment quickly takes root in you, a sense of warmth wrapping around you like a warm hug. Too soon though, she lets go, and you are snapped back into reality.

Until she adds, still smiling, “Those we love tend to find their way back to us, ñuha riña, if that is truly what is meant to be.”

Everything stops. It feels as if ice has infiltrated your veins, like some sudden shock. That sounds like…

“What… what did you call me?” you croak.

She merely tilts her head, her smile dropping only slightly, taking on a new emotion. Something like pity. Does she know?

“I don’t know what you mean. I merely gave you a piece of advice, my child.”

You slowly look around, trying to shake some sense back into yourself. Shaking your head, you say, “Right, I must have misheard things. It’s just… I thought I heard you speak…” High Valyrian. His native tongue.

“Speak what?” She asks, a hint of confusion visible on her face.

“Nothing,” you shake your head quickly, stepping away from the nurses’ station. “Thanks for the advice, Dessa. I’m just… a little out of the loop is all. I’m definitely going to rest after this. I’ll go do some final rounds, and check back with you in 5 minutes?”

“Of course, darling.” She smiles again, and you think of how welcoming the sight is. How genuine. Dessa has this seemingly maternal quality to her, and you feel grateful to be at the receiving end of it.

You mirror her smile, before finally turning and sauntering towards the rooms.

______________________

When you finally reach your apartment, you have to drag yourself up the flight of steps, your legs feeling like jell-o underneath you.

Dessa is absolutely right. All those extra shifts are taking their toll. In your defense, you believe them to be necessary. Your own messed-up version of therapy. Cooping yourself up in your flat would be torture, when Daemon has left his mark on every inch of the space.

The kitchen where he kept trying to make dishes, only for them to end up charred at the bottom of your trusty IKEA pot. The couch where you spent most nights, curled up in each other’s arms, boxes of takeaway shared between the two of you.

You would dramatically relay your worries about your patients in the ICU, and he would muse about the “peculiar sort of idiots” he had to deal with at the auto shop. By that, he meant irate customers and even women who took a liking to him. So much so that they would deliberately lose small parts of their car engines, only to specifically request Daemon’s assistance.

He would pull you onto his lap and cage you in his arms, smirking at the poorly masked envy in your expression. Soon after, your worries would dissipate in a haze, his lips snaking smoothly all over your skin.

I’m clearly upset now. Where’s my comforting embrace, huh?

Sullen, you make your way to the kitchen. Upon quick inspection of the fridge, it becomes evident that you desperately need to make a grocery run.

“I’m officially a peasant. No wonder the great Prince of Westeros didn’t want to stay with me.” You rack your brain for other alternatives, taking note to push away the thought of what Daemon would suggest. Freshly made pizza, with all his preferred trappings - spicy salami, heaps of cheese, nduja, and basil. Conveniently delivered straight to your door in a jiff.

No. Definitely not that.

The thought of Daemon not having access to such a glorious thing as pizza anymore made you spiteful. Take that. That’s what you get for leaving.

You drag yourself onto the couch, slumping atop the worn out cushions. Silly girl. Do you think he would care? That world has everything he could ever wish for.

The sound of knocking on the door pulls you out of your thoughts. Thankfully. Two sure raps on the wood to pull you out of your misery, for who knows how long.

“Hi.” Tom stands on the other side, a sheepish smile on his face. “Care for some company?”

This would be the fourth time since Daemon’s departure that he’s shown up at your door, out of the blue, simply asking to spend time with you. And this would also be the fourth time that you acquiesce, and let him in.

Any and all distractions are welcome. Even in the form of your neighbour, with his puppy-dog eyes and suggestive remarks that clearly indicate that he still has not gotten over you. Despite being rudely confronted with the reality of you and Daemon, many months ago.

But the reality is… there is no more you and Daemon, is there? Once Tom grew aware of that, his eagerness returned twofold.

You did not show the same interest. Not in that way, at least. You made sure of that by saying “I’m glad we’re friends again.” when he first came over. Friends. Only that.

Still, there was some part of you that felt as if you were leading Tom on. By letting him in again, being his friend, you were giving him hope that it could turn into something more. Especially now that you badly needed a shoulder to lean on.

Before you could let guilt rip through you, you force a smile up at him. “Sure, come in.”

I might pay for this later.

For now, his carefree laugh and animated talk of everything that’s going on in this world might just help piece together the remains of your heart.

______________________

*flashback* March 2023 / the 3rd Moon, 113 AC

It was no easy feat to summon a priestess of the old gods to King’s Landing, but when Prince Daemon disappeared, his brother the King Viserys spared no effort in seeing his brother safely returned.

Every sept of every religion was consulted. The Maesters of the Citadel. What remains of the water-wizards in Dorne. The magisters of the Free Cities.

Many of the common folk surmised that perhaps, the volatile Prince Daemon simply took off without any word of warning.

However, that supposition may be easily debated with the fact of Caraxes’ presence on Dragonstone. Daemon would not have left Caraxes behind. If anything, he would have almost certainly ridden on dragonback to wherever he planned to go.

It further complicated matters when some of the soldiers present on the battlefield wherein Daemon was last seen profusely swear that their Prince simply vanished into thin air.

The Maester were quick to dissuade their King of supposed foolhardy lies. One does not simply vanish. It is unheard of, a mere calumny. Their advice had been near unanimous - the Prince left, or was in hiding. Likely he did not wish to be found, which is why he left his dragon behind, the creature inevitably drawing attention wherever it goes.

Just when the commotion around his disappearance had somewhat dissipated, a triad of self-proclaimed members of an outer sect, an adjunct to the priestesses of the old gods, made themselves known in the Red Keep. Accompanied by the elder priestess, they asked for an audience with the King, who eagerly welcomed them. His council members, on the other hand, were wrought with suspicion.

The women, three close-knit sisters, introduced themselves as Treesa, Verness, and Dessa.

They claimed to be part of a covert sect that sprung from the Old religion. One that remains largely unknown in Westeros, which warranted the suspicion of the small council.

“Realmwalkers.” Verness declared in a proud tone. “That is what we call ourselves, borne out of the fact that we can jump from this realm, my King, to another strange yet equally fascinating one. The very same realm that Prince Daemon finds himself trapped in.”

“Trapped? And in another realm, you say?” Viserys’ fury was rising to the surface. “I charge you to speak plainly, and do not offer me such calumnies. Where is my brother?”

Treesa smiled wryly, unperturbed by the King’s growing wrath. “He’s been sent to the realm of Korzion. The realm of steel, if you please. Largely inhibited by men. Like us, but not quite. They’re somewhat more… connected to these… these machines.” There was a faraway look in her eyes, rendering her expression almost vacant. Her gaze met that of the King’s, but it appeared as though she did not really see him. Her mind was elsewhere, her skirts moving alongside her gently swaying figure.

Upon hearing this, Otto Hightower leaned in to whisper to the King, “These so-called priestesses must only be devising some trickery, my King. Perhaps we should adjourn-”

Dessa interjected, “We can prove it to you, King Viserys. We are the only ones who can ensure that your brother is safely returned to this realm. Whether you trust us or not, that does not alter this truth.”

Viserys stiffened, a decision forming in his mind. Ignoring the look of reproach from his Hand, he took a deep breath and responded, “Tell me everything.”

______________________

September 2023 / the 9th Moon, 113 AC

“It took you a long while to allow yourselves to be found again.” Daemon’s voice, while low and controlled, maintains an underlying impatience. As if he could not be bothered, and is only going through everything for the hope of seeing you again. Sitting casually, partially covered by the shadows, he briefly thinks of how you would definitely make a remark of how much he resembles a ‘Bond villain’ from those movies you love.

You once ran your fingers repeatedly over his hair, mussing it completely, after a couple of glasses of wine white. Daemon sat there, half in surprise and half in adoration. “Mystery man,” you slurred, smiling sleepily, “you’re someone straight out of a book, or a movie, or… or… my dreams.” Your eyes widened at that, at the incredulity of it all.

“You’ve dreamt about me, have you?” He cheekily responded. This was quite some time before the two of you finally dropped all the pretence and acted on your desires. Before the two of you allowed yourselves to fall completely in love.

“Mmm,” you giggled, “Strange how I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

Daemon, for all his brazenness and devil-may-care behaviour, found himself feeling disheartened at your words. Bad boy, you said. But that had a different, softer meaning for you. You were not aware how bad, how malevolent, he actually is. You did not know how he had dismembered enemies in battle, in his blind rage. You did not know how he had selfishly manipulated and lied his way purely to get what he wanted. You did not know that he would kill anyone who tried to hurt you, without reservation, in a heartbeat.

He thought of how you were too good for him. Sitting there, after hours upon hours of your daily work as a healer, still managing to offer him a meal and spend time with him after near exhaustion, your smile was still whole and true and good. And it was being directed at him. The strange, angry man who infiltrated your little world and did not seem to want to leave.

He thought, determinedly, that he did not deserve any of it. He did not deserve you.

Treesa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “I think I’ve lost you, my prince. You are no longer in this world, as you were.” Sitting across from him in his chambers, she has half a mind to become irate at how Prince Daemon is regarding her as if she is nothing more than the mud on the sole of his princely boots. A mere inconvenience. But her annoyance is restrained by her understanding of how he must be feeling.

He regains himself, ignoring her remark, and continues, “Where are the others?” Then he flippantly waves his hand. “Never mind that. You said you will help me. Then can you transport me back to her world? Or her to mine? How soon can this be done?”

Treesa smiles slyly, “So many questions. How powerless you must feel against the tides of fate. What if your story has already been determined by the gods? That you meet your love, stay together briefly, only so that she may change you forever?”

“Careful now, witch.”

“Realmwalker.”

“Whatever you call yourselves. Make no mistake, I am not asking for your help. I demand it, as your prince.”

Treesa just laughs, the shrill sound as light as air. “Do not take us so lightly, Rogue Prince. The one you claim to love is also one of us.”

“What?”

“Your love from Korzion? Oh yes. She is a Realmwalker too.”

“Impossible.” Daemon says, shaking his head, but he is already running through his memories of you. Was there something that he might have missed? Were there any telltale signs? Had you deceived him?

“It’s the truth.” Treesa shrugs. “Only she does not know it yet. My elder sister, Dessa, is currently in her world and she is going to make herself known to y/n very soon, as who she truly is. Then Dessa may also let her know who she truly is.”

“But she…,” For the first time since he was tongue-tied around your presence, Daemon struggles to find the right words. “She is not from Westeros, is she?”

“No,” Treesa explains, “but she is a descendant of a woman who was. A Realmwalker of old, who chose to live her life in Korzion.”

“Well then,” Daemon stands, as if prepared to jump through a portal that very moment, “if she is of this world, then she can surely come here, can she not? There is nothing that can hinder this. You claim she is a Realmwalker like you. Bring her to me. Or… bring me to her. You’ve done it before.”

“It was Dessa who transported you to Korzion, my prince. And, it is no easy feat to bring another non-walker to Korzion. It can take a heavy toll on any of us. Much was needed to be orchestrated for the King to momentarily travel realms just to coax you back with him.”

Daemon merely petulantly tilts his head, and clenches his jaw, as if to say, ‘how does that help me?’.

“Sit down, my prince,” Treesa sighs. “You’ll know of everything soon enough.”

______________________

The very first Realmwalker or Vyzh-agon was a priestess of the old Religion.

Aesdella, believed to be originally from Old Valyria, and eventually settling in the North of Westeros, was the very first to travel to the realm of Korzion. Our realm. It remains unclear when she was born and when she perished, but she lived well before Aegon’s Conquest. Another source of speculation is how her abilities came to be, but from her bloodline came those with similar abilities. And so forth. Until this very day.

Only Aesdella’s female descendants inherited this very nature of being a Realmwalker. This power can remain dormant, hidden under the surface, or it can be practiced and essentially turned into a way of living. Such as with the sect of Treesa, Verness, and Dessa, as well as their other sisters and cousins.

She was believed to be a formidable woman, garnering respect from even those of other religions, and other lands. Though she made sure that her abilities would not be known by others, seeing as she did not trust the nature of men. These powers, if in the wrong hands, could bring strife to both Korzion and her realm. It has been said that this is why she made sure that only her daughters and their daughters after them would receive her power, but this is mere conjecture.

There are many peculiarities which concern travelling between realms. The Realmwalker would have to envision her precise destination, lest she should accidentally end up in the middle of some remote part of Amazonia. She would require some tools, if she was not necessarily raised in the practice of realm walking. She would need to prick her fingers or her palm with a sharp sliver of moonstone, let her blood meet the raches of a raven’s feather, and recite a chant in High Valyrian. This is enough to awaken the power passed down to her through Aesdella’s bloodline. The feather will turn to ash in her hands, and swirl around her form, multiplying a thousand fold, and in a moment, this daughter of Aesdella will have travelled realms.

Those with immense power resting inside them, would eventually not need the moonstone, nor the raven’s feather, after a while. The chanting matched with pure will is enough.

A Realmwalker may also transport another to Korzion, and vice versa, but this can exact a heavy toll on both parties if done incorrectly. Which is why Viserys’ jump to Korzion could not be done in a haste, and also why Dessa was rendered unconscious for an entire moon’s turn after having to quickly transport Daemon to Korzion following his fatal injury.

“Dessa saved you by transporting you to Korzion, as realm travel can sometimes have regenerative effects on one’s person. Luckily, your jump proved to be so.” Treesa reveals, the dancing firelight casting shadows on her angular face. “She did this because, and I am certain that you do not remember at all, but you once saved her son’s life, Prince Daemon.”

“You will have to be more particular, as I cannot recall every-”

“Like I said, you do not remember and it does not matter. What matters is that he is alive and well. Dessa is estranged from this son of hers, but will never cease to care for him. It’s a mother’s curse.” Treesa shakes her head in disapproval. Daemon feels inclined to think that she has no children of her own. “You saved her son in battle many moons ago, and so Dessa found a spell that ensured you had blood moonstone on your person, wherever you went. This is one way we can maintain a connection to someone, keep an eye out for them. When she sensed you had been grievously harmed, she immediately triggered the moonstone with a spell that would cause you to walk between realms.”

Daemon listens, not because he is especially intrigued by the entire story. He simply sits, waiting for Treesa to speak about you. Who you truly are, and how this expanse between the both of you can be eliminated.

“Did you know, it was by accident… well, somehow at least… that y/n was in the vicinity after you arrived in Korzion?” Treesa laughs dryly. “Realmwalkers can send another individual such as yourself to Korzion so long as there is a beacon there for you to go to. Another Realmwalker, you see. Dessa meant to send you close to Verness who had been visiting with her… Korzioni lover.” Distaste flashes again across Treesa's face, which goes to show that she does not share the same affinity for having lovers, much less children with such lovers, unlike her sisters.

Daemon turns and meets her gaze straight on. “And yet, I was sent to… close to…”

“Yes.” Tressa nods. “To y/n. Dessa did not know she existed until then. Her great-grandmother was one of us, yes. When she disappeared ages ago, it was believed that she chose to spend the rest of her days in Korzion. Little was known of whether she fell in love, or whether she eventually had Korzioni children. Daughters that would also carry her ability. But apparently, she has.”

A scoff of disbelief and amazement escapes Daemon’s lips.

“Now, my Rogue prince,” Treesa leans forward on her elbows, the tone having shifted to something much lighter. “Now do you believe in fate?”

______________________

In Korzion, you sit once again on your couch after another long shift at the hospital. Only this time… and perhaps it has grown out of being a rarity at this point… Tom sits beside you, comfortably slouched a mere few inches away.

You lean away from him, opting to stick close to the armrest, hoping he would take this little hint. But he’s chosen to ignore it, ambling closer to you the first chance he got.

Your laptop is in the low table in front of you, a new flick playing on the screen. Some new Netflix production that Tom chose, which you weren’t so keen on. But what did it matter?

Company is company. A distraction is a distraction. You probably should head straight to sleep, but you didn’t want to risk having yet another dream of Daemon. Another dream that will end abruptly and wrench you back into this grim reality.

Remnants of takeout sushi containers are scattered on the kitchen counter. When Tom suggested pizza, you were quick to protest. Daemon loved pizza, and he loathed sushi. So, why not have sushi on this fine evening?

“So when will you get to reading it?” Tom asks, referring to the book he lent you. He initially wanted to give it to you as a gift, but you said you didn’t want a gift if there was no occasion. When he responded with, “I don’t need some special occasion to give a gift to a beautiful girl I care about,” you struggled so very hard to maintain a straight face and not roll your eyes.

Daemon would hate this. If he still cared.

“I guess I’ll start tonight.” You lie, picking the book from your lap, pretending to peruse the back cover. “Seems like quite the read. I don’t think it will be like any of the other books I’ve read.” Of course it won’t. Because I would never purchase this myself.

“That’s great! You’ll love it, it’s a New York Times bestseller. I found it on BookTok.” He says, as if to reassure you, though it doesn’t really do the job.

You sense his arm snaking behind you on the seat, and before you can make some excuse about having to get some water, an unexpected knock echoes from the front door.

Thank you. Whoever you are.

You rush toward it, finding Dessa on the other side.

“Nuha riña,” she says, a wide smile on her face. “It’s time.”

She said it again. I knew it. “What the fu-”

She looks over your shoulder, noticing Tom standing close behind, as if in protection. “What about Daemon?” She asks sincerely.

Daemon? You feel your heartbeat falter, taken aback by someone else saying his name out loud.

“H-how? You never met him. He was gone before you even came to work at…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully. “Who are you?”

She takes your hands in hers, a firm yet gentle hold.

“The question, my dear, is who are you?”

end of lovers adrift

______________________

*preview* of part 3.2 - lovers ablaze

October 2023 / the 10th Moon, 113 AC

“This is real?” Your senses are overwhelmed, and you feel somewhat floaty, as if you’re nowhere at all. Perhaps, you are nowhere, not in your realm and not in Daemon’s, but somewhere in the middle. “Am I doing this? Is it working?”

Daemon, who was frozen at the sight of you, immediately strides forward. Desperate to feel you, his hands hold onto whatever he can. Your face, your hips, your hands. “My darling, all of this is fucking astonishing, and we can certainly marvel at what you can do to no end, but quite frankly, right this moment I could hardly bring myself to care.”

He smashes his lips to yours. They move relentlessly, as if on their own accord, their master groaning like a starved beast. You feel him, or you think you do, his familiar scent engulfing you, and he feels like home. You feel his silver hair sliding between your fingertips, his sharp teeth gnawing gently at your lips, his fingernails digging into your backside and melding your torso onto his.

Daemon is not one to waste time, that’s for sure.

“I miss you,” you breathe, as he kisses down the hollow of your throat.

“As I do you, my love.” Daemon purrs, nipping at your collarbone, breathing you in. “You simply have no idea…”

You feel him, but only just… and it’s not enough. But it’ll have to do.

“Daemon… this is…” You try to voice out your concern, despite the moment. Dessa was right, your corporeal forms cannot meet through your projection; the two of you stand in your bedroom, but everything seems to be enveloped in a thick fog. If you press hard enough, you think your fingers will simply pass through Daemon as if he were a spectre. You realize that he knows this, too, but chooses to ignore it.

“This is the closest we’ve been in far too fucking long, my love. It would have been sooner if those cunts made greater effort to-”

You snort, confronted once more with how brash he can be. “Daemon, those cunts? Really? I am one of them, you know. Besides, it’s not their fault.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” His lips form a desperate, wanting smile, as he connects his forehead to yours. “Let me have this. Have you. I need you.”

He’s right. In physical form or otherwise, he is still your Daemon. And you have craved each other too much to be denied any kind of reunion.

“Okay.” Your hand reaches up to cradle his face, and he leans into it. He then looks around, appraising your chambers, as he used to say.

“Nothing changed.” He hums, while holding you tightly to him, as if he’s afraid that you might dissolve into air. “What’s this now? Ever the reader, my heart.” He reaches for the crisp, new paperback novel atop your dresser.

“Oh, that’s… yeah, someone lent it to me.”

“It certainly does not seem too suited to your tastes.”

You let out a humourless laugh. “Astute observation. It’s my neighbour’s. He apparently thought I needed something new to read.” When he gave you the book, Tom happily explained how he thought you should, “...expose yourself to other things. Things you possibly haven’t tried out before. New films, books, friends. You know to help you forget all about…”

“Your neighbour - what was he called? Tim?” Daemon’s lips curl in distaste.

“You remember his name, Daemon.” You roll your eyes at your lover, and his poorly-veiled jealousy. You were one and the same.

“You’ve been letting him inside your house?” He inquires, voice dropping an entire octave. If looks could kill…

You nod slowly, carefully. “He’s been visiting every now and then. It’s not a big deal.”

Daemon tilts his head, a sinister look appearing on his face. Smirking, he leans in and whispers, “Has that mongrel taken my place, dearest?”

You swallow thickly, his darkened gaze doing much and more to break your self-control. If he doesn’t stand down… well.

“Has any lady taken mine? In that amazing, grand realm of yours, Prince Daemon?” You respond, rising to his challenge. Your fingers snake in between the low-collar of his white tunic. Only Daemon has ever been able to elicit this out of you.

He enjoys the way you directly meet his eyes, unwavering in your stead. No one ever looked at him in such a way; not one has ever seen him as you do. Daemon has always inspired fear and intimidation in others. Those who find themselves comfortable enough to hold a conversation with the Rogue Prince tend to feel ill at ease or on their guard. As if he might turn on them at any moment.

People usually mosey up to him because of a favour. Because of his status, his reputation. Because they want something out of him.

But not you. No. Daemon knows that he has only ever inspired love in you.

Well, that and what might have been absolute surprise followed by wariness, when he was suddenly sprung into your world, injured and in a coat of full armour.

He kisses you passionately in response. Once, then pulling away only to breathe, and again, and again.

“No one can ever replace you.” He swears. He has never been a devout man, but in that moment, he curses all the gods that you two are apart. Meeting in this middle-realm is insufficient. He feels you, somehow. But he does not feel your warmth, nor the goosebumps on your skin from his touch. You are there, but you are not.

But it will have to do. For now.

“Is this ailing you? Sustaining a connection like this, in this place?” Daemon asks.

“Not really,” you admit. “Dessa says I’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, but it shouldn’t take too big of a toll on me. I’m learning the ropes, and there’s a lot to learn. I mean… this is fucking insane.”

“And here you thought me extraordinary. When it was you all along.”

“Hardly.” you smile in return. If you could feel warmth right now, you would certainly feel it blooming across your face. “I’m not the only one, it seems. And, my great-grandmother… she was from your world.” Your smile stretches twofold in awe.

He brushes a stray strand from your face.

“The Rogue Prince and his Realmwalker. We have always been meant to find each other.”

series taglist: @omgsuperstarg @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @lucytheripper @kindaslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @vainillasmil157 @llovinjoonie @outundertheocean @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @pineappleandro @luckythirtxn97 @knockemdeadgirl @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @kryzeria @selahstars @captainweirdo42 @nitimurinvetitumsposts @aemondmyl0ve @eternallyvenus @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince @moonmaiden1996 @mukduk-not-murder @partypoison00 @cookielovesbook-akie @borikenlove @avadakadabra93 @luloveseddie @katsav17 @avadakadabra93

Here we are - it's been a LONG time coming.

Grateful to all of yous for struggling through this wait. I know how much of a pain it is when a fic I'm reading just can't get updated soon enough. You guys deserve Daemon Targaryen at his very best 🖤

Oh and fire like yours isn't losing the somewhat lighthearted tone it might have had. The next part is when mayhem ensues, involving denim, vintage leather jackets, pizza!!!, etc. in Westeros. I just had to get through all this explaining as to how Daemon somehow ended up in our world (Korzion).

Maroon part three up next!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #modern!daemon targaryen #modern!daemon targaryen x reader

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rollinouttahere-writes · 10 months

Text

Searing Pain: Part 2

Yandere Ace and Luffy x GN!Reader

2.1k words

Part 1 / Part 3

Consciousness ebbed and flowed back into you slowly. While you couldn’t see anything, you could still hear. There were the hushed whispers, scraping of chairs against the floor, and footsteps entering and leaving the room you were in. The voices were strained, the speakers’ stress clearly seeping into their tones. Mentions of your name were frequent.

You… You were shot, right? You think that’s what happened. The memories weren’t clear, the last thing you could remember was a look of horror washing over Luffy’s face before you blacked out.

Then there was what you were feeling physically. Everything hurt. You had a splitting headache, but that was the least of your problems. Your chest felt like it had been ripped apart and stapled back together. Every breath was labored and caused an additional burst of pain to spread through your chest like a wildfire with each individual inhale and exhale.

The sensations weren’t all bad, though. There was something soft and furry curled up against your side. Chopper, maybe? There was also the distinct feeling of someone clutching one of your hands. It’s comforting, if not a bit sweaty.

Finally, you’re able to pry your eyes open. Only for it not to help. It was mostly dark, with minimal light filtering in. Your eyes being unfocused certainly didn’t do you any favors. After a few blinks, your perception sharpened. There was definitely something covering your face.

Lifting the arm that wasn’t being held took a lot of effort. The movement shot pain directly into your chest, making you shudder violently and drop your arm back down. It fell directly onto who you assumed to be Chopper, and you can feel him jolt from the contact. This also makes the person holding your hand stir.

“(Y/N)? Was that you?” The hope in Chopper’s voice was undeniable. He clambered around on the bed, inching closer to your face. Then he gently lifts whatever was covering it, allowing more light to greet your eyes. “It was! You’re awake!”

“They are?!” Several other voices in the room said at once. Chairs scraped on the floorboards and footsteps approached your form. The faces of your crewmates came into your line of sight all at once, pushing against each other in an attempt to get closer. Their expressions were initially fearful, but they all broke out into smiles upon making eye contact with your open and awake eyes.

Nami elbowed her way to the front and knelt down next to the bed. She gently placed a hand on your shoulder, “How are you feeling? You had us really worried there.”

Sanji squeezed himself into the sliver of available space, “You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now, you must be hungry. What do you want? Whatever it is, I’ll whip it right up!”

Having all these people swarm you within seconds of coming to was overwhelming. You open your mouth, not even sure what you’re going to say yet. Nothing comes out though, as you’re suddenly struck by how dry your mouth is. All you can do is croak out an indistinct syllable and cough.

Sanji is quick to grab the glass of water off the bedside table, but then hesitates when it comes to giving it to you. He hover hands you for a second before very carefully lifting your head up just enough to be able to safely get the water into your mouth. It feels and tastes absolutely heavenly on your parched palette, good enough even to distract you from the pain in your chest brought on by the minute movement.

He pulls the now empty glass away and rests your head back onto the pillow. Everyone is looking at you with bated breaths, waiting to hear your first words since waking up. The problem is that you have no idea what you are supposed to talk about. Probably not the weather, you guessed. Clearing your throat, you say the first thing that comes to mind, “Is- Is everyone else alright?” It was a brutal fight, you can’t imagine you were the only one injured.

There’s a chorus of exasperated noises from your crewmates. Nami reaches forward to pinch your cheek, “Only you would ask about other people after getting a hole in your chest! We’re all fine, it’s you you should be worried about!” She scolded you harshly, but you knew it was coming from a place of concern.

The grip on your hand tightened, and you are finally focused enough to investigate who has been holding it. You glanced up and locked eyes with your captain. Luffy’s expression was completely serious, as well as unreadable. He hasn’t said a single thing yet.

Wait. You turn your head to the side more to get a better look at the people in the room, and you realize someone was absent.

Ace.

“Where’s Ace? Is he okay?” You couldn’t help but start to worry. Did you not get him out of harm’s way? Is that why Luffy is so uncharacteristically quiet?

“Calm down, he’s perfectly fine. Not long after we got you back here, he left to go to Whitebeard’s ship. He’s returning later with some doctor from his crew,” Nami explained, “says he’s got a devil fruit ability that should be able to help you recover faster.”

The news that he’s safe eases your nerves. Thank God. You don’t know what you would have done otherwise. Okay, well, not much in your current state, but still.

Mentioning your recovery made Chopper snap to attention, “Oh, right! I need to talk to you about your condition.” He hopped off the bed to grab some papers from a nearby table. Looking at the entourage of crewmates, he asked them to give you some privacy. There was some hesitancy, but they eventually shuffled out of the room. Everyone except Luffy. Chopper didn’t comment on his presence, likely accepting that he wouldn’t be able to get him to leave no matter what. Luffy is stubborn like that.

Chopper flipped through his notes, mulling over where to even start. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t know how to say what needed to be said. With a grimace, he began, “You suffered a severe puncture wound to your chest, with your ribs and one of your lungs taking the worst of it. Three ribs were shattered, but I was able to piece them back together. Ribs take a long time to heal, though, so you need to be careful and take it easy for at least twelve weeks!” That last part sounded more like a warning than anything.

You couldn’t help but cringe. Twelve weeks? That’s such a long time! What are you supposed to do in the meantime? Sip tea on the deck while watching everyone else do all the work for three months?

“Well… I guess that’s not quite true,” Chopper mumbled.

“What do you mean? What isn’t true?”

“You’re… going to be on light duty for longer than that,” guilt flashed across Chopper’s face. “I could only fix your ribs, your lung… there wasn’t anything left to save. The bullet that pierced your chest ripped your lung to shreds, there wasn’t enough of it left to put back together, so I had to remove it entirely. There are some breathing exercises you can do to help strengthen your remaining lung, but you’re going to get out of breath much more quickly from now on. I don’t think you’ll be able to fight like before ever again.”

All that you can do is stare at him silently with a shocked expression on your face. This news changes everything. Your life is going to be completely different. Will you even be able to be a pirate anymore? Tears were beginning to well in your eyes and you were aggressively blinking in an attempt to keep them from falling.

Chopper looks between you and Luffy before excusing himself. Luffy still hasn’t spoken, and at this point you’re afraid to even look at him. Afraid that you’re going to break and start crying like you so desperately want to.

Both of Luffy’s hand tighten around yours, and you can hear his breathing become labored. Then something wet drops onto your hand. Unable to ignore him, you finally turn your head. Tears are pouring down his cheeks, and he’s biting his lip hard to try and keep the sobs in.

“I’m sorry.”

You both blink in surprise at the others’ apology. What did he have to say sorry over? He’s upset because you got hurt. Despite his general carefree attitude, he’s a bleeding heart for his nakama. Seeing one of them in your current state must be hell on him.

His hands constrict around yours to an almost painful degree, “Don’t say that.”

“Luffy-”

“Stop! Stop trying to be responsible for everything! Stop trying to apologize when you don’t need to! Stop trying to sacrifice yourself! Just stop!” Luffy’s silent crying has escalated to full on sobbing now.

There’s a pain in your chest, and now it’s not just from your injury. Your heart throbs in pain, seeing your cheerful captain like this makes you feel awful. Sick to your stomach even. There’s another apology on your tongue, but you wisely keep it to yourself, not wanting to make Luffy more upset than he already is.

“I”m the captain! It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around!”

Instead of apologizing, you settle for bringing your free hand over to rest on his, hoping it’ll provide some type of comfort. You’re crying too, now. Each hiccup and breath is absolute agony, but it can’t be helped.

“Promise you won’t do that ever again! Promise me!” His eyes are wide and desperate, begging for you to agree.

You can’t find it in you to argue, the idea of making Luffy this hysteric again is sickening. There’s also the fact that you probably physically won’t be able to pull off a stunt like that for a second time, not with your newfound chronic condition.

“I won’t. I promise.”

If your words did reassure him, he didn’t show it. There’s a chance he doesn’t believe you, but this could also be about him needing to get it out of his system. He’s likely been bottling all of this up inside for as long as you’ve been asleep. His head drops onto your shoulder and tears quickly soak into your shirt as he chokes out more sobs.

It’s uncomfortable, and more than a little painful, but you bring a hand up to rest on his head. You pat his hair and can’t help but notice another absence, “Where’s your hat?”

He raised his head enough to be able to look you in the eyes and sniffled loudly before answering, “You’re wearing it.”

Huh? You are? Your hand wanders from his head to your own, and your fingers find purchase on the familiar brim of his iconic straw hat. Oh, so that’s what was covering your eyes when you woke up. You pull it off and feel warmth fill you from the sweet gesture.

You don’t get to look at it for long before it’s plucked out of your grasp again by Luffy, who places it back on your head. Well, he put it on as well as he could given that you’re laying down. “You can hold onto it for now,” his tone made it clear that there was no room for argument on that matter.

“Thank you, Luffy.”

The room falls back into silence, a more comfortable one than before. You could tell that Luffy had more to say, but chose to wait for him to speak up on his own terms.

Just as he appeared to be ready to talk again, the door to the room creaks and Sanji popped his head in, “Sorry to bother you, but I still need to know what you want to eat, (y/n).”

As if your stomach had ears too, it growled loudly in response. You name off a couple of your favorite foods to him, “Make a lot of it too, I’m so hungry that I might be able to out eat Luffy!” A wheezing laugh makes it out of your throat, and you wince at the pain that comes hand in hand with it.

Luffy and Sanji share a worried look, but don’t say anything about it. The chef offered you a sweet smile, “Of course, anything you want!” With that, he left. Luffy didn’t, he was seemingly dedicated to not leaving your bedside. With the intense stare you’ve been receiving since waking, you’re not sure he’s going to be leaving your side even when you’re not bedridden.

Oh well, it’s not like it’s hurting anything. You might as well enjoy your remaining time together since you’re ultimately going to have to part ways in the future thanks to your injuries, but that discussion is for another day.

#yandere one piece #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece ace #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #monkey d luffy #luffy #tony tony chopper #nami #cat burglar nami #sanji #black leg sanji #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #yandere #platonic yandere

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writefightandflightclub · 30 days

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Ten (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Hope you like this next instalment! It’s a long one, and it’s a flashback, so it feels like a HUGE RISK to shove this in so far into the story. However, this memory of Santiago’s and reader’s is SO vivid in my mind I feel I could basically use it as a patronus charm. Therefore, if you’re at all invested in these two by now, I do feel like the payoff is worth it, and that it will set you up PERFECTLY for the next, concluding chapter! (Also: ooh, intrigue, as we get to see how they were with each other back in their youth, you know?). Anyway, as always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. ILY :-*

P.s. there’s a timeline goof as a song mentioned in this, although recorded in ‘88, was not released until 2015. But we’re just gonna look past that, okay? 😝 In this world it was released early.

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

Word count: 16.6k for this part. (SORRY!)

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Many years earlier

Santiago is tired. Ready to crawl into the cocoon of his bed and draw the covers over his head, refusing to surface again until he’s dragged feet first outta there. Unfortunately for him though, sleep is not on the cards.

Instead, he has a vitally important mission to attend to. And, in the face of a mission, this particular soldier never settles for anything less than completion. That doctrine is especially true - he has proven time and again - when it comes to taking care of you.

Tonight, Santiago is tasked with making your birthday a memorable one; or, as memorable as he can muster with the $40 he currently has to his name.

“Civilian aircraft, man. Where’s a goddamn helo when you need one?” you fruitlessly complain as he nods along in sympathy.

Evidently, sleep is the last thing on your mind. You’d been looking forward to cutting loose for weeks, with this night touted as “the birthday to end all birthdays”. Serendipitously, this was the first time your birthday had coincided with a period of leave since you signed up to serve and, thwarting all that, your connecting flight was grounded unexpectedly.

Santiago feels crushed - on your behalf - that the plans have gone so pear-shaped.

“One o’ these days, getting shot for the Motherland will gain me some fucking privileges, huh?”

Santiago flinches at that particular addition. He doesn’t like to think about that day. That day’d had him waking up in frequent cold sweats going on a year now. He’d put himself on the line countless times - no problem- but almost losing you had been decidedly different. Had been the single most terrifying moment of his career (and his life) to date, all told. Which sure was saying something considering the hairy situations he routinely found himself in.

Graciously, your present circumstances are considerably less dire. You’ve still been griping, of course. And, your complaints have not succeeded in changing a damn thing. It is now abundantly clear - if it wasn’t already - that the two of you are stranded for the night. So, here you are, holed up in a dingy and characterless airport motel in Philadelphia.

It beats enemy fire, for sure… but even so, Santiago is acutely aware of how much you’ve been looking forward to this. To the rare chance to catch-up with your far flung squad mates, scattered every which way across the globe since graduating basic. He knows too, that the anticipation of this reunion had acted as your glue - had held you together - through what had been a particularly brutal deployment.

“I haven’t seen Miller in months, man. I need to give that bastard some grief soon or I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

“We can call that pendejo tomorrow,” Santiago soothes, popping a stick of gum and beginning to chew obnoxiously. “Hey. We can even pool our insults, huh? Really get him going.”

You raise your palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “Shit. I just miss the fucker, Santiago.” For the first time tonight he hears your voice break, your stoicism cracking apart and revealing your soft middle.

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

Santiago knows how crushed you are. And so, for whatever it’s worth, the man resolves to show you the best night he possibly can, all circumstances considered.

“Come on,” he encourages, kneeling before you as your lower lip quivers. He plants a hand on your thigh and jostles your leg gently. Meanwhile, you sit slumped on the long edge of the lumpy motel bed, beginning to feel rather more sorry for yourself. “You and me, baby. I’ll make this night special, I swear. Just give me a chance, huh?”

“How?” you sound, throwing your palms up and gesturing to your dismal surroundings. “This place is barely even a step-up from the barracks.” You eye a particularly suspect stain on the carpet with disdain. “Actually, I think it might even be a step down.”

Santiago’s face crumples obediently in a measured display of sympathy, but honestly, his first instinct is to chuckle. You look so forlorn in this moment, Santiago has to consciously suppress his smile. You are the most stubborn, ferocious, determined person he’s ever met. You are fucking tough. Hell, he’s seen Staff Sergeants buckle in a crisis before you’ve even come close to breaking - and yet here you are. Almost in tears because you can’t make your birthday party. It’s all a little incongruous to him that out of everything, this would be the thing to take you down.

At the same time though, of course. He understands it perfectly.

Santiago has understood for a long time now that you possess a (well-concealed) softer side. Knows it better than most others do, in fact. As you’ve gradually allowed him to sneak past your militia-guarded perimeter -only a soldier of his calibre capable of making it, he’d wager - he’s begun to catch more and more frequent glimpses of the achingly soft heart you guard within. If your tough exterior had initially magnetised him to you, it was your soft heart which ensured he’d stuck around.

Solemnly then, he pats your thigh in a consolatory gesture. Of course, Santiago gets it. He knows it isn’t the presents or the attention or fuss which you’ll miss tonight - though they would have gone over well too, he’s sure. He knows that it is your brothers (in arms, if not blood) that you are feeling the loss of. The squad mates you love dearly, and to whom you are loyal with a tenacity Santiago has rarely witnessed. A loyalty he too feels blessed -strictly in the lapsed Catholic sense - to be on the receiving end of.

Valiantly fighting back glassy tears, you pop your lower lip in a display of petulance as he rubs reassuring circles into your knee. “Philly sucks ass.”

This time, he can’t quite quash his smile all the way.

“Philly sucks ass, huh?” he repeats, buying himself time to think.

Santiago isn’t sure whether you know that for a fact. He isn’t even sure you’ve ever been to Philly before to assess how much ass it does or does not suck. But, he does know that, irregardless of facts, you seem altogether determined to wallow in your self-pity.

Santiago has noticed this about you. How you always developed an inalienable picture in your head of how you hope things will end up. It’s inspirational at times - your ability to visualise victory, for example, even in the most dire of circumstances, has held missions together. Has held him together. At other times though, it only set you up for disappointment. How could it not, when, through no fault of your own, you cannot reliably manifest the various futures you set your heart on.

It’s not as though you ever ask for a lot; but sometimes, in your profession, even asking for a little is asking far too much.

Still, it is brave, Santiago thinks, to hope for things. For his part, he has learned the hard way not to hope for anything much.

Your shoulders sag in time with his as he exhales a breath and, though your display is dejected, Santiago gathers a soft smile. You are stubborn, that’s for sure, but in him you’ve met your match - or so he likes to think. Santiago is perhaps the only person who could reasonably claim the title of being twice as stubborn as you are, and (while he realises deep down he probably shouldn’t wear that as a badge of honour) he has often pushed his theory to its limit. And so, stubbornly, refusing to give up, Santiago rises to standing. He fishes around in his jeans pocket, yanks out a fistful of dimes and small bills, and brandishes them victoriously.

He waves them enticingly in front of your face then, but you forlornly swat them -and him- away. However, he knows from the dull, reluctant spark in your eyes when he makes his pitch that he is finally on to something. “I saw some peanut butter cups in the hallway vending machine,” he sing-songs, with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. He knows fine well they’re your favourite, and he can’t believe he’d forgotten his secret weapon: chocolate. “We can clean them out, take a cab, find some shitty ass dive bar, and have ourselves a sweet ol’ time. Whaddya say?”

Nothing else had worked, and so Santiago is eminently thankful when a smile finally twitches your mouth. Honestly, he’d been about one attempt away from offering to eat you out all night - and he hadn’t been sure whether that would’ve made you happy, or would’ve resulted in you verbally lambasting him.

On balance, he figured it was probably best that he didn’t risk either kind of tongue-wagging.

“Fine,” you concede whilst swallowing a mischievous grin, not at all eager to let on that Santiago has finally cracked you. “But don’t you be expecting to muscle in on my Reese’s, understood?”

Santiago chuckles warmly, slipping into Spanish. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Birthday Princess.”

You snort at your newly bestowed title, playfully adjusting an invisible crown on your head, and you extend your palm towards his to shake on it. The gesture, as Santiago’s palm over-enthusiastically clasps yours, causes dimes and bills to scatter chaotically to the floor. A shit-eating grin etches itself across his face and meanwhile, your boisterous laugh rings out through the tight space. “Shit, Pope. Don’t drop it on this grim-ass fucking carpet.”

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?”

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

“And you don’t know where the hell he’s been?”

“The opposite. I shared a bunk with that hijo de puta, I know exactly where he’s been.”

With easy laughter eddying between you now, you both crouch, carefully gathering up the spoils of the latest Pope/Catfish wager to change hands.

“I really need to meet that guy.”

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.”

Your hand brushes Santiago’s as you transfer him a mess of coins, sending a trail of goosebumps shivering up his arm. It always surprises him how soft you feel to the touch, accustomed as he has become to his own calloused hands - and to those of even rougher men than him.

“Garcia. I swear to you I’ve never clapped eyes on the bastard.”

“You just don’t remember him.”

“Shit. Well maybe he’s not very fucking memorable. Jog my memory. What did we talk about?”

His shit-eating grin is back. “I dunno. But I bet you talked for the both of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, batting Santiago lightly -more or less- in the upper arm.

“I just mean he’s quiet. Takes a while to warm up, that’s all. But he’s a good guy. You’ll like him, I promise.”

“Okay.” You shove the remaining dime into Santiago’s palm.

“Okay?”

“He’s clearly special to you, so he’s special to me too. Introduce me to him. Again.”

Santiago smiles at you, gentle crinkles forming around his eyes. He’s already told Frankie so much about you, and he really thinks the two of you will get on. “Deal.” You both stand, and Santiago once again extends his cash-filled hand towards you.

With a cheeky grin you chide him, not eager for a repeat calamity, but your tone is fond. “Don’t you dare shake on it, idiota.”

Your smile digresses to your eyes. You extend your palm to pat him on his stubbled cheek - in a gesture weighing heavily with affection. Your lips animate, and Santiago wonders whether something sentimental might actually come to the fore.

You whisper, low. “You have thirty seconds to get me my peanut butter cups.”

He chortles and, for the first time (perhaps since imagining his head between your legs), Santiago is eminently excited to see where the night will lead him.

Safe to say, he might be dog-tired… but he finally feels like staying awake.

***

Despite your very vocal distaste for the music, and the clientele, and…well, just about everything in the first dive bar you and Santiago stumble across, the combination of cheap beers and even cheaper shots has succeeded in getting you efficiently merry. And, despite your earlier reticence, you now seem plenty eager to continue the party.

Considering he could only afford cab fare from the motel to a dead neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t going too badly, he thought. Though, Santiago had hastily steered you outta the first joint when a group of creeps had started leching on you. He knows you can handle yourself and he wouldda been happy to back you; but tonight especially, conflict is the last thing he wants for you. He figures you’ve had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. That you finally deserve a little peace. So, instead, he links your arm in his to keep your tipsy ass steady as he steers you down the main drag, desperately searching his mind - and scanning the unfamiliar streets - for what to do next.

His mission, as it stands, is to satiate your threefold desire - for drinks, dancing, and good music. Tricky, given that he is already down to $10 dollars, give or take - and he’ll need that for the cab ride back to the crummy motel.

Truth is, as he ambles with you for a few blocks, he is running out of ideas for how to show you a good time. What’s more, ever since he first entertained the idea, in his desperation, all his dumb ass can come up with is to offer to eat you out until morning. It’s pretty much becoming an intrusive thought at this point and, as the sordid image of you spread out for him further invades his mind, he quickly tries to blink it away.

He doesn’t want to be that guy. You receive more than enough unwarranted attention as it is. And besides, Santiago would never want you to misinterpret that the reason he hangs around is to -eventually- get in your pants.

You are so much more than that to him. Sometimes, he even has to keep his distance, so that in moments of weakness he doesn’t forget it.

You’d held him at arms length for a while there too.

Soldiers; not friends.

He hadn’t won you over, he knew, because of his sparkling wit and charm. You’d been drawn to him because he was competent. Surprisingly level-headed for someone so baby-faced. You’d wanted people you could work with. People you could trust to get the job done; because you had to trust them with your life.

The two of you have some undeniable chemistry, that’s for sure. At least, on his end, he’d felt something fierce and magnetic right out of the gate. Even so, from the outset, and even as your friendship had deepened, the two of you had seemed to quickly forge a tacit agreement.

Friends; not lovers.

You had made the assessment quickly, jointly, unconsciously. After all, under the rather intense circumstances in which you’d met? You’d each needed a friend - a genuine friend - far more than you’d needed a lay. For you especially, as he understood it, the former had been far more difficult to secure than the latter, especially as a woman in a highly-charged cesspit of toxic masculinity. And for him? Well, as talented as Santiago is at gaining connections, he doesn’t find all too many people he is willing to go deep with. To trust - and he trusts you with his life.

When he’d found you then, he’d grabbed firmly on to you, and had resolved that nothing would get in the way of the friendship you’d forged. Not even - or perhaps especially not - his own… urges.

Still. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Not like you’ve never gotten him a tad… flustered. Indeed, as the rhythm of your steps marching in time beside him lulls him into calmness, feeling safe, his mind wanders in precisely that direction.

So what though? He’s only human, right? Prone to fantasising; like he is now, he supposes, as he thinks vaguely about licking and kissing down your enticing, bare expanse of stomach. About popping the button on those low slung jeans. Shimmying them down over your hips just enough to sink his mouth over the mound of you and suck.

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something.

He swallows then, feeling guilty for being such a horndog, and he turns to you. You seem to be perfectly content. To be enjoying the hit of fresh air, the apples of your cheeks sheened, with a subtle glow, from the exertion of your dance moves back in the dive bar. And honestly? Looking at you? As guilty as he feels for thinking about you like that, Santiago can’t muster a single better idea of what to do with you.

He pushes it down, of course. Chalks it up to being just a tad pent-up following a seemingly endless deployment. That’s all it is, right? His dick is just looking for a little relief, and you are the closest, attractive body capable of providing him a warm welcome?

Sure, he rationalises. That’s all it is. He can find a girl one night soon and take her home, like he’s done plenty of times before to work out his urges. Except for the fact that seeing you out of those (helpfully) modest fatigues is reminding him you are exactly his type.

“You’ve gone quiet, Pope,” you frown as he -no doubt- looks at you dopily. “What are you plotting?”

With your question, Santiago tears himself violently from his thoughts as you interrupt their increasingly feral trajectory. Still, in scrambling for a deflection, all he is able to land on is something else deep and wet. “The Mariana Trench,” he fumbles.

Hell. Maybe he isn’t quite as smart as he gives himself credit for. Or, maybe all the blood is simply rushing to his crotch instead of his brain - for some reason.

Even so. He urges himself to get his mind out of the gutter and to focus up. You deserve so much more than bearing the brunt of his accumulated sexual frustrations. So. Much. More.

You laugh at his response though, oblivious as you are to his inner monologue, even linking your arm into his more tightly - as though he isn’t a huge perv. Your bright, infectious, beer-addled laugh bounces off of the surrounding asphalt and concrete. And, whilst it ricochets off of everything else, it sinks into him, mixing just a little more of you into his generic, rapidly dissolving fantasy. It offers a luminous gilding around the edges of his hazy desire, stirring in a vivid and more golden want than he has strength in this moment to acknowledge - never mind name.

“Okay, weirdo. Sure. You’re thinking about the butt crack of the ocean? Miller been feeding you National Geographic documentaries again? You guys do know pay-per-view exists, right?”

“Fine. You got me,” he confesses, your paces slowing as you gradually halt by the crosswalk, the two of you realising you have no particular destination in mind. “That was bullshit. I was actually thinking about what the hell I’m gonna do with you next.”

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly.

Santiago looks you up and down where you stand, out of habit more than anything - a result of that now familiar “buddy up” system soldiers make use of to check each other for injuries. Sometimes, with the adrenaline and the shock, you don’t even know you’re bleeding out. This time, thankfully, the only ailment Santiago notices is the goose flesh prickling your skin, and he wishes that he had a jacket to offer you to keep you warm.

“Oh?” You turn your body in to face him. Sway just a tad, eyes a little bleary, and Santiago instinctually plants his hands around your waist to keep you stable, touching on the smooth, bare skin where your ratty old band tee fails to meet your waistband - by approximately the width of four thick fingers. You shiver even though his touch must be warm. “Okay. Well what are you going to do with me, Santiago?”

You blink at him then, your eyes wide and - dare he say - hopeful, one eyebrow arcing in idle curiosity.

You are typically the decisive one. You are always clear on what you want. Tonight, however, it is evident that you are counting on him to lead you somewhere.

Even though he doubts his ability to take the lead, rather fortuitously, Santiago does (miraculously) manage to stumble upon one single idea outside of the realm of cunnilingus… “Hey, come here,” he coaxes, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes.” You oblige him, folding your grip around him, firm and sure. His heart swells a little at the instant, implicit trust you exhibit - no hesitation. “Do you hear that?”

Santiago’s eyes remain open, observing you as your eyes blink clumsily shut. You slide your soft hands up his forearms, bracing yourself with a gentle “woah”, no doubt as the closing of your eyes makes your alcohol-saturated world sway and swirl just a little more intensely. “Listen, cariño,” he scolds good-naturedly, cupping his palms at your elbows. “Do you hear it?”

He can’t help but smile as your face scrunches in adorable contemplation. Then, he can’t help smiling even wider, as you begin to tap his arms and jump excitedly up and down on the spot. You hear it too then. The distant thud of music bouncing off of the tall buildings.

“Music!” you exclaim excitedly, opening your eyes and grinning at him, still bouncing on the spot like an excited kid.

The full beam of your unfiltered smile knocks him for six for second. It has been a while, honestly, since he’s seen it glow that bright. Turned all the way up. You’d gone through some shit on this deployment. Blood, horror, pain; rinse and repeat. Some of your spark had understandably dulled, and honestly, he had worried -in part, a little selfishly- that it might never come back to its full strength.

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong.

Santiago had quickly come to learn that you possess a singular combination of character traits - and not only the magical ability to piss him off more than anyone else could. No, in fact, he’d learned quickly that you possess a singular kind of zest for life. One which he’d feared was too pure to survive long in the dark. Honestly, he’d believed your optimism and your joy was naive at first. Something to be knocked out of you in boot camp. But he was wrong so far. At every turn you endure. At every turn, you shine. As he feels increasingly bogged down, saturated with inky, oily shadows, you are bright. His guiding light, always calling him home from the edge of the dark, shadow-coiled path he skirts.

“Do we follow it?” you ask excitedly, the glint of adventure in your bright eyes, and in that moment he could swear he’d follow you anywhere.

“Yeah. Of course we follow it. It’s our goddamn duty to follow it.” Santiago stomps his boot and waves his arm in a sloppy military salute - the kind that would earn him fifty push-ups back at base. You follow suit, even more sloppy, but entirely resolute in your faux seriousness.

“Tonight, I swear my oath and pledge my allegiance to music, so help me God.”

Santiago stomps emphatically again, for effect - an overblown, cheesy action-movie-style salute, his strong jaw set in an overly caricatured display. You beam again, a face-splitting grin, and he…

…realises he is having fun.

In this moment, you are giddy. You are bright. Full of life, and Santiago briefly wonders if this is how things could be. If it could be like this all the time if only you could get out. If you could leave the military behind. God. You are the last person he wants to lose from his side, but a knot twists in his stomach at the thought you should get out while you still can. Before it drags you down like it is him. Before he drags you down with him, since you’ve seemingly tied your fates to his with red bloodied ribbons, wound between your bones and his.

He doesn’t have much time to consider those things though. To let the blood seep into the edges like it always does; because you start running. You take Santiago’s hand in yours and run towards the distant thud of noise, leading him behind you and laughing and whooping as you do. Making a grey night in a grey part of town feel vibrant. Making him feel vibrant by association. He realises only then how numb he’s felt lately. How your buoyant smile had been the only thing to feed his own these past months.

You are so much more than a throwaway fantasy to him.

You truly are the friend he’s needed so desperately, and feels so, so lucky to have found.

He runs with you, and he hopes, silently, selfishly, somewhere in the pit of him, that your paths never wind in different directions.

He’ll follow you anywhere.

***

After a few, giddy, chaotic minutes of tracing the ricocheting sounds, you find yourselves in the lobby of a seedy hotel, breaths sawing in and out of your lungs and mirthful, intermittent giggles spilling out of you.

“I’m on the guest list!” you insist with a hiccough, trying your utmost to blag your way into the wedding party contained beyond the double doors; the established source of the music.

Your assertion is much to the chagrin of the teenaged, stoner-looking kid on the front desk, who is clearly milking his new-found authority for all it’s worth.

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?”

Santiago looks at you expectantly, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his chest already shaking and nose scrunching with a mildly tipsy, sleep-deprived concoction of mischief.

“The name’s Trench,” you deadpan, and the poor fellow actually begins to skim his index finger down the alphabetised list. “Mariana Trench.”

Santiago eyeballs you. Honestly, half of him is awed by your balls, even as the other half is despairing of your chosen (and completely unnecessary) alias. Still, he sees the funny side, of course, and has to swallow a hearty laugh by faux coughing into his fist.

There are not many factors helping your case here; especially the fact your body is already unconsciously bopping along to the music. Santiago has to physically encourage you back to your spot with his arm around your middle, and, as the rhythm continually beckons you forth, he hastily tucks you into his side in a fruitless attempt to subdue you.

By the time Santiago’s gaze flicks back to the kid at the desk, he’s folded his arms over his chest like a stern math teacher, clearly enjoying his upper hand. “Dude,” the kid probes sceptically, perhaps sensing that Santiago is the more sensible (or at least more sober) of the two of you. “What are the names of the bride and groom?”

“Nicole and Dio,” Santiago fires off smugly, causing you to first gasp and - second - to gawk at him like a fish (which is funny, because for all you know he’s made those up too).

“How did you know that?” you hiss-whisper, thinking you are being oh so subtle, and Santiago elbows you discreetly in the ribs for your trouble. This time though, he is unable to stifle his laughter entirely, a throaty chuckle shaking out of him, and the crinkles around his eyes rehearsing deeper future furrows.

Meanwhile, whilst the kid at the desk continues to eye him sceptically, he cannot refute Santiago’s knowledge. The soldier silently praises his undeniable powers of observation - and the fact the kid seems to have entirely forgotten about the huge fuck-off sign standing in the entrance lobby.

“Yeah. Still no.” This kid is a tough nut.

“Shit,” you plead. “Well can I at least use the restroom?”

“I guess that’s fine,” the kid concedes with an eye roll, gesturing towards the left hand side of the lobby.

You saunter off, beelining towards the door with such ferocity that you whack your hip off of the doorframe on the way in there.

Santiago winces in time with your “ouch!”, but as you throw your arms in the air, triumphantly insisting you are fine, he turns his attention back to his mission; to get you whatever you want for your birthday.

Sporting the friendliest smile he can muster in the full knowledge this kid behind the desk hates him already, Santiago mosies up to the counter.

“Come on, buddy. Hook us up,” he reasons. “It’s a Tuesday night and everywhere else is closed by now.”

“Dude, your attempts to get laid are not my issue.”

“No. No, it’s… She’s my friend. It’s her birthday and-”

“-Then take her to a fucking Chilli’s, bro. Still not my problem.”

Santiago huffs, still trying to keep his face neutral. Non-threatening. He needs to step things up before you return from the restroom.

“Listen, buddy.” The kid scowls at him then as if to confirm - I’m emphatically not your buddy. “Do you know what it’s like to be shot in service of your country?”

“What?!”

He nods behind him, in your general direction, his eyebrows pumping up towards his hairline (and reaching for a hasty explanation before the kid presses the under-desk alarm button). “Because she does.” Santiago rests his folded arms up on the counter. Leaning-in. Going all out with the eye contact. “When I tell you she’s had a shitty time of it? Lying on the ground, bleeding out. So, look, man. I just want to give her a good time tonight, alright? Would you please help me out, man? She’s fucking earned this.”

A gulp trails down the kid’s neck, and he tucks his long, straight blonde hair behind his ears. “You’re intense, bro. Anyone ever told you that?”

Santiago opens his mouth again, wishing to further embellish his case; but before he can do so the kid caves, waving his palms in total surrender. “Fuck, man. Do what you want, but for the love of God, would you just stop talking to me?”

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Yep. Whatever. Don’t get paid enough for this shit, bro.”

Santiago hears the door swing behind him, and joins you just in time to lead you further into the building, pleased that he is able to report victory. He’s almost forgotten about the front desk already - until the kid calls after him, growing bolder the further you two retreat, apparently. “This is why I’m a pacifist, dude! You might wanna think about it.”

“Sure thing,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

Then, Santiago gently ushers you into the corridor leading towards the party, taking a moment to celebrate his “smooth-talking”. Before he can even think about bragging though, you throw your arms up in the air in a tada gesture and exclaim “you are welcome!”. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’d had no part in getting past the gate, and so instead, he opts to finally vent his quashed laughter. The fact you’d name-dropped Mariana Trench, specifically, supplies a giggle hearty enough that it makes his abs ache.

“Oh. By the way. How do I look?” you question, when the two of you are just shy of making an entrance to the main hall.

Santiago turns to you and looks you up and down. Notices the fresh application of smeared red over your plush mouth. Surveys your jeans and tee with approval, as though you are outfitted in a gown. “Good, chica.”

“Good!” You step forward then, towards him, and lay your palms flat on his upper chest. “Now. You know what I wanna do?” For a split second, with your proximity, and the husky thrall of your voice, Santiago finds himself imagining what you might want to do to him - if he should be so lucky. “I wanna dance. Will you dance with meeee, Santiaaaaggooo?”

Santiago feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Tries hard to forget that… well… red lipstick and dancing? They are - more often than not - your highly decipherable code for being horny. Shit - he wonders if you are as pent up as he is.

“You got it!” he musters, getting himself quickly in check. Christ, he needs to prioritise getting laid - just as soon as he is no longer wholly dedicated to your birthday.

“Yay!”

You lead him by the hand and, once again, Santiago does not complain. Then, swinging open one of two double doors, plastered with unsightly fire regulations, you enter the fray.

The doors open on a busy room, bathed in beams of chaotic coloured light. In reality, the interior is drab. A sad, grey, carpeted room. A few busted ceiling tiles up top. The circular event tables are flanked by a sorry stage at one side - fronted by a sticky, modest square of dance floor - and a small bar at the other. Finally, the far wall is edged with a rather depleted buffet, and intermittent bowls of greying macaroni. Whilst the room itself is nothing to write home about, however, the jubilation inside makes it feel positively wonderful.

Santiago feels only for a split second like he is intruding. Within moments, he is all wrapped-up in the buzz. Enveloped by it. The band’s amps are turned up far too loud. The dance floor is awash with couples gyrating on each other and groups of singles circling each other, looking for an in. Throngs of friends and family are grouped throughout the room, laughing and chatting, taking photos on disposable cameras and clinking glasses, and when the two of you enter, matching smiles plastered on your faces, no-one even bats an eye.

“We’re really doing this?” Santiago raises his voice above the tremor of the music. “Crashing a fucking wedding?”

“Relax! It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done, Garcia. It’s not even against the Geneva Convention.”

“Jesus! I’m not a fucking war criminal!”

“Relax, Santiago,” you encourage, tone soothing and your hands massaging into his shoulders; and, finally, he lets himself. For once, he lets his guard down. So, as you travel deeper into the room, Santiago begins to move a little less like a soldier on patrol, and allows his gait to loosen up. Allows himself to approach the room not as a soldier on high alert, but simply as some guy with his buddy, looking for a good time. “Attaboy,” you encourage, seeing him visibly unclench - a rare thing. “We’re good, alright? Hey. I’ll even leave a pack of Reese’s on the table. That way, we even brought a gift.”

“And you’ll keep a low profile, right?”

“Of course!” You flash him a faux innocent grin, which he sees right through.

Yeah, figures, he thinks. Honestly, he isn’t sure you are capable of blending in - stealth ops aside, of course. But here? Without your camo and a distinct lack of a gilly suit? Baby, look at you, you’re gonna be noticed.

“Alright. We dance. Just keep it low key or-“

“-Sure, sure,” you dismiss, waving your hand through the air as though to erase his plea. “But first, tequilaaaa!”

Evidently, you are ignoring him completely, and yet the beaming smile on your face is so utterly worth it that Santiago could care less. “Eh. Whatever you say, Princesa.”

You wink at him. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

Santiago watches you skip gracelessly over to the bar, making zero attempt to blend into the crowd (unsurprising). You order up two shots, downing one instantly and handing the other to him with a jubilant, mildly devilish grin. At this stage, Santiago is deliberately a few drinks behind you, having wanted to remain sober enough to take care of you. So, he figures he has a little wiggle room remaining before he reaches the point of no return. Egged on by your encouraging nods, he tips it down the hatch.

“Cheers!” you exclaim, clumsily clinking your little plastic shot glass against his. The remains of the amber liquid still glisten on your mouth, lending an appealing shine to your red lips. As you mop the drips away with the back of your hand, you slightly smear the shade towards your cheek.

Before Santiago can rectify the situation for you though, you’ve once again taken his hand and trailed him behind you, clumsily weaving through the crowd as he interjects “sorry!” each time you bash - either your body or his - into someone else’s. Before long though, the two of you are safely tucked right in the midst of it all, adding to the messy, merry throng on the compact dance floor. The amateurish but jubilantly played rock covers from the band began to vibrate all the way through his chest as you position right next to the speakers.

As the vibrations tickle through him, bass inflating like a balloon in his rib cage, drowning out his thoughts and his heartbeat, you dance. With his thoughts silenced - or, rather, out-volumed- he slips into his body as if it is his own again. As if it belongs to him, and not just to some notion of God and country.

You, for your part, dance as if compelled to. As though, after living for so long with your body following orders, exercising control, being disciplined, staying in line, you can finally let it be free. Can finally let it express itself.

You move well, Santiago notes as he allows his own body to limber, freeing up his arms and his hips and feeling the buzz of the music and the alcohol thrum pleasantly through his body. It all feels somewhat alien to him now, his body stiff and lacking muscle memory for such imprecise, unplanned movements. You though? You move with abandon. With joy, like you never forgot how to feel it, belting the lyrics right from your chest. Jumping and waving your arms when the guitar solo drops.

It makes him deeply happy to see you like this. What’s more, amidst the dance floor of preened, deliberate women encircling your space, their movements seemingly contrived to be appealing, alluring, sexual, your reckless expression is far sexier to him. You feel freed, wild - and it almost feels dangerous to him. This clear absence of regiments and rules and barriers feels dangerous, even the barriers between your body and his disintegrating as you dance closer, the beat shaking you together like sand on a drum skin.

Indeed, your bodies are pushed ever closer and closer as the surprisingly heaving crowd compresses you tighter and tighter in the minimal, sticky-floored maneuver room. And so, after you’ve suffered one too many bumps and restrictions from stray shoulders and elbows, you finally give in to it, looping your arms around his neck and choosing to dance with him.

Instinctually, automatically, Santiago’s hands fall to your hips, gripping you there as your body sways and rolls in time to the music, the raw, dirty hard rock vocals moving through you and bedding down into your body.

At first, when your body presses up against his and the hot breath of your laughter fans over his neck, Santiago thinks about adjusting. About sliding his hands back up to your waist, where -perhaps- the gesture may seem less intimate. May allow for a little more room and a little less contact.

It isn’t as though the two of you are strangers to touching. You are both tactile people, and besides, you’re often in close quarters. You’ve slammed each other to the mat plenty of times. He’s had your sweaty, writhing body all over his. Your grunts of submission sounding in his ear. Huffs of exertion fanning against his neck. Thighs locked with his. His hips pinning you. But this? This is a little different. It isn’t precise, technical touch. It isn’t objective-driven. There are no clear rules, besides friends not lovers, and even that distinction is starting to feel a little blurry.

No, this kinda touch is something else. It is raw. It is instinctual; and that scares him, in truth.

However, it doesn’t scare him nearly enough to want to stop.

He does not move his hands from your rolling, swaying hips. Can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gives in to it. To the music. To the feeling. To you. And, when does, he finds himself surprised by how fluidly your bodies move together. Symbiotically. Like a team. Like you do in battle, sure. In the field. Like it is the most natural thing in the world; but this time, your combining is not at all driven by survival. It is driven by living, and Santiago could swear, in this moment, that he has never felt quite so alive.

The room is getting hot. The undulating crowd of bodies surrounding you is only adding to it. Exertion is glowing on your skin. He can feel it up against him, your sweat bleeding through your damp t-shirt where your breasts press into him. Can feel it beneath his fingers, tacky and slick, as he wraps his hands around that bare flash of skin at your midriff. God, you are smooth, and soft, and slick, and he is momentarily transfixed by a bead of sweat sinking down the centre of your chest, disappearing beneath the “v” of your shirt.

Someone else’s body briefly presses up against his in the crush and he cringes away from the feel of their slick skin… but you? Yours? You feel good to him. He doesn’t mind it.

That scares him too; but still, not enough to stop.

With a joyous, unfettered laugh you claim back some space, spinning Santiago underneath your arm, your dance moves growing increasingly outlandish. Of course, Santiago follows your lead. Always does. And, before long, the two of you can barely dance from laughing and can barely laugh from your insistence to keep dancing.

It feels good. Good to push your respective bodies to their limit on your own terms for once. To be with each other, side by side, in a scenario which could not be further from life or death; but that feels a thousand times more vital and central to being alive.

Seeing your smile strobe as the blue party lights slip and flash over the planes of your face, the beats and riffs pulsing through his body, Santiago feels giddy and he feels bright. With laughter bobbing in his throat and aching in his sides, he feels goddamn luminescent, and so he can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but wonder if this is how he would feel all the time. If he got out. If the two of you could just be people, instead of soldiers.

Santiago holds on to it. He holds on to you. To the feeling of freedom. Of pure, unfettered joy. Of this strange peace amidst the blurry, heavy noise.

He holds on to it while he can. He smiles with you until his face hurts. Laughs with you until his breath wanes. Dances with you longer than he should, song after song. Dances until he is sweating through his t-shirt, a dark “v” of sweat trailing down his chest. Dances, long after that now familiar heat in his newly ailing knees has crossed into discomfort. Dances closer and closer to the speaker until the music is indistinguishable from him, beating through his chest and down into his bones, and still; the two of you move your bodies. The two of you cling to each other like your life depends on it - and perhaps, precisely because of all the times it has.

When you lean forward, cupping his ear, your lips almost pressed right to his skin to be heard over the din, a warm snake travels down his spine. “See! We still haven’t been found out!” You draw back to flash him a mischievous grin, your eyes glinting with a spark far more warming than the heat which already slickens his skin.

You are most definitely up to something. You dip forward again as he strains to hear you. “Wanna be a little bolder?” There is a dark and delicious lilt in your voice. A tempting thing, enticing him into trouble - as per usual.

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder.

He wants to kiss you, in fact. To test the limits of just how well your bodies can move together. But… just like all the other times tonight he lets that desire atrophy. Pushes it outside of his body. You are so much more to him than the tingle in his dick. Offer him so much more than whatever parts of you he could seek out with his hands and his mouth, skin finding skin, finding deep, dark wetness.

If you wanted it, hey, it’s not like he would say no. He isn’t that strong; but he’d decided long ago that when it came to crossing that line, he would simply follow your lead.

“What did you have in mind?” Santiago asks, dipping his own lips towards your ear.

Your response is not quite what he expects. You simply throw both arms up into the air, your eyebrows jumping up with them. “Karaokeeee!”

It is a pleasant surprise, to be honest. He loves to see you like this. To see you have fun. Chasing your whims. Getting to be damn silly. For so long, everything has been so grim and so serious.

However, even if your suggestion - at first - inspires a broad, nose-crinkling smile, Santiago looks up at the freestanding mic in horror next - when he realises exactly what you are about to do. “Shit. Sweetie. It’s not-”

-It is already too late. You are already clambering up on stage and taking your position by the vacant mic spot. “…It’s not karaoke,” Santi mumbles under his breath, mentally readjusting his level on how wasted you are.

“Come with me, Pope!” you shout down to him, making grabby hands towards him. Next, you commandeer the mic pole as the frontman - who had simply stepped out for brief swig of water - looks on in confusion.

Santiago sighs and slides his palm over his face, for he knows, fine well, exactly what is about to go down. That, after all the times you’ve saved his skin, tended his wounds, and -damn- even been shot to keep him safe, he for sure isn’t about to let you make a fool of yourself. At least, not alone.

Cringing already from the forceful embarrassment of commandeering an entire stage at a wedding he’s just crashed, Santiago sets his jaw in resignation and hops semi-gracefully up there, rising to stand right next to you.

“What happens in Philadelphia…” he mumbles, before bracing himself and accepting his fate.

He raises his arm as a shield against the intense spotlight, and can suddenly see that the whole party is looking by now, heads whipping around following your triumphant “woop” into the microphone.

He makes a mental note to explain to you what the words “low profile” mean later, as clearly, you’ve completely failed to grasp that concept.

Santiago gulps as he looks out across the confused sea of faces, his mouth suddenly bone dry as he prays that no-one will actually yell “who the fuck are you?” Then, not for the first time this evening, he desperately attempts to conjure up a plan of action. Once again, he is pretty sure that cunnilingus won’t quite cut it here either.

His goal right now is two-fold. To enable you to sing on stage, like you want to, and to avoid being forcibly removed from the venue. It is unfortunate that the former goal seems to void the latter, but hey. He’s been in stickier situations. And, with luck, Santiago remembers one useful thing. The fact that -according to damn near everyone- he’s a charming little fucker. Now, he supposes, is as good a time as any to put that theory to the test.

“Nicole and Dio.” He gestures to the bride, and motions to gesture towards the groom too. That is, before realising he has no idea who “Dio” is in the crowd, so instead, he lets his arm flop uselessly back to his side. Next, he takes what he feels is a well-earned moment to let the feedback from the microphone die, wincing slightly at the noise, and becoming acutely aware of the sizzle of nervous sweat burning off of his forehead. “I think it’s safe to say,” he ventures with a little more confidence, straining to remember his cousin’s wedding and every platitude he might repeat, “that a love like yours comes around once in a lifetime. I know I speak for both of us when we say we’d like to wish you a lifetime of happiness together to enjoy it.” You helpfully lean forward in that moment and give another celebratory woop. “Thanks for that, sweetie,” he deadpans, wiping his brow just as urgently as he scans the room, searching for something -anything- he can pull from to meet his twinned objectives.

Suddenly though, against all odds, he actually spots his way out. Emphatically, triumphantly, he points towards the Irish flag proudly adorning the far wall, and dearly hopes he is on to something. “A million tiny things had to align for you two to come together. You could even say it was fate. So, in tribute to the miles travelled by your ancestors, here it is. This one is for the Irish-Americans in the house!” Firstly, he is relieved, to say the least, when that statement earns a hearty cheer from the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Metallica; Whiskey in the jar.” Secondly, he is relieved when that statement earns further cheers, particularly from you.

Next, Santiago looks confidently to the band, deciding he will simply stare at them pointedly until the drums kick in. “For Nicole and Dio!” he adds with a flourish after an uncomfortably long moment of inaction; and, as the crowd gets behind Santiago, who on earth are they to deny him?

“Everybody on the dance floor!” you add, with an enthusiasm so overblown it can’t fail to be infectious.

Still, when Santiago finally thinks he has it nailed, you turn to him with a sudden and pronounced wash of horror on your face. “Garcia. Shit. It’s not karaoke!”

“Princesa,” he soothes as the band kicks in, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist to avert your knees buckling in fright. “If it’s not karaoke, why the shit do I have a mic and a backing track, huh?” You still look unsure. “Come on, sing it with me. You’re hot as hell up here, don’t go shy on me.”

Santiago turns, forgetting the crowd entirely as his mission revolves wholly around you.

He begins to sing to you, gaze soft and encouraging until you relax back into it, your broad, electric smile returning. He tugs you closer into him, snug and safe until you grow bold enough to sing along with him into your one shared mic, gradually letting go and -bolstered by him- giving it increasing amounts of gusto.

The pool of guests at your feet are going surprisingly wild for it too, almost every one in the room having now descended on to the dance floor.

“Here,” he encourages, as soon as he feels you’re ready, handing the mic off to you for the remaining verses of the song. “You got this, sweetie.”

He lets you have your moment in the spotlight, cheering you on from the sidelines as you sing and air-guitar your way through the final chorus. You aren’t necessarily singing at your best after belting out lyrics at top volume, but what you lack in vocal ability you sure make up for in spirit. You have bags of that, and you perform it with plenty of showmanship, throwing yourself all over the stage and making Santiago’s face split with joy as he whoops along with you, fist-pumping enthusiastically.

You even end the song by taking a knee and exclaiming “Nicole and Dio!”, raising your mic arm triumphantly in the air like the rock star you are - which is a huge relief to Santiago, as it had looked for a moment like you were about to stage dive into the completely unsuspecting crowd.

You wrap it up to what Santiago will later describe as rapturous applause. You milk it for all it's worth, before relinquishing the mic to the actual band and skipping over to your biggest fan.

“Was I fucking amazing?” you ask, bundling him into an enclosing hug.

“Holy shit. Felt like I was watching Kerrang.”

You punch him playfully in the arm for his shit-eating grin. “Dickhead.”

“What’s next for the Birthday Princess?” Santi asks, hopping off of the stage and guiding you safely down too.

He’s secretly praying you’ll say “back to the motel”, but it doesn’t surprise him at all when you throw your arms jubilantly into the air and yell: “more dancing!”.

Santiago brings the pad of his thumb up to the corner of your mouth, finally smoothing away that damn lipstick smear he wishes he’d gotten to before your impromptu stage show. “Go for it, hermosa,” he insists fondly. “I’ll be with you in a sec, yeah? After pulling that shit, I don’t think we have long before we get busted. You gonna be ready to hustle soon?”

You nod, fist-bump him, and skitter off to the dance floor, your seemingly boundless energy carrying you right the way through towards dawn.

Santiago will give this track a miss, he thinks. His knees need a goddamn time-out; but his eyes still linger on you, shining fondly as you are folded into the crowd.

***

“Touching speech, lad,” a low-timbre voice sounds to Santiago’s left. “But who in the devil are ya?”

Santiago, who is sat blissfully nursing a glass of ice cold tap water, immediately swivels on his barstool. This puts him face-to-face with an older gentleman, of considerable stature.

The man’s crinkled, bushy-eyebrowed face is stern; but not unkind, even as his chin juts up in challenge. Santiago rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. There is no point trying to wriggle out of this one, and he’s already sure of it.

“Okay,” he responds, his voice slow and low and his palms raising defensively in the air. The man might be both older and frailer than Santiago, but he exudes a certain authority which trumps his own youthful confidence. In short, Santiago certainly doesn’t want to piss him off. “You got me. It’s a long story, and we weren’t technically invited… but we don’t mean any trouble, Sir. And, hey, we did bring a gift,” Santiago adds for good measure, not entirely convinced that the mushed up peanut butter cups in your jeans pocket will make any shade of difference now - but hoping.

The man presses his lips together and hums, as if mulling over the guilty party’s fate. After a moment of contemplation though, the older gentleman unceremoniously releases some of the rigidity from his body, slumping down into Santiago’s neighbouring bar stool with a sense of resolution. A gulp trails down Santiago’s neck all the same. “You a military pair, kid?” the man asks casually, making-out like he’s thoroughly absorbed in rolling his cigarette papers, but his sharp eyes still finding time to needle Santiago incisively. “I know the type.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm. Well.” The man licks along the long edge of cigarette paper with the tip of his tongue. “You came clean, I’ll keep quiet. Besides commandeering the stage(!), you two don’t seem like too much trouble.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m Colin, by the way. Nicole’s granddaddy.” The man extends a hand and Santiago shakes it.

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.”

Santiago would’ve allowed some of the tension to seep out of his own rigid body by now; except for the fact he can sense the man is not quite finished with him. He lights the tip of his cigarette with a battered-looking, engraved lighter, smoke swirling around him and becoming one with his white-gray, thinning hair. “Since I’ve been so generous, lad, how’s about you explain to me the circumstances that brought you to crash my granddaughter’s wedding?”

From the man’s unwavering stare, Santiago knows fine well this is a demand and not a suggestion. He rubs his sweaty palms together, finding himself reluctant to spill but with little apparent choice in the matter. Still, as his gaze flicks back in the direction of you, he feels a softness overcome him. “It’s her birthday. We’re on leave. Had a big trip planned to reunite with some buddies but the airport-“

“-ah. All shut down.” Colin nods in partial understanding, taking a long drag on his smoke.

“Yes, sir. So I, uh. Well, I had to improvise.”

Colin’s eyes flutter briefly closed. Then, a small flicker of a smile appears, as he - apparently - achieves a fuller understanding than Santiago’s divulgence should have allowed. An understanding which Santiago isn’t sure he has attained himself, as it stands. Is he missing something? “I see. You wanted to show her a good time.”

“Yeah. Yessir.”

To Santiago’s utter surprise, the man’s hand clasps down on top of his closest shoulder, the cigarette still pinned precariously in between his forefingers, and the smoke tangling around Santiago’s curls like future grays attempting to stick. “What are you drinking, lad?”

“Uh. Water,” Santiago replies simply, recalling the glass sweating on the bar top.

“Not any more.” Colin signals the bartender with a barely perceptible raise of his chin, and manages to convey his order simply by raising two of his fingers in the air.

Santiago watches as a bottle, sporting an affixed yellow post-it note, is grabbed-up from its secret hiding spot under the counter. Must be the good stuff.

When served, Colin slides one glass over to Santiago with the back of his age-spotted palm. “You don’t have to drink it, o’ course - I’ll just think you’re a rude fecker if you don’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two men swivel on their stools to face the bar and Santiago takes a sip, doing his best to hide his reaction to the intensity of it.

Colin guffaws. “Yeah. That’ll put hairs on yer chest.”

Santiago splutters, attempting to quickly smooth himself. “Cheers. To Nicole.” He hoists his glass in the air.

“Aye. Here’s to that.”

Santiago smiles, clinking his glass with Colin’s and hoping against all odds that you might come and rescue him soon.

You don’t, but mercifully the chat is suspended for a moment as the man coiffs his cigarette and his drink, and Santiago even suspects he has been forgotten entirely as another guest draws Colin into niceties and conversation.

Therefore, after a few warming swigs have slipped down his throat, each one followed by a grimace, Santiago turns, realising it has been a minute since he’s had eyes on you. He quickly locates you on the dance floor, boogying with some tall, white guy. A guy who is - with your encouragement - getting rather handsy. Seeing this, all of Santiago’s muscles tighten and he feels the vague urge to leap up off of his bar stool - that is, until Colin interjects.

“Can I give you some advice?”

Santiago’s initial thought is “no”; but he has a feeling Coilin may offer his unsolicited advice regardless. “Don’t crash weddings?” he jests half-heartedly, the lion’s share of his attention still on you and that guy’s damn hands.

“Marry her.”

Santiago’s gaze flips immediately towards Colin, his face the picture of abject confusion. “Sorry. Who?”

Colin chuckles to himself, evidently quite tickled, and nods his head gently in your direction. “Your lady friend.”

Santiago saws his palm over the five-o-clock shadow adorning his jaw. A weak, throaty chuckle bobs in his throat. He finds it funny. Preposterous. “With respect, Sir. That’s not gonna happen.” It is knee-jerk. Santiago had sworn off marriage long ago. Had long ago given up on the prospect of any form of happy ending. Besides, you and him? He doesn’t think so.

“Oh. Boyo,” Colin begins, his tone juuuust condescending enough to make Santiago stiffen. “You find someone who makes you as happy as that, you marry her. Trust me, lad.”

Santiago purses his lips. Tightens them into a thin line. “We’re not… together.” Not that it’s any of this guy’s business what you are to him; but he’s just not getting it.

“You love her,” Colin says softly. Almost gently, as though he’s breaking bad news.

”What?” Santiago shakes his head incredulously, blinking several times in succession.

“I can barely see past my own arm these days, lad, but I can see that much.”

There is that hand, clasping his shoulder again. This time it feels different. “You love her.”

The first time Colin had spoken these words, Santiago had bristled. Felt provoked. He should feel similarly now too - he knows it - but upon hearing them for a second time, a sudden clarity settles over him. In fact, he’s never felt less confused by a statement in his life.

He feels his mouth go dry. A sudden ringing in his ears. He could’ve sworn he had hands and feet earlier in the evening, but right now he can’t feel them.

Of course he loves you, he thinks, reaching for logic. For rationalisations. But it’s not like that. That’s simply what happens when you go through so much together. You bond, intensely. That’s all it is. All it amounts to.

Colin has this all wrong.

Santiago looks at you then. Really looks at you, as you grab your dance partner by the shirt and shove your tongue in his mouth, pulling away from the kiss with a wolfish grin. Some kind of feeling he can’t hope to name tightens like a fist in his stomach when you do that. “She’s…” Santiago wants to protest. Wants to say that no, he doesn’t. But those aren’t quite the words which find their way out. Instead, he says quietly, like he’s delivering bad news now: “she’s my best friend.”

“Ah,” Colin breathes, in a fresh tone of relief. As if satisfied. As if he has now achieved full understanding - even if Santiago has not. The older man stubs out his cig and downs the dregs of his whiskey, cheersing Santiago once more with a clink of his empty glass. “There you go then. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Isn’t that the same thing?

It is a blur from there. A blur as Colin once again outstretches his hand and Santiago obliges by shaking it, his arm feeling limp and useless like a bag of cotton-wool. It is a blur as Colin wishes him well with a jolly “take care, lad,” sauntering away with no concern for the destruction left in his wake.

It is a blur as you sidle over, as though the volume in the room has been turned down all of a sudden. It becomes gradually louder again as you approach.

You.

“Fuck, you okay, Garcia? You look like you’re about to puke.”

There’s nothing here.

Nothing with you.

Nothing he could have with you. No way.

“Seriously! You look queasy as hell.” You place your hand across his brow to see if he’s burning up.

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly.

You nod, still looking sceptical but opting to buy what he’s selling. “You just tired? Too much dancing?”

”Heh. Something like that.” It is a struggle to push the words out, but he surprises himself. Gradually sinks himself back into the room. Back into his body.

Santiago notices the brief spark of an idea fleet over your face as you regard him and, in the next moment, you dip forward to chastely kiss him on the cheek. He feels a deep, blooming heat develop under his skin, his cheeks darkening with a crimson flush, and he resists the urge to clamp his palm over the spot your lips touched. “What was that for?”

A delicate smile dances on your mouth. “Thank you, butthead. I’m having a good birthday.”

It’s what you don’t say. It’s what your eyes are telling him. Your body language. Your touch. You’re telling him things you’ve been saying for a long time now. Things which, thanks to Colin, beg a whole load of new questions.

You slip your hand down his arm, grasping his hand in yours. For a moment he just stares, looking down at your hands clasped there together. He is vaguely aware of the track switching in the background, to a slower, more heartfelt tune, and, by the time he drags his eyes back-up to yours, he figures he’s got a head start already on what you’re about to ask.

He makes it so you don’t even have to. “One more dance?”

He stands, capturing your waist with his wrapped arm, leading you back towards the dance floor. The surprise and relief and glee on your face as he preempts you is almost too bright for him to look at.

“You even know how to slow dance, Garcia?” you ask as he maneuvers the two of you into prime position, right in the beam of a sweeping purple spotlight, the dancefloor filling exclusively with swaying couples as the tender, swooping song resonates through the room.

“Haven’t slow danced since prom,” he admits. “But I’ll follow your lead, Princesa.”

“You a’ways do, asshat.”

“You know? You’re not wrong. Now, come here.”

He holds his arms out and you step into his sturdy circumference, no hesitation. Trust implicit, your bodies moving in sync. You drape the loop of your arms gently around his shoulders, your twined fingers brushing the nape of his neck, sending a warm shudder through him. His hands hover helplessly for a moment, but he eventually settles them on your hips, drawing your body closer, tightening the space between you as you each sway together, cheek to cheek.

“I - I can’t believe you did this for me, you know?” Your voice is lower, dropped in your throat. Heavy with solemnity as though you are thanking him for taking a bullet for you or something. “Tonight. The karaoke. Everything.”

“Well,” he dismisses, against the shell of your ear. It’s not nearly enough.“You got shot for me, so...”

Your light, lilting laugh fans across his check. It isn’t funny at all, wasn’t a joke; except that it’s so tragic it kinda has to come full-circle, he supposes. “Fine,” you offer. “Call it even?”

Even?

It could never get close to even.

Santiago feels a surge of emotion welling in him. Like suddenly there is a mechanism dredging all the settled silt back up to the surface. It rises all the way up - into his chest, into his throat. He pulls back slightly until you are face to face, his expression far more severe than the situation merits; but he can’t help it. It feels barbed, difficult, coming out of his mouth, but it needs to be said. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, you know?” His eyes are glistening, a telltale softness nestled beneath his thick brows, and his thumbs unconsciously rubbing circles into the meat of your hips. “You’re…. I… I mean. You’re… my best friend.”

You gawp back at him for a moment, visibly caught off-guard by his emotional intensity. Then: “oh no,” you whisper-shout into the space between you, as though if you push too much sound out, the emotions might overspill along with it. “Don’t get all soppy on me, you hear? You’re the only fucker who knows I have emotions, and I damn sure wanna keep it that way.”

His gaze flits all over your face. “Secret’s safe with me, Princesa.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He smiles at you - a smile that only reaches his eyes.

You nestle yourself back into the crook of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his. One hand grasping at his back. The fingers of the other clasping his shorn head, dancing over the prickled hair of his army-issue buzzcut.

He holds you, and in turn you hold him even tighter. You hold each other tightly until you are no longer even dancing. Until you are simply an island in a sea of undulating couples, holding on to each other for dear life.

It scares him.

It scares him to his depths that he never wants to let you go; but not enough to stop.

As he pulls you close to him, buries his face in your neck and embraces you tightly, he thinks about it. He thinks about whether he believes in happy endings. He thinks about whether his, if he could be so lucky, would involve you.

Those thoughts are interrupted when he feels a wetness bloom on his shoulder. Feels you jerking and sniffing against him, and he experiences your sudden outpouring of pain as acutely as though it is his own.

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

”No. It’s…” You sniff. “It’s just been so hard lately. And, you know. Tonight has been so… It’s been so…”

He thinks he knows what you mean. Thinks he understands you completely. “Perfect?” he ventures.

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.”

He holds you as you cry. And there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go.

***

Considering your intoxication level, the sudden onset of tiredness, and your tears, Santiago figures it’s about time to head. He manages to get you in a cab back to the motel eventually - only after you’ve visited the ladies restroom, become fast friends with an equally drunken Nicole, bestowed her with peanut butter cups, and promised to meet-up next time you’re in the city. By this point, you are already dropping, and the soporific movements of the cab have you falling asleep draped over Santiago’s lap.

He pays the driver when you arrive, stirring you with a warm hand smoothing up and down your back. He tries to be calm. Soothes you with his voice; because he knows all too well that for someone in the military, a rude awakening is no small thing.

He walks you to the room and helps you sit down on the bed. Tugs your boots off for you as you opt to bury your nose deep in your own armpit and sniff.

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.”

“Fuck that. You can shower in the morning.”

“I stink.”

“Trust me. You’ve smelled much worse.” He smiles softly as his comment earns an indignant snort from you, but the ire in your face is quickly snuffed as he looks up to you a little too softly. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, alright, birthday girl?”

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.”

He swallows a smile at seeing you in this sleepy state. It’s not often that you allow anyone else to take care of you. In fact, Santiago feels a strange surge of honour - a glow within his chest - that tonight, he is the one who has the privilege.

You unabashedly begin to strip off your jeans and top next, and Santiago quickly scoops up an oversized t-shirt from the gaping mouth of your hold-all. “Here,” he says, swallowing the tremor in his voice as he gathers the fabric up and guides the garment gently over your head to cover you. Gingerly passes your arms through the right holes. “That’s it. Put this on, alright? Can you get your bra out from under there?”

You maneuver the clasp and straps beneath the cover of the shirt until you are pulling the bra out from the confines of your tee, triumphantly flinging it across the room with a soft “woo!”, to which Santiago’s lips twitch in silent amusement.

“Need to brush my teeth at least,” you argue, holding your arms up and out - making grabby hands to signal for his help.

“Alright. Sure. Let’s go together.” Santiago helps you stand. Maneuvers and encourages you onwards. He wraps his closest arm around your waist, and his other hand catches the arm you throw out to him so he can keep you steady. Then, steps in sync, you pad the short distance to the bathroom, Santiago lightly directing you away from bumping your hip on the doorframe (again) as you pass through it. “That’s it. Little off course there,” he chuckles. “Almost as bad as Ironhead’s God-awful driving.”

You turn your head over your shoulder and scold him good-naturedly. “Ouch. Don’t remind me.”

“Yikes, sorry. Too soon?” You’d teased Will for the unfortunate humvee training exercise that had put you in med bay, but Santiago guesses you aren’t quite ready to have him joke about it yet.

“Never getting back in a car with that bastard in the driver’s seat, trust me. Fella takes off-road a little too literally, you know? Still have that goddamn tweak in my back too to prove it.”

“You do, huh?” Shit, you’ve certainly hidden it well enough - had insisted you were unscathed, in fact, when sober - and so Santiago mentally logs that information for later.

With a little bit of wriggling around, you squeeze into the tight bathroom space. When you reach the bathroom sink, Santiago is still behind you, his hands now clamped on your hips and keeping you steady. When you turn on the faucet and bend enthusiastically towards the stream of water however - hinging at the hips and dipping to splash your face with cold water - Santi punches out a strangled note. Which is natural, he thinks, given that your panty-clad, half-bare ass is thrust further into his hands (and his crotch), with decidedly no room in the cramped space for him to back-up. “Woah, Jesus. Keep it vertical, would you?”

“Shit, sorry. Liked that did you?” you mock, with a dirty, chaotic snigger.

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

With a nervous twist in his belly, Santiago flees to the more expansive space of the bedroom, leaving you to complete your task. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he throws open the window, thankful when the relative cool of the night air kisses his skin. The room has grown hot and sticky all of a sudden. Too close. Lord knows why.

He perches himself inside the opened wooden square then, the flung-open frame an awkward perch. He rests with one leg hiked up on the ‘sill and one foot bracing him on the floor, his back reclining against the biting vertical edge.

Only when you reenter does he reluctantly drag his eyes away from the black night and into the soft, shadowed shell of the dreary room. Despite this dimness, he can barely bring himself to look at you in this moment. It is as though you are too bright for him, and so he quickly -and uncharacteristically- averts his eyes.

Still, you’re like a magnet, and his gaze quickly relocates you without much trouble.

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?”

Despite looking bleary-eyed - dead on your feet, even - you nod in response to his proposition and, much unlike earlier, Santiago suddenly feels he wouldn’t dream of sleeping. You perch yourself on the edge of the bed and flick on the lamp, casting a sallow glow throughout the room. It makes you look at once dream-like and infinitely more real to him, as the glare highlights the goose flesh trailing up your arms and thighs. The tired circles under your eyes. He doesn’t know how you make such details attractive, but as far as he is concerned, there is no bad light to cast you in.

You lay down, legs stretched out on the scratchy comforter, and torso propped against the stiff, unforgiving pillows. You make space for him to lie down alongside you, and yet Santiago opts to hover, not ready to relinquish his window seat. It’s as uncomfortable as it probably looks, however, and so he fumbles in his pocket for a smoke, figuring it as good an excuse as any to be sitting up there - instead of lying next to you. He stares out into the blackened parking lot with enough vigour to convince an onlooker it is entirely compelling - instead of looking at you.

You are quiet for a moment following and Santiago lets it hang, exhaling twists of smoke from his mouth to the window. Flicking his spent ash down onto the asphalt below. Then, you expel a blustery sigh.

“Shit,” you grumble. You click your tongue. Santiago turns to see you lying flat on your back now, staring contemplatively up at the dusty, motionless ceiling fan, arms folded behind your head. “That guy I made out with.”

Santiago takes an even deeper drag on his smoke; perhaps unconsciously hoping that if he is occupied long enough, he won’t be required to respond at all.

Your head lollops to the side, your gaze finding his. “Do me a favour and don’t tell Tommy I did that, okay?”

Fuck.

“Wait. Tommy?! You and Tommy?” The words are expelled faster than he would’ve wanted, almost making him choke on a cloak of hot smoke. “Tommy fucking Nelson?”

“Yeahhh. We’ve, um, sorta… been hooking-up lately.”

Santiago quickly inhales another drag, smoke seething out of his nostrils as he flicks the used cigarette butt down to the asphalt below. He is grateful that the lungful gives him a second to think before he speaks - yet apparently, it is not quite long enough. “Shit. The guy’s so stacked I swear he must have abs on his dick.”

You laugh; and Santiago decides that, based on the beauteous sound of it alone, Tommy fucking Nelson doesn’t even remotely deserve you.

“I dunno about abs on his dick… but he’s got enough to work with, know what I mean?”

Santiago continues to peer out of the window, and so you don’t see his face crumple with a frown. “So he’s good, huh?”

You scoff to yourself. “Oh. Fuck. Not really. He doesn’t do much of the work…” Your dirty laugh sounds out. “Fortunately, I’m a goddamn miracle worker when it comes to getting myself off.”

Strike two. Tommy Nelson definitely doesn’t deserve you.

You giggle. Giggle like this is a girls’ fucking sleepover. Like you are revealing some - far more innocent - secret to a best friend.

But… of course. Because that’s precisely what he is to you, right? Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s never bothered him before. Has never bothered him until precisely now.

What exactly has gotten into him tonight, then? Why does some old guy have his head in a spin? Why is he delaying crawling onto his side of the bed? Why can’t he look at you?

Further delaying the inevitable, Santiago pats down his pockets, hoping for another cigarette with which to prolong his diversion by the window. However, he comes up short. Has no other recourse left besides brushing his teeth, kicking off his shoes, stripping down to his boxers, and laying his body out alongside yours. The mattress dips as he settles on top of the covers, and you swivel on to your side to face him.

“Hey.” You prod him in the pec. “What about you anyway?”

“What about me?”

You reach down. Snap the elastic hem of his boxers until it pings back against his toned stomach. “Been getting any lately?”

He makes a vague, non-committal sound, hoping it will be enough; but, of course, you don’t stop there.

“Your dream girl… Let’s see.” Your eyes spark, far too animated considering such a long night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s… nude. Huge breasts.” Santiago had wanted to roll his eyes at you, honestly, but he finds he can’t quite quash his smile. “She’s… I know… draped in the American Flag.” His face splits with mirth. “Reciting the Fifth Amendment.” You prod him emphatically in the pec. “Plus she plays bass in a Pearl Jam cover band and gives next-level blow jobs.” His gaze sweeps over your shit-eating grin like a paintbrush over a canvas. Like fingers down a guitar fret. Like it belongs there. Like he belongs here. “Well?” you’d needled. “Am I warm yet?”

“Wait, I think I know her.” Santiago snaps his fingers. “Hey. Yeah. Didn’t she hook-up with Benny last week?”

You twist as chaotic laugh spills out of you, throwing your arm over him and dipping your head towards his bare chest. It is a small thing. A minute, unconscious action. A brief touch. A single moment. Except… the way it makes his stomach lurch makes it completely undeniable to him. Undeniable that the only girl doing it for him is you.

He realises it all now though, as he looks at you. Realises he’s been seeing you in pieces. In fragments; because of course he has. Of course, because he’s been trying to survive, and if he’d dared to think, instead, about living? Well, then he’d have far too much to lose.

“Come onnn,” you purr, jutting out your bottom lip, entirely oblivious to the way the ground is disappearing from beneath him as you remain curled into his side. “Give me some gossip. It’s my birthday!”

He swallows. Tries to pull himself together. Tries to be exactly what you need him to be.

“Christ.” He nervously scratches at the stubble sprouting along his jaw. “Well. Let’s see. First of all, I’ve spent so long without any action but my own goddamn fist that even Morales is starting to look appealing.”

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”

“He should be so lucky. Anyway. He’s got a girl back home. High school kinda sweetheart deal.”

You scoff. “What? For real?”

“Mm hmm. He’s in it too. His eyes mightta wandered occasionally - but as far as I know his dick never has.”

You pump your eyebrows like that surprises you. “Good for him.” And then: “It won’t last though.”

“Christ. You’re really that cynical already?”

“Something like that,” you smirk. “Guess it comes with the old age.”

“Oh yeah. Speaking of birthdays…” Santiago pushes off his elbow and swivels, reaching to fumble a tiny, square parcel from his jeans pocket. He settles back into position with a grin on his face, extending his gift toward you. You eye it sceptically, but with casual intrigue.

“Fuck me. Something else from your trousers that’s been manhandled to death, Santiago? You know how to treat a lady.”

He can’t explain why he feels nervous as you weigh the package in your palm. “It’s… for protection.”

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?”

You rise up, settling cross-legged on top of the covers, and Santiago shifts to mirror you, with a lopsided, self-conscious smile. You pause, looking between him and the package with a gentle, subdued glee. You gingerly peel the red tissue paper away, revealing the gift nestled within. As soon as you observe what is inside, however, the glee evaporates from your face. You look down at it, for once rendered speechless before you say his name, the sound as thin as the wisps of smoke still eddying up on the ceiling. “Santiago.”

He swallows. Saws his hand across his stubble, suddenly worried that the gesture is all off. “It’s-”

Your eyes snap up to his, your expression raw and soft. “-I know what it is.”

You look back down to the gift now, warmly. Lift them up, a string of black rosary beads unfurling. The beads his mom had gifted him for protection the day before he’d shipped out, clamping her hands over his and reciting a prayer he didn’t believe in, but which he’d felt all the way down to his marrow. The beads that he’d kept on him ever since, usually nestled in the pocket of his tac vest. The beads which his mother had prayed would keep him safe. Would protect him, when it had turned out to be you who had answered her prayer. You who had protected him, at whatever cost.

“But I can’t-“

Stupid. You’re stupid. Of course you can.

“It’s no big deal. I’m just a cheapskate,” he minimises.

You inhale, about to launch a protest, but you must read something altogether too earnest in his face, since any such argument is subdued as soon as you look at him. Instead then, you hold them up once more, your eyes glistening as you admire the cheap, plastic beads for far more than they are worth.

“But won’t your mom-“

“Be mad I gave them away?” You let the beads pool in one palm, the red tissue paper now strewn over your lap like swatches of blood. Santiago clamps his hands over yours, nestling the beads safely within, in a gesture which mirrors his mother’s own plea a little too closely. He empathises with her then. With her fear of being left behind. With her fear for his soul and its fate. “Are you shitting me? You saved her angelito. She’d probably sign the goddamn house over to you. I mean, shit - she’s already been bugging me to bring her new hija over for tamales.”

He hasn’t ever told you that before. Maybe that’s why you do it. Why you gently cup his face and dip to render a light, chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. When you draw back from him, you look almost as surprised by the gesture as he is.

“Santiago.” Your eyes well-up. “It really means a lot.”

He doesn’t have words for a moment. It does. It means a lot to him, and he’s struck with sentimentality when he realises that it means something to you too. He nods once, gaze gently dancing over your face.

“I mean it,” you squeeze out through welling tears. “This is the sweetest thing-“

“-Shh. Oh no. No, no, no,” he captures your tears with the crook of his forefinger just as they spill over, motioning as though he is attempting to restore them to whence they came, a soft yet playful concern dancing over his face. “Quick sharp. Put these back,” he whisper-shouts, faux urgently. “No-one can know you feel things.”

His remark causes you to laugh through your tears, as you hastily lift a balled fist to scrub them away. The sounds dissolve into a pleasant yet taut silence, leaving the two of you simply looking into each other’s eyes.

You are the first to break it, dropping your gaze down towards your lap.

“Listen. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.“

Your expression grows more troubled then, a divot notching in your brow and your head shaking softly side to side. “Santiago. I need to say this. You… you don’t owe me any debt. Okay? And… and don’t you even think -ever- about trying to repay it. You hear me?”

He owes you everything, and he’ll repay it however he can; but he isn’t about to argue with you. Instead, he simply nods. Forces an even, concessionary smile, leaning into a swift topic change. “You tired yet?”

“Yeah. Exhausted.”

“Let’s lie down then, alright?”

“Mmm.” You set the beads down so carefully on your nightstand that it constricts his chest, arranging them in a nest of tissue paper. “It’s just… I…”

“What?”

He flicks off the lamp and you lay down on your back, staring up at the ceiling fan, the room now illuminated only by the distant glow of the motel’s neon sign across the lot. It bathes the room in a purple-tinged dark. When your voice comes back, it is small. “It’s just that I… I don’t want this night to end.”

Santiago lays himself out, right next to you. “Then let’s try and stay awake, huh?”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” You shiver; then, instead of crawling beneath the scratchy comforter like he expects, you curl into his side. Rest your head against his chest. Santiago’s arms hover over you for a moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do. In actual fact though, it comes far too naturally to him.

He wraps you in his arms, and begins to smooth one hand up and down your back - of course, being careful not to venture too low, even as you torque your body into his touch.

You exhale against him. Hum, up against his bare, tan skin. Drape your arm over him, and, reliably, there is that knot again. That fist, tightening inside his chest.

“Hey,” he croaks, voice smaller than it needs to be. “Birthday princess?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?”

“Do I what?”

He hesitates. Stares coldly and contemplatively up at the ceiling fan himself now even as he bundles the warmth of you in his arms. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

He feels your breathy expletive fan over his chest. “Fuck. That’s a big one.”

“Sorry. Forget it, you don’t have to-“

“-No. I do,” you say with certainty. “I do believe in them.”

Santiago hopes that you can’t feel his heart thundering beneath the shell of your ear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Except… not for people like us.”

His brow tightens, mouth turning down at the corners. “Why not?”

“Well,” you muse, wriggling pointedly until his hand - stopped dead with suspense - resumes its ministrations over your back, his fingers obediently seeking out the knots and notches until your airy hum sounds again. “Because our hands are too bloody now to build anything good. Right?”

It’s strange because, right now, caressing you like this, he could almost forget that his hands are blood-soaked. Your touch is the only reminder he’s had in some time that his hands can indeed be loving. In fact, the whole concept of war feels so entirely incongruous to him while he’s holding you. Like it could not be further away, even though -in your lives- it is only ever around the corner. He pushes his response out from the depths of his chest. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bleak?”

“I dunno.” You shrug, and he doesn’t enjoy how sad your voice grows . How old you somehow sound all of a sudden. “It’s just… They told us we’d be heroes, Santi. But… When was the last time you felt like one?”

You’re my hero, he thinks loudly, in the achingly quiet room; but, he catches the words before they make it out of his throat. In the end, nothing more than a small, reined-in grunt manages to escape.

“Why do you ask, anyway?”

Because you deserve one. More so than anyone he’s ever met, you deserve one.

His fingers and the heel of his hand continue to massage the dink in your back, rooting out every source of tension. Learning how to take the pain apart for you like a weapon in his palm. “Dunno,” he lies. “The wedding. All that.”

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.”

“You’re fucking brutal, you know that?”

“And you’re hilarious. Shit. Happy fucking endings? Man. At this point, I think I’d settle for a happy middle, you know? Before I go down in my inevitable blaze of glory.”

“Don’t say that,” Santiago scolds, his voice taut. “I hate when you talk like that.”

He doesn’t blame you. For being cynical or pessimistic - not really. Doesn’t blame you one bit. Not after you’d legitimately looked death in the face. He understands well enough what that can do to a person. How it can change them. How, even someone like you, who always saw a clear, bright path ahead, could begin to doubt the clarity of that vision.

Absent-mindedly, you circle the pad of your forefinger in the valley of his pecs. “What about you, then? Do you believe in all that stuff? Marriage? Happy endings?”

“Meh. Not so much,” he answers honestly, fissures in his voice. Maybe it is his ingrained Catholic guilt talking, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves a happy ending. Not after the things he’s done. Not after all that blood.

“Then how about this, Santiago Garcia,” you begin, tone much more playful, like you’ve had a bright idea. “Would you settle for a lifetime of trouble-making with your ride or die?”

You extend your pinky towards him for the most sacred of all vows, and he curls his own little finger around yours.

He intends his response to feel light-hearted. Equally playful. He really does. But, when the words escape his lips they are heavy. Dripping and weighed with sentimentality. “With you, honestly, it doesn’t really feel like settling.” He suddenly feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Like the air is scarce and sharp with some incendiary cloud - about to ignite and burn everything he’s known to the ground.

“Kiss ass,” you poke lightly, and a wistful smile briefly dances across his features.

“It’s only what you’re due.”

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?”

“Sure. Maybe you can get Tommy-abs-on-his-dick-Nelson right on that.”

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

Santiago jostles you gently in his embrace. “Hey. Speaking of. Sorry you got lumbered with the sideshow tonight, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Pope,” you huff, like he’s just said something which causes deep offence. “Of all the chumps I couldda been stuck with, I’m glad it was you.” Santiago’s heart flutters, his chest blooming with a hazy, metered-out warmth when he hears you say those words. “Now. Wish me happy birthday one more time, and then sing me a damn lullaby, would you?”

Santiago crushes his chin down to his chest to get a better look at you, having decided that you must surely be joking. “Huh?!”

“We all knew about your guitar skills but you have a beautiful set of pipes too? Been holding out on me, Pope. Now, sing!”

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

“It’s only what I’m due, right? Come on, I haven’t got all night, asshat!” Somehow, the derogatory term sounds imbued with a deep fondness somehow, and it blooms through him.

“Alright. Alright. Keep your panties on.” Shit - you had better.

“Thank you.”

Santiago dips his chin so he can reach your hairline. Settles a chaste kiss there, which lingers a touch too long - but which he can’t possibly cut any shorter, his eyes closing as his lips brush your skin. “Happy birthday,” he breathes, completing part one of your demand. With any luck, he thinks, you might fall straight to sleep like this - before he even has to serenade you.

He stills as your eyes flutter closed, listening out for the slowed pace of your breathing. That is, until you open one eye and whisper-hiss up at him. “Sing.”

A resigned amusement twitches his plush lips and he finally obliges you. He begins softly speak-singing, hoping his soporific and sandy tones will lull you towards sweet dreams, his broad palm still sweeping up and down your back.

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…”

A soft smile graces your features as you note his song choice. “Cobain? You’re such an angsty little gremlin, you know that?”

“I can stop at any time,” he threatens, teasingly.

“No. No, please.”

He clears his throat. Lets his voice grow a touch more full and resonant, despite it being scuffed by tiredness and smoke.

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.”

It is a little funny, at first. A little awkward; until suddenly, it isn’t . Until, suddenly, a weight settles in your brow. Until his voice begins to falter, cracking apart with emotion.

He hadn’t been able to say it. Clearly not even to acknowledge it.

He hadn’t been able to find the words to tell you what you mean to him. To explain the pit in him which had opened up when he’d almost lost you. Didn’t have the words to tell you you were the reason he’d prayed for the first time in ten years, pledging loyalty to a God he hadn’t believed in -hadn’t needed - until he was begging Him not to take you. He didn’t know how to describe the way it had felt for him to kneel by your bedside, his mother’s rosary beads clutched in his palm so tightly the cross has drawn blood - even as he’d openly cursed them for protecting him and not you, and had cursed you for the same.

He swallows the hard, tight knot which has gnarled in his throat. Wonders if maybe he can stop, because singing feels like purging himself of far too much of the pain and love he has buried, and fuck, it hurts on the way out.

He does consider stopping. That is, until your small, grief-laden voice sounds out as though it hurts you too; but that you need to hear what he is finally telling you. “Please. Don’t stop?”

It is a question, this time, not a demand; and yet, Santiago couldn’t dream of denying you.

And so, with a weight in his brow, he keeps on singing.

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky.

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

It is at this point his voice cracks wide open. It is at this point a single tear slips across the bridge of his nose as he sings it out loud. Something he’d known for a long time, in truth, but hadn’t quite found the words for:

“And I love her.”

The room seems eerily still as you each hold your breath. He doesn’t know where to go from here - but luckily, you always seem to know the way forward.

“You know,” you say softly, voice wet with emotion. “It’s a real shame. Because if you did believe in happy endings?”

“Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’d look pretty good as somebody’s endgame, butthead.”

An emotion Santiago can’t name twists through his middle, like he is being wrung out. Like his blood-soaked soul is finally being purged. It is no wonder then, that his words come out dripping red. Soaked in cynicism. With a disbelief that anything good -for him - is deserved. “Let’s get each other through the happy middle first,” he says, as hidden tears glitter on his long lashes. “Then maybe we’ll see about endings, huh?”

You don’t speak for a moment. Simply swallow in the near-dark. But, it is not lost on him that you hold him just a shade tighter. Then, when he hears a gentle intake of breath from you, he knows your request before you even utter it.

Please.

He resumes his singing. Slower, more off tempo. Begins to repeat the lines, over and over, softer and softer, until your breathing is deep and soporific. Until your weight on him is heavier. Heavier from sleep, and heavier from this new knowledge he has gained.

And, there it is. The end of the night, and yet Santiago cannot dream of sleeping. Not yet. Can only watch you, hold you, listen to your soft breathing, his heart full with a new understanding. And understanding he didn’t invite, but a welcome guest all the same.

He resolves it then. Resolves that, even if he doesn’t deserve a happy ending, he will do everything in his power to make sure you get yours…

Even if that means letting all hope of you -for him- go.

So, as he cradles you in his arms and stares unsleeping up at the ugly ceiling fan, Santiago contemplates it.

Contemplates in great detail the four days with you that irrevocably changed the course of his life.

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you.

The day he realised he was in love with you.

And the day he started running from that.

The first day had been two years ago, the second had been five months ago, the third had been today, and the fourth?

The fourth will be tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he will start running, because his feelings for you are far too deep and huge for him to handle.

He doesn’t even pause to wonder whether he’ll ever allow himself to stop. After all, once Santiago Garcia has a mission, he accepts nothing less than completion.

Maybe he’s no hero; but he always gets the job done.

#ride or die series #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #santiago pope garcia

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 4 months

Note

Part 19 Two Year Time Skip

Reader and Ace are the 1st and 2nd to make it first (Making Zoro’s boast of coming 1st go down the gutter since he’s actually 3rd *That doesn’t mean he won’t still make fun of Sanji since he came way later than him*)

Reader woke up to the sound of all her family members voices and is amazed at seeing her family back together again and that they look different (While they’re shocked that Y/N hasn’t changed a day) though Y/N was more shocked to learn it’s actually been 2 Years! (Y/N also really wants to explore to help find the others who are also on the island, if it’s okay with her family, which they tell her yes)

I 110% believe Sanji compares Reader to a Princess from one of the books he read as a child, as she’s sleeping soundly, waiting for her ‘Prince Charming’ to wake her up with a kiss (Only when he gets to that part he becomes furious about the idea of some ‘Homewreaker’ trying to ‘steal’ his cute little sister’s ‘innocence lips’ *He gets Ace and Zoro in on it, with Robin wondering if they’re sure ‘They’re not the ‘Evil Dragons who kidnapped the Princess?’*)

Ace/Robin have the idea to actually bring her with them to see a CERTAIN Concert that she might love

Reader tells Brook how she felt about his concert (Like that scene with Eri telling Deku about his concert) is Brook and Robin/Ace are ugly crying from how cute Y/N is

You think there’s an ‘Imposter Y/N?’ But they’re a preteen? (They’re wearing a large headband to cover their forehead and has a fake horn) Said preteen is very mean, rude and has horrible manners and loud? (They dyed their hair h/c or are wearing a wig) But the comedic part is when Y/N meets her Imposter and the Fake Straw Hats as the Fakes and Pirates that joined their crew are all screaming in fear that the infamous and REAL ‘Devil Child Y/N’ is right in front of them! (She’s not mad, just confused with what’s going on and doesn’t understand why some people are dressed like her family members and is surprised someone is dressed like her as well as why they’re screaming/backing away from her)

Reader meets up with Luffy and both are so excited seeing each other again!

Reader is so happy seeing her family back together (And excited for Ace is joining them) and can’t wait to go to Fishman Island! (Though Y/N was worried when Sanji kept getting nosebleeds and even confused about why Big Brother Sanji kept getting them)

-You felt so comfortable, like you were where you belonged as you stirred, your eyes slowly opening. Your vision cleared and your eyes widened, seeing that you were in your room on Sunny, in your bed.

-You tried to sit up, feeling a little weak and dizzy before you heard soft snores and you turned, your eyes widening again as you saw Ace there, sleeping quietly next to you.

-Memories of what you last remembered filled your mind, seeing both Ace and Whitebeard dead, then you felt a big rush of power, then Ace hugged you close after you brought him back, then you were here.

-Ace looked… different- he looked older, his hair was a bit longer and he had a couple of new scars, including the big one on his back, ruining his tattoo.

-You managed to sit up after a few moments and you reached out, touching the large scar, feeling bad that his tattoo was ruined but when Ace snorted awake, jerking slightly before quickly sitting up, seeing you there, awake, he quickly beamed, “You’re awake!!”

-He hugged you so tightly, but it also felt so warm, so happy- you could feel the tears welling in your eyes as you hugged him back, smiling, “Big brother!” he exhaled, relaxing as he felt you hugging him back- you were awake, you were okay.

-Ace helped you wash your face and brush your teeth before he explained to you that it had been two years since you last saw everyone else.

-You quickly ran over to the doorframe in the galley, where you and Ace had been eating and you put your back to the doorframe, lifting your hand to the top of your head before you looked, seeing that your height did not change.

-Ace laughed warmly, explaining that you had been in a coma, your aura surrounding you, putting you in suspended animation, and to put it simply, you haven’t grown at all.

-Ace couldn’t help but laugh more as you pouted, as you wanted to be taller too, as Ace was taller and bigger- it wasn’t fair!

-You then looked up, “Is Luffy and the others back yet?” Ace grinned warmly at you, “They will be arriving soon.” You smiled up at him, looking excited to see everyone.

-One by one they all arrived back on the ship, save for Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, and Brook. Franky arrived first and you were in awe, seeing how big he had gotten before he saw you, immediately kneeling, “Y/N!” you ran out, followed by Ace as you leapt into his arms, “Franky!!”

-He hugged you close, and you were in awe that he was like a robot, telling you to press his nose. You were hesitant, doing that he said, and you fell back to your rear as his hair changed, turning into a big afro and you beamed so brightly, “I’m happy you’re back Franky!” he was quickly in tears, a hand covering his mouth on how pure you were.

-You then heard another voice, “Y/N!” you turned, seeing Chopper running towards you and you beamed, running to him, “Chopper!” The two of you met in a hug, squealing in delight as you both went to the ground.

-A shadow cast down on you as you looked up, seeing Usopp, looking older as well, “I hope I get a hug like that too!” you leapt up, “Usopp!” he hugged you close, spinning you around before Nami spoke up, “When’s my turn?”

-You turned to Nami, before pausing, seeing her just in a bikini top, it made you curious if she went swimming before you ran to her, “Nami!!” she hugged you close and you felt her sag into the embrace, like she was relieved.

-When she pulled back, she cupped your cheek softly, whispering down at you, “I’m so happy you’re okay.” They had all heard about the war, and she had managed to get ahold of Ace, finding out about you afterwards, about the coma, and she had spent most of her time worrying.

-You then heard someone giggling, “Hello everyone~” you turned, your eyes wide, seeing Robin there, she was so much taller and looked so mature now.

-You were frozen, unable to move before you hiccupped softly, tears easily welling in your eyes as the others all smiled, watching this as you finally broke down, “Mama!!”

-Robin kneeled and embraced you tightly, hugging you close, “I’m home Y/N.” you were sniffling, trying to stop your tears- you were just so happy to have them all back.

-After waiting for a while, Usopp gave Ace a lead on where Brook would be, at a concert and Ace offered to go and get him, after he told them that he was joining the crew, something that caused a lot of cheers.

-You asked to go with him, and Ace quickly became the newest victim to your puppy eyes, something you didn’t know that you were doing and Robin, who thought it was amusing to see him fall so easily, offered to go with him as well.

-The concert was so loud, there were bright lights and colored lights and effects everywhere, there were so many people cheering- it was almost overwhelming, holding your hands over your ears as Robin held you in her arms.

-Brook was performing and you were in awe, he looked like a rockstar now! He looked so cool!

-As he was finishing his last song, he saw Ace, then Robin, then in her arms, he saw you, your arms up, cheering loudly for him with a huge smile on your face.

-Ace almost collapsed to the ground, clutching at his chest while Robin was smiling warmly, a tear pricking the corner of her eyes, seeing you looking so happy.

-Brook was able to get away from his captors as the crowd cheered loudly and Ace and Robin ran out to meet up with him once they were a safe distance away.

-Ace was holding his guitar after you leapt into Brook’s arms, hugging him close and he carried you while you were talking so fast on how cool his concert was, “And everyone got so loud, and the colors and lights were so pretty and sparkly and you looked so cool!”

-Brook felt tears welling in his eye sockets before he held you close, lowering his head to yours, his teeth pressing against his forehead, like he was giving you a kiss, “I’m happy to see you again too, Y/N.”

-A terrified scream then filled the air and you all turned, seeing a group of people that were dressed like your family, but it wasn’t them, there was even an older kid dressed like you, with a horn glued to their forehead.

-You tilted your head to the side, confused as to why they were so scared and why they looked so injured before they ran off, “It’s Demon Child Y/N!!”

-Question marks surrounded your head, turning back to Ace, Brook, and Robin who were quickly grinning, thinking it was hysterical that these imposters were so terrified of you.

-When you arrived back on the ship, Robin helped you change into a present that Ace had forgotten about, something from Whitebeard, and you came out, wearing what looked to be a sailor dress over your black leggings, with a red bow on the front, but on the back was the symbol of Whitebeard, signaling that you were under his protection.

-You spun around, a huge smile on your face, “I love it!”

-A crash was heard, and you turned, seeing Sanji there, tears pouring down his face, a light from heaven shining down on him, “A- an angel!!” you ran over, immediately leaping into his arms, knocking him out of his shock, “Big brother!” He hugged you close, smiling that he finally had you back in his arms.

-You then heard a chuckle, and you looked up, seeing Zoro there and Sanji lamented, falling to his hands and knees that you left him as you ran to Zoro who kneeled, hugging you close as you leapt into his arms.

-Zoro grinned, ruffling your hair before he spoke, reaching into his pocket, “I have something for you- Mihawk wanted me to give it to you.” You were confused, head tilting to the side, “Mihawk?” he nodded and Nami told you who that was before you remembered.

-You were a little apprehensive, as he did hurt Zoro, but you were surprised when Zoro handed you the cross necklace, with a hidden blade inside of it, “He wants you to be safe.”

-He put it over your neck, and you smiled, holding it in your hands, “I love it! Can I send him a letter thanking him for it?” he chuckled, ruffling your hair, “Sure- I’ll go get some paper.”

-You looked around, wondering where Luffy was, as he was the only one yet to arrive before you heard, “Y/N!!” you turned, seeing Luffy carrying a huge bag full of food and your eyes went wide, seeing him there, smiling so brightly at you.

-He leapt on the ship and let the bag go, letting it hit the deck before he immediately had you in his arms and you hugged him, “Luffy!! I missed you so much!!” he laughed warmly, feeling complete again, now that he was back to you, “And I missed you Y/N!”

-Ace took a couple of photos, of your dress and of your new baby sword, as you were calling it a baby sword because it fit your size, “And when I get bigger I’ll get a big girl sword!” oh gawd you were going to kill all of them.

-Sanji was hugging you close, “You’re just like a precious little princess Y/N!” you smiled up at him, as you remembered the stories you had been told, “Really? Does that mean that all my big brothers are my Prince Charmings, or do I have to kiss someone else?”

-Robin couldn’t help but hold a hand to her lips, hiding her smile while Nami shook her head, exasperated as Luffy, Ace, Sanji, and Zoro all were quickly surrounded by flames of fury as Ace spoke, “Nobody is going to steal her precious lips!”

-The others were quickly cheering, agreeing to protect you and keep all other men that didn’t trust away from you.

-You couldn’t help but smile brightly, you were so happy to have your family finally back.

-Zoro was holding you as you gave the delivery bird the two letters, one to Mihawk and the other to Whitebeard, thanking the bird who cooed before flying off.

-When Luffy announced that you were all heading to Fishman Island now, after Franky inflated the bubble coating, you cheered, looking forward to a new adventure, but you were also confused as to why Sanji was bleeding from his nose again.

~Hundreds of miles away a few days later~

-Whitebeard smiled, seeing the letter you had sent to him, seeing the photos of you in the dress and seeing the letter you wrote to him, or tried to write to him, ‘Thank you Grandpa! I love my new dress! I want to see you soon!’

-He was almost immediately planning to set sail, wanting to make you happy.

-He then looked at your new bounty poster, a new picture of you in the dress he had given you, with Luffy’s hat on your head, and Mihawk’s cross around your neck- giving everyone the message you were heavily protected now.

-Whitebeard also couldn’t keep the smile from his lips, seeing that your bounty went up again, now that you had resurfaced, seeing 6,000,000,000 beris staring back at him- you made grandpa so proud!!

~Hundreds of miles away in the other direction~

-A rumbling was heard on Mihawk’s island, a smile coming to his lips as Perona was confused, “Are you expecting someone?” he didn’t say anything.

-The door burst open, revealing a comically crying Shanks who was holding your bounty poster, “You bastard!! I want to give her something too!!”

-Mihawk couldn’t help but roar with laughter, seeing Shanks so upset because you were wearing his cross necklace.

-Mihawk, just to be a little extra cruel, pointed at something framed on the wall, “That’s from Y/N.”

-Shanks immediately ran over, seeing a crayon drawing of you and Mihawk, each holding your baby swords and holding hands, ‘Thank you for my baby sword Mr. Mihawk! Now we match!’

-Shanks collapsed to the ground, gloom surrounding him, seeing the connection you had with him before he shot back up, “Wait! You don’t match- you gave her your one sword like that!”

-Mihawk stood, turning towards Shanks, showing off another cross necklace, “When she was so happy that we matched, I had to get another one.”

-Shanks deflated, turning pure white in defeat as he sobbed comically on Mihawk’s chase lounge chair, wanting to get you a present too!!

#eri reader #luffy #one piece #zoro #sanji #nami #brook #robin #franky #chopper #usopp #shanks #mihawk #whitebeard

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

Text

Late Night Rides

Moodboard made by me

Pairing || Dilf!Neighbour!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || Having a secret affair with Bucky and needing to meet up secretly in his car for a chat and sex so you won’t get caught.

Text messages; Bucky || Reader

Word Count || 3987

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, major age-gap (reader is early 20’s, Bucky is early/mid 40’s) infidelity, pet names (babe, baby, doll), unprotected vaginal sex, lots of kissing and touches, teasing, grinding, spanking, praise kink, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note || I’m so happy with this fic! I really put down extra love and care into this one and I’m so excited for people to read it <3 but also nervous

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Dilf!Neighbour!Bucky Masterlist

I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

It’s Wednesday night, and you've been cooped up all afternoon inside your room to do some last-minute studying for an important exam tomorrow. You’re lying on your stomach on the bed with your comfy clothes on. Legs crossed in the air as you review some final notes to ensure you are 100% prepared for tomorrow.

You’ve created a pleasant atmosphere for studying—calming music is playing through your AirPods, and the healthy snacks and drinks you’ve made for yourself keep your brain fed so you can cram all the knowledge into your memory with no problem.

A ping of your phone, signalling a text, pulls you out of the concentration, making you groan in annoyance. But once you see who the message is from, you can't help but feel all giddy inside like a schoolgirl with a major crush.

It’s from Bucky, your hot next-door neighbour and the man you’ve been hooking up with behind everyone's back for a few months. It’s been a while now since you’ve talked or texted.

You’ve both been busy with your lives the past two weeks; you with school and him with his wonderful two kids and his bitter wife, so you haven’t been able to see each other in private.

The only contacts you’ve had were some quick hello’s and secret glances when you bump into him in the neighbourhood. Every time you saw him, you yearned for his delightful touch and attention—his soft lips on yours and his intoxicating hands worshipping your skin as he whispered how good you are for him. You shudder at the thought as your stomach fills with tingling butterflies.

For a few days now, you’d hoped you would meet up again soon, and it seemed like tonight might be it, although you should be studying…

Hey! You still up?

Hi! Yeah looking over some final notes for my exam tomorrow 🤓

Right yeah I forgot it's on Thursday. Good luck baby ❤️ Text me when you finish tomorrow

I will 😚 But was there something you wanted due to the late-night text?

Just wanted to see if you were up for a drive. Everyone’s asleep and I could use the company. But I don’t want to disturb you. Do some more studying baby. Get a good night's sleep! I know you will ace this exam tomorrow because you’re such a smart girl ❤️

You felt your stomach fluttering as he called you a smart girl. He was right. You would absolutely smash the exam tomorrow because you’ve been studying hard and you knew the topic like the back of your hand.

You needed a break; you deserved it. So you decided to take up his offer and have some much-needed fun with him (which would definitely lead to sex.)

I want to see you. I’ve studied enough now. Give me a sec. I just need to get dressed and I’ll be out ☺️

Really!? Ok I’ll wait at the usual spot

You put on some more appropriate and easily discardable clothes for your and Bucky’s “date”, if you could call it that. A short skirt, a cute top, and a cardigan to keep you warm on a chilly night.

Very quietly, you tip-toed downstairs and out the door, making sure not to wake your parents, who were sound asleep.

Although it's late and dark, you walk quickly past the neighbouring houses. Paranoia overwhelms you that someone may see and recognise you, despite all the houses being pitch black and not a single soul walking the streets.

You get into Bucky’s car that’s waiting for you a few houses down. You don’t even get to say hello before he’s cradling your face and pressing his lips firmly to yours—eagerly moving them against yours to familiarise himself with them again after the long absence. You melt into him and place your hands on top of his as you make out.

After a few moments, he pulls away, leaving you breathless and making you inhale a shaky breath. He smirks as he brushes his nose with yours while muttering a low “hi.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you also greet him with a trembling “hey”. Your mind still foggy from the kissing, and butterflies flutter in your stomach at being in his presence.

“I missed you so much, gorgeous.”

“I-I missed you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, wanting to continue where you left off and then some. He put his hands on your waist, wanting to pull you on top of him so you could progress this even further, but you stopped him before he could. It’s not that you didn't want to be pressed up against him; you just didn’t feel so comfortable going at it right in your neighbourhood.

“B-Bucky.” You placed your hands on his chest and lightly pushed him away. “I-I don’t feel comfortable doing this here. Can we drive somewhere a little more private, please?” You pouted.

If Bucky could choose, he would have you right here and now. Loving the rush of potentially getting caught by one of your neighbours that decided to go for an evening stroll, but he knew you weren’t comfortable with it, so he respected your boundaries.

“Of course, we can, baby.” He caressed your cheek while giving you a heartwarming smile, making his eyes crinkle. “I never want to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” “Thanks, babe.” He gave you a sweet peck before he put the car in drive, and off you were.

He turned up the radio a bit to have some pleasant background music and put the heating on to warm you up.

You removed your cardigan, which made him side-eye you and lick his lips as you revealed more of your tempting skin. He gripped the steering wheel hard to try and resist the urge to stop on the road and take your hard. He wanted to have you somewhere alone and secure before he started exploring you because there was no way to stop him when he began.

You glanced over at him as well. He was clad in jeans and a thin sweater, so you couldn’t see much of him. But you knew he was packing behind those pants and that his torso looked like a Greek statue. It made you ache between your legs and mouth water that you would soon have all the time to explore his naked body.

After a while of comfortable and sexually charged silence, you and he effortlessly slipped into a conversation as you talked about your weeks apart—catching up with each other’s lives. There wasn’t much to talk about from your side. It mostly revolved around school and studying for the exam.

Bucky had loads to talk about, especially with his two kids. He beamed with love and happiness as he spoke of them. Laughing and getting so enthusiastic as he shared the latest. It was so heartwarming to see and hear.

You missed them as well. You’d gotten a good connection with them the first time you ever went to babysit. That’s how you met Bucky, and you had fallen for him instantly.

Talking about his kids naturally moved the conversation over to his wife. That’s when the atmosphere switched to something more unpleasant and tense. You didn’t say much while he talked about her, just listening to him complain and letting him vent about how much he essentially hated her, although he never said it straight out.

It wasn’t really your place to say anything about her, although you had lots of input. You wanted to tell him to get a divorce because the constant arguing between them wasn’t leading to anything, and it was bound to be taken out on the kids negatively. You wanted to tell him that he deserved to be happy. If not with you, then with someone else who would give him the love and intimacy he deserved. You just wanted what’s best for him and his children.

After the rant and mention about his wife, it got a little awkward in the car. You knew what you were doing was essentially wrong even if their marriage was on the brink of collapsing and probably not savable, but still, you felt a little guilty about being with a married man. A homewrecker was something you never wanted to be, although his wife was doing that just fine herself.

“You know, the kids miss you. They're always asking when you’ll come over again to play.” Bucky said while looking over at you with a smile, trying to break the awkward tension he created between you two.

Your heart filled with warmth when he told you that they’d been asking for you. You missed them so incredibly much as well, and you couldn’t wait to see them again soon.

“How about this weekend? After my exam, I’ll have loads of free time to hang out with them.”

He placed his palm on your naked thigh, giving a squeeze, as he beamed with happiness once again. “They would love that, and so would I.” He looked over and smiled, which made you feel all fuzzy inside.

For the remaining few minutes of the car ride, until you got to your destination, you sat in now comfortable silence with each other.

Once you arrived at a more secluded area, Bucky turned off the car. You were all alone now. No one would be able to disturb the two of you.

You thought now, when you were for yourselves, he would toss himself over you like he usually did, but he retracted further from you as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking deep in thought as he tried to find the right words to tell you something.

“I’m sorry about the whole, you know….” He gestured with his hands, hoping you would understand his meaning without mentioning who or what he was talking about.

“Bucky, it’s okay. You can always talk to me about anything that’s bothering you, no matter what it is. I’m always here to listen.”

He let out a puff of relief that he hadn’t screwed up anything with you. “Thank you.” He tilted his head as he looked at you, a smile decorating his beautiful face. “That means a lot.”

“I just want you to be happy.” You took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. It fit so perfectly in yours, like two puzzle pieces meant to be. You never wanted to let go. “I really care about you, Bucky.”

“I care about you also, so much.”

The words you said to each other felt like they held an entirely different meaning. A synonym for those three words that would absolutely change everything if you said it. But neither you nor Bucky were ready to take that next step yet, so for now, “I care” was enough to convey your feelings for one another.

You gazed into each other’s eyes for a few moments. An entirely new atmosphere was brewing around you—one of intimacy, love and neediness.

Bucky’s eyes were fixated on your lips before they flickered to your eyes and then back down again. Your heart beat fast in your chest, and your core fluttered as you leaned into one another. When your lips came in touch, there was no denying the sparks that exploded between you two. You and he were perfect for each other; there was no denying your intense chemistry together.

You kissed slowly and sweetly at first—expressing your love and care for one another through it. The kiss gradually built momentum when his hands grabbed your waist, digging his fingers into your skin, and yours snaked in the hairs at the back of his neck. Your lips now eagerly moved against each other as you were both impatient to feel one another to the fullest.

Bucky nips your bottom lip and growls against you as he tugs you towards him, conveying that he wants you on top. With a bit of awkward shuffling, resulting in a few “ops” and “sorry’s” and lots of giggling, you managed to find your place on top of him, resting your legs on each side. Due to the car being so crammed, your head hits the roof when you go to adjust yourself in his lap.

“OW!” You cry as you rub the top of your head while wincing in pain, which sends Bucky into a slight panic that you’d hurt yourself pretty bad.

“Oh my God, baby, are you okay?” He questioned nervously as he cradled your head while concern was written all over his face. He didn’t like seeing you in pain.

“Y-yeah.” You grit your teeth and suck in air as he touches the tender spot.

“You sure?” Bucky can’t help but chuckle a little, which you do as well.

“I’m sure. All is good now. I-I’m sorry, Bucky. That wasn’t very sexy of me.” You look down in shame, fiddling with your fingers, thinking you ruined the moment between you two with how clumsy you were.

“Hey.” He lifts your chin with two fingers, making you look at him. “You’re always so fucking sexy, even when you smack your head on the roof of my car.” He chuckles again. “You still want to keep going?” He runs his hands up and down your naked thighs, which makes you sink further into him, craving his closeness and intoxicating touch.

“I do.” You mumble against him as a smirk curves on your lips. You cup his cheeks, feeling his scruffy beard underneath your palms, and press your lips firmly to his, continuing where you left off a few moments ago. His tongue caresses yours as his hands reach under your skirt, palming your ass, kneading and squeezing the plump flesh in his grasp. With his hands holding a tight grip on your ass, he aids you in grinding on his covered bulge; your clothed core glides against the rough material, making you moan into his mouth.

With a slight change of angle, your clit brushes against his hardening cock, making you gasp while Bucky leaves open-mouth kisses underneath your jaw. His beard tickles and makes your skin feel tingly when he kisses down your neck.

“Hmm… that’s the spot, isn't it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Keep going, baby.” He mumbled against your collarbone while travelling his hands upwards, leaving you to take control of your hips as he danced his fingers on your waist. “Grind yourself on me, my pretty doll.”

You keep moving on him as he kisses and touches your flesh. Bubbling pleasure builds fast in the pit of your stomach, and you want to chase it, but you need his cock buried deep within you much more.

You stop and call his name, which makes him look up at you with a puzzling expression on his face.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I-I need you so bad.” You grab him through the jeans, making him groan as you palm and caress his cock through his pants. “I want your cock in me so bad.” You purr in his ear, grazing your lips on the shell of it, making him shiver against you while a growl vibrates in his throat.

Becoming impatient as well, he helps you with discarding your top, followed by swiftly unclasping your bra and letting it fall down your arms. His eyes widen when your breasts are exposed, muttering a curse as he takes in their beautiful curves. He’s quick to kiss down the centre, taking advantage of the newly bare skin. You moan and toss your head back as he licks each nipple and tugs at them, making you hiss at the dull pain and grip his dick firmly.

“I love how easy it is to get you so riled up, gorgeous.” His words tickled your skin as he kissed each breast before he got to work on removing this jumper while you undid his pants.

Once he was bare in front of your eyes, you took a minute to study his physique. Your eyes follow your finger as you trace every contour and dip of his chest and abs while he continues trailing his hands on your skin. You part your lips as your eyes fall on his cock, quickly taking him in your hand, making him groan. A glob of your spit falls on his tip, saliva coating his length as you stroke him in teasing motions.

Your lips find his again as he reaches under you and presses his fingers to your covered core, touching you through the soaked material. Yours and his groans and moans muffled into the kiss as you feel and tease each other.

He pulls your panties to the side and yanks your pelvis closer to him, desperate to feel you wrapped around him.

Once you’ve felt like you both had gotten enough of the teasing, you glide his tip through your messy and sticky folds before lining him up with your entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, you descend onto him, your walls hugging his length to perfection, making you and he sigh in satisfaction at finally being connected after so long.

Bucky was starting to become impatient, so he slammed you down the last few inches until you sat on him entirely, making you cry out at the force. He takes hold of your jaw tightly. “That’s it, baby. Right where you fucking belong on my cock and nowhere else.” He grunted against your lips as shivers ran down your spine at his assertion. “This is my little pussy, isn't it?” You nod yes as your eyes become heavy and your mind gets lightheaded with his whole cock sheathed inside you. “Be a good girl and ride me.”

Slowly, you start to rock back and forth on his cock, getting used to having him nestled deep within your walls. He grabs your ass in his hands, helping you move on him as he looks over every inch of your body, licking his lips at having you in such an intimate and personal way, looking so fucking gorgeous and sexy.

You wrap your arms around his neck for leverage as you move up and down on him in quick motions as sounds of pleasure escape your parted lips. “You feel so good inside me, baby.” You whimper against him as your lips brush. His tongue pokes out to swipe on your bottom one.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He gives your ass a harsh spank, making you yelp and jerk upwards till only his tip is inside you before he slams you right back down, your ass slapping his thighs. Continuing this movement rapidly till the only sound filling the car is skin on skin.

Due to your activities, it was starting to become hot and steamy in the car—the windows fogged up. Your glistening bodies moved effortlessly against each other due to the slickness.

All the sensations and stimulations of feeling every ridge of his cock and his tip brushing against your sweet spot, along with his fingers dancing and digging into your sensitive skin, has your face contour in pure pleasure as moans, groans, and whimpers from you both echo in the car.

After a short while, it was starting to become a bit difficult to move on him with the limited space, so Bucky reclined his seat backwards until he almost laid down flat, making it easier for you to ride him.

Placing your hands on his chest, you roll your hips on him, finding the perfect rhythm as your breasts dance along. Bucky trailed his hands all over your body, kneading and caressing your flesh, as his hungry, dark eyes took in your mesmerising form, licking his lips and muttering a curse. “Just like that, baby. God, you look amazing.” You were so appealing as you rode him, so sinful as you claimed his cock and soul for yourself.

His cock twitched against your fluttering walls as he produced a throaty groan when you ran your hands over your naked body. From your hips, up your waist, until they rest on your breasts, palming them in your grasp as you close your eyes and toss your head back. Your face presented pure pleasure as you got deeply lost in the sensations. “God, you’re so fucking sexy it’s unbelievable. That’s it, baby. Such a pretty girl for me.” The sound of his deep and husky voice praising you goes straight to your tingling clit, which Bucky finds a second later and circles with his thumb, making you convulse on top at the overstimulation.

All the sensations are so deliciously overwhelming that you find it hard to keep upright as your mind becomes foggy and your body becomes weak. You fall onto him and let him take charge.

He braces himself, holding your ass firmly in his grasp before he starts thrusting upwards in long and satisfying strokes, till his tip is inside and then forcing himself balls deep, having your cry against his lips as he keeps praising what a good girl you are for taking him all. Your orgasm builds rapidly, ready to snap and wreck you at any moment.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Bucky.” You bury your face in his neck, crying against him as you shut your eyes hard. With a few more quick thrusts, the coil in the pit of your stomach ruptures, sending you into a mind-blowing frenzy of nothing but overwhelming pleasure. You embrace the euphoric orgasm as it impacts every single nerve in your body, making you convulse against him as your pretty sounds runs free.

Bucky mumbles a low curse as his cock twitches, and his hips jerk unevenly. He wraps his strong arms around your torso as he holds you close. Not a second later, he spills his cum deep inside you, decorating your fluttering walls as he grunts and moans deeply.

You’ve never felt more satisfied and complete as he fills you up to the hilt with his cock and seed. While Bucky couldn’t imagine anything more remarkable than your tight and warm walls hugging his length.

Once he’s given a few more calm thrusts, ensuring you’ve both gotten everything out from your orgasm and you’re both fucked out and satisfied, he stills, nestling inside you where he belongs. You exhale a shaky breath as he cradles your face and makes you rest your forehead on his, your noses brushing. “You’re so good to me, baby.” He mumbles as he runs his hands up and down your clammy back, making you shiver at his electrifying touch.

His crystal blue eyes gazing into yours, displaying nothing but adoration for you, made you almost utter those three words you’ve been holding in. You even parted your mouth to say it, lips quivering, but instead, you crashed into him to stop yourself. You poured the love into the kiss instead, hoping he would understand as you moved your lips against his passionately. “I know, baby.” He whispered against you, knowing exactly what you were trying to say.

He caressed your cheek as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking intensely at you.

“You said earlier that you wanted me to be happy.” You nod your head yes. “Well, I am happy. When I’m here with you, I’ve never been happier.”

He smiled from ear to ear, eyes crinkling. It made you fall for him all over again. Your face beamed with happiness upon hearing that, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “I’m happy too, Bucky.”

He gives you a final sweet peck before you nuzzle your face in his warm and comforting chest, sighing in delightfulness as he strokes your arm and back lovingly. You stayed for a while longer, holding and cuddling each other, appreciating the last moment of your private and intimate alone time before you had to return to your everyday lives where you had to keep your relationship secret.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

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strangeshoepatrolbandit · 1 year

Text

Brotherly Love Pt.5

J.T. D.W

Jason Todd x Al-Ghul/Wayne reader(platonic)Gender Neutral

Pt.[1][2][3][4]

Summary:Jason keeps finding ways to connect with you, Damian's a little jealous.

Warnings:Light fight scene, cigarette, a knife. (Also the pie recipe is a copy and paste from google)

~☆~

Bruce awoke with a fright, running down the stairs and down to the living area of the Manor. His short red robe riding up his thighs as he ran to try and find the cause of the loud bang he had heard.

"Hey, Bruce." Jason had lazily greeted, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper infront of him, hand scratching the top of Aces head.

"What was that sound?" The older man questioned, not even asking what Jason was doing at the Manor.

"You got new locks." Jason deadpanned whilst finally looking up at Bruce from where he sits.

"Why are you here?" Bruce finally asked.

"Waiting for Y/N, they sleep so much later than Demon spawn." Jason complained.

Bruce paused, thinking of what to say. He just knew he was glad Jason was finally coming around, and that you had a brother again, even if he isn't your actual blood brother.

"Can I borrow them for the day?" Jason asked, almost shy but Bruce knew better.

"Yeah, go wake them up." He told Jason, before patting his shoulder.

~☆~

"Y/Nnnnn.." Jason sung out, trying to wake you. You could feel the almost inhuman warmth radiating from his hand that rested on your shoulder.

"Y/Nnnnn.." The living dead man next to you sang again.

"What?" You moaned out, eyes stinging from the sleep wridden in them.

"Get dressed, were hangin' out." Jason informed, leaving a pat to the arm that his hand rested on.

~☆~

Jason ended up taking you to his apartment, asking you if Alfred had introduced you to his baking yet. Your answer left Jason at a loss for words, what do you mean Alfred hadn't introduced you to his infamous cookies, or his brownies?

"Well we may not be making his cookies, because he won't give me the recipe, but we will be making pie!" Jason exclaimed, a giddy grin resting on his face.

~☆~

The memories of rarely baking pies with Jason's mother when they had the supplies clouded his mind, how after her death it moved to baking with Alfred. Now as if it's some family tradition he's moved on to doing it with you, only this time he's the teacher.

Jason sprinkled flour onto his counter, before plopping half of the dough Alfred made for you to that morning on top of the thinly dusted surface.

"You ever baked?" Jason asked, his Gotham accent dripping in his word. You shook your head and Jason offered a smile whilst grabbing a rolling pin.

"Watch me." Jason's arms gripped the utensil, rolling over the dough just a bit so you could get the gist. His arm nudged against your own as he handed you the rolling pin so he could peel the apples for the filling. You delicately pushed down and rolled the dough into a thinner circle, Jason eyed you from where he stood peeling fruit so that he could tell you when it was thin enough.

"Alright, flour your hands." He whispered, walking back over to your side and taking the rolling pin. His hands peeled the edge of the dough off of the counter, before placing it onto your newly dusted hands. Jason placed a pie tin in front of you and helped you set the dough into it.

"Make sure it's tucked in." He instructed, pulling your wrist so that you could push the dough fully into the tin pan. You watched as Jason cut off the extra dough, and prick holes into the bottom with a fork before placing it into the oven.

"I'll peel the apples, you roll out the other half."

~☆~

Jason had peeled and cut all of the apples, now they were placed into a big bowl. The pre-baked crust had already been taken out of the oven, and all of the filling ingredients have already been measured.

Jason situated you infront of the bowl, handing you a spatula for mixing.

He handed you the sugar and the cinnamon to add to the bowl, pouring the flour himself. A spinkle of salt, and some nutmeg came afterwards, Jason poured in the little bit of lemon juice that came last.

"Stir gently." He whispered, watching as you mixed all of the ingredients into the apples.

Jason placed the pie tin infront of you once again, ordering you to spoon the ingredients into the crust-lined pan. Jason's fingers pinched the top layer of dough onto the top of the pie, before cutting a slit into the encasing. He placed tin foil onto the top of the pie, and placed it into the oven.

"Let's clean up." Jason spoke as he held up his hand for a high five, you stared at him for a moment before his opposite hand grabbed your wrist so he could guide your hand to meet his own.

~☆~

*After cleaning up*

"Okay, show me what you got."

"What?"

"Hit me."

Your fist came up without hesitation, aiming a blow below his sternum, his own hands grabbed at you before your fist collided with him. Jason moved quickly, prying a finger into your side, right under your ribcage. Your hand twisted from his grasp, and you landed a kick to his knee. Letting out a grunt in frustration he fell onto one knee. His hands wrapped around both of your legs before pulling you forward, letting you fall to your knees as well. Jason shot out an arm to grab you with, but you quickly caught his hand and got back onto your feet, rounding behind Jason's body so his arm was twisted behind himself.

The front door flying open alerted both of you, forcing you both to stand up in a correct fighting position.

"Hey!" A redheaded man yelled when he caught sight of the both of you.

Jason let out a sigh before wiping a hand over his face.

"Y/N, this is Roy." Jason introduced the redhead for you. The man stepped forward, shooting a hand out for you to take whilst a grin rested on his lips. You glanced at his hand, giving it a dissatisfied look before hesitantly taking it in your own.

As Roy dropped your hand he walked off into the kitchen, snooping around to see is he could find the food he smells.

"Whatcha' makin'?" He asked, neither you or Jason answered, only glancing at each other.

"Damian's more of the fighter, anyway." You shrugged, before walking off to follow Roy.

~☆~

You watched as Jason and Roy played a video game on Jason's TV. Your slice of pie that had previously been made was still being eaten by you, the two men that resided beside you and on the floor had already scarfed down their own slices.

You watched as their characters fought each other on the screen, your mind wondered, what if you and Damian were raised like this? What if the two of you were raised away from war? Gotham it's self had its own spike of violence but still nothing to what you and Damian were raised with. What if the two of you were "normal", raised playing video games, having sleepovers, playing catch with you father?

Part of you resented Talia for raising you the way she did, but another part of you loved her and thought about the times she actually acted like your mother. Like how when you were younger there were certain times when she would sit in her bed, you and Damian tucked on either side of her and she would read a book to you. She even had a painting that was made of you and your brother hanging on the wall of her quarters. But still, she raised you with all of that violence, training as the Al-Ghul heirs. Just because she was a little soft with you at times doesn't make her mother of the year.

~☆~

Before Jason dropped you back off at the Manor he cut a slice of pie and put it in a container with your name on it. Giving you firm instructions to immediately give it to Alfred, then he placed it into your bag.

"Y'know if you want more, call me." Jason told you, handing you the phone of yours that you didn't even know he had. "Roy's is in there too."

The redhead looked over at the sound of his name before throwing a smile and a peace sign.

"See ya' little dude." Roy bid goodbye as you passed him due to Jason pushing you out of the front door.

~☆~

After pulling up to the front of the Manor, Jason leaned on his motorcycle, a hand in his pockets, and the other holding his newly lit cigarette.

The two of you sat out there together, staring at the gothic chic Manor.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" You broke the silence, not ready to watch Jason leave. The taller man only snuffed his cigarette out and put on his helmet.

"Sorry, kid." Jason muttered as the threw a leg over his motorcycle and drove off.

~☆~

Alfred opened the door as soon as you reached the front steps, he always had this strange way of forming at the door before you could even knock. As he held a hand out for your backpack you reached in and handed him your slice of pie that Jason had given you.

"Dinner is set."

"Thank you, Alfred."

~☆~

You headed straight for the dining room, without even changing your clothes first. It's not that you were hungry, you Jason and Roy had snacked on things that you could've never eaten back with Ra's, you just didn't want to be alone yet.

Your socked feet dragged against the hardwood floors, Jason had woken you up too early for your liking. After your grandfather's death and coming to America you've indulged in some things you've never done before, like sleeping in.

Your hand grasped the wooden chair that came in a set with the dining table, after slumping in the chair you sluggishly filled up your plate with food. Both your father and brother had stopped their movement's as they watched your tired state.

"Woke up to early." You sighed, before giving Bruce a big smile, one that he returned.

"Did you have fun?" Bruce asked, cutting up a piece of his dinner.

"Yeah, we baked...an-and I watched him play video games!" You excitedly revealed, missing the expressionless face Damian watched you with.

~☆~

After dinner you started walking to the bathroom for a shower, then you could pass out. Footsteps could be heard walking in sync with your own, familiar footsteps, the ones you know all too well.

Damian pulled you to a stop with a firm grip to your arm, one that your sure will leave Red marks for the next few minutes.

"Why do you keep spending time with him?" He asked as his green eyes bore into your own. You watch as he quickly swallows, before chewing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"That's none of your concern." You hissed before yanking your arm out of his grip before walking off, leaving Damian standing in the empty hallway.

~☆~

Where are you from, or at least what time zone? Because I've noticed you guys are mostly active during 12-5 AM (my time). I promise that the next chapter will have action in it....just bear with me people...<3

Taglist:

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pandoa · 1 year

Text

when you're gone

~where the prefect has died, and he is left to pick up the pieces they shattered~ ~how they cope with your death~

~headcanons~ ~twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader~

warnings: angst, death

if you think i'm going to sugarcoat anything you're dead wrong i am here for tears :>

on the outside, nothing about him seems to have changed. in the mornings, he still wakes up and goes to class. in the afternoon, he still playfully attends club meetings and meets up with his other friends at nrc. in the nighttime, he doesn’t even spare the lifeless walls of ramshackle a glance as he walks back to his dorm. he seems… normal. however, everyone around him can sense that something is wrong. through his fake laughter and sugarcoated lies, everyone around him can see that he incredibly misses you. you left a hole in his heart that he covered up well in thick, scarlet paint. his lies to his friends bring him a toxic kind of comfort. but his lies to himself bring him more pain as each smile suffocates him with every day that passes.

CATER DIAMOND, lilia vanrouge, KALIM AL-ASIM, ace trappola, rook hunt

he works. he works, and works, and works until every fiber of his body begs him to stop. he just wants to forget about you. why can’t he let you go? he misses you every minute of his day and every second of his night. you infected his mind like a haunting curse sent to bring him down, and so he chose to work. to take his mind off of everything you. to ignore the fact that your absence affected his grieving heart the way that it did. you were his greatest distraction, after all. but why deal with grief when there was a perfectly long list of to-do’s to complete right before him instead?

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT, ruggie bucchi

he sits at your resting place a little longer than he should. most of the time, he is simply just sitting next to your grave, quiet and lost in his thoughts. when no other person is around, he talks to you. he speaks about his days, the latest shenanigans your friends have been stirring, the new shops that have opened since your passing, the inexplainable emptiness he feels whenever he turns around and remembers you won’t be there by his side like usual. he watches as the flowers around the cemetery bloom and wither with the inevitable work of time. on his days off from class, he stays by your engraved stone as the sun rises and sets, sitting beside you to keep you company. he dearly yearns for your warmth; however, he supposes the cold touch of your gravestone against the caresses of his fingertips was good enough.

jack howl, cater diamond, EPEL FELMIER, ruggie bucchi, jade leech, LILIA VANROUGE, idia shroud, malleus draconia

he’s irrational. angry. rage seems to be the only thing on his mind. if you think he made livid choices before, then you clearly did not see him the day your death was announced. when crowley had confirmed that you were, in fact, dead, he couldn’t believe it. wait—no. he wouldn’t believe it. someone as strong as you couldn’t die so easily. he knew you all too well. and from that day on, he made it his mission to be the most difficult and obnoxious person to have ever set foot in twisted wonderland, regardless of the chaos he caused because of it. he doesn’t care if others are appalled by his actions. he doesn’t care if his actions caused by anger affect the people around him. fine! let them suffer! their agony cannot compare to the ache he feels, though. he may be blinded by his emotions, but what does it matter anyway? his heart was bleeding and it wasn’t fair.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, floyd leech

he dreams of you every night. whether those dreams are joyful ones or replays of terrible memories, he dreams of it all. you cloud his mind like a never-ending mist, and he can’t seem to get rid of you. you were his star in the darkest shadows of the night. however all stars must burn out eventually, and it seems that you decided to burn out sooner than he thought. each new dream of his unlocks an unwanted image of you. images of you and him laughing along the sunlit pathways of his dorm. images of your precious face, rosy from something he just said. images of you and him together—the way it should have been. it’s to the point that he wishes he could sleep forever just so he can see the image of your face and the sweetness of your voice, even if only in his imagination. the moment he closes his eyes, he does not wish to wake up. he only wants to dream of you again and again until even he is sucked into the depths of death as well.

riddle rosehearts, SILVER, azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, trey clover, rook hunt, malleus draconia

he doesn’t believe it. you couldn’t have died, you just couldn’t! what would happen to all the memories you made? the future the two of you would make together? the future you both had dreamed about? it was impossible. you can’t be dead. conflicted emotions boil within him as he convinces himself that you are still alive. that you are simply taking a short break from nrc and would return home to him soon. everyone around him is pained to see him being in such shambles—the innocence in denial was just too sweet of a spell. even as he watched your coffin descend six feet to the ground on that mournful day, he remained chained to the shackles of disbelief as tears began to stain his crestfallen face.

deuce spade, epel felmier, kalim al-asim, sebek zigvolt

a/n: there was one point where i got so into imagining these hcs that i literally could not see what i was writing bc tears were streaming down my face 💀

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cecilebutcher · 7 months

Text

ღLaufey songs I associate with twst boysღ

I’m back on my musical bullshit😎 just so we’re clear, this has zero thoughts, behind it o7 Enjoy!!

!!Don’t like,it does nothing. Reblog instesd!!

Characters: Every nrc student + some oc’s

Riddle Rosehearts: like the movies

“Maybe I'm just old fashioned. Read too many fairytales. It's no wonder I've had no luck, no one's ever good enough. I want a love like I've seen in the movies.That's why I'll never fall in love”

Trey Clover: I wish you love

“And in July a lemonade. To cool you in some leafy glade. I wish you health. And more than wealth. My breaking heart and I agree. That you and I could never be. So with my best, my very best. I set you free”

Cater Diamond: someone new

“I have to get off Instagram. I keep on going back. Looking at our memories. I know that you will soon delete. We turn to strangers in a day. Now you walk away. Every time I catch your eye. When did you become so shy?”

Ace Trappola: Best friend

“I have never tolerated someone for so long. I've never laughed so much. I haven't written a sad song. There's no one else I'd rather fall asleep with. And dream with. You're my best friend in the world”

Deuce Spade: just like Chet

“Why did you put me through. 11 months of "you're so pretty's, " "I miss you's"? It's absurd what even occurred between autumn and spring. If you never loved me. In a perfect world. I wouldn't have met you that night. Would've stayed with my friends. And just danced 'til the morning light”

Leona Kingscholar: Valentine

“I've rejected affection. For years and years. Now I have it, and damn it. It's kind of weird. He tells me I'm pretty. Don't know how to respond. I tell him that he's pretty too. Can I say that? Don't have a clue”

Ruggie Bucchie: Promise

“It hurts to be something. It's worse to be nothing with you. I've done the math. There's no solution. We'll never last. Why can't I let go of this?”

Jack Howl: lucky for me

“When the sun goes away in the autumn. And the leaves trickle down from the trees. The heat of the summer's forgotten. You'll be here, so lucky for me. You don't tell me to shut up. Even when I talk too much you smile at me. Say, "Don't worry"”

Azul Ashengrotto: From the start

“Oh, the burning pain. Listening to you harp on 'bout some new soulmate. "She's so perfect, " blah, blah, blah. Oh, how I wish you'll wake up one day. Run to me, confess your love, at least just let me say”

Jade Leech: above the Chinese restaurant

“Street sounds blistered with neon lights. Heard the neighbors snoring every other night. Eating dumplings from next door. Finish 'em up they'd give us some more. Didn't realize we had it all. Even when the roof came caving in that fall. Oh, I loved you more than you know. Covered in the flakes of crystal white snow”

Floyd Leech: dancing with you tonight

“Silly boy, don't talk to me. I don't have the energy. Please don't ask to dance with me tonight. I do better on my own (on my own). I don't mean to come off cold (come off cold). But my dear, I'm all danced out tonight. Now the gin is hitting me. And it's almost half-past three. Am I crazy or seeing things? I'm sorry if I can't go for another swing”

Kalim Al-Asim: Magnolia

“A word from her lips, her sirens kiss. Will send you straight into abyss. Magnolia, I wish she'd give her secrets away. Enchants everyone and I think it'd be fun. To be like her someday. But I cannot compete with her. Perfection is the only word. I think of when I think of Magnolia. She doesn't know that the world is turning just for her”

Jamil Viper: Street by Street

“Step by step, brick by brick. I'm reclaiming what's mine. This city is way too small. To give away to just one guy. Street by street, breath by breath. From the Back Bay to the sky. I'm taking back my city. I'm Taking back my life. The cafe Where you asked me for my name. The bookstore we spent Five hours hiding from the rain”

Vil Shoenheit: beautiful stranger

“What if I would've stayed on the train? Dared to stand up and ask for his name. Maybe we would have exchanged a few words. A fairytale moment could have occurred. But my beautiful stranger will have to remain. A stranger until I see him again. See him again. Hmm, mmh.”

Rook Hunt: fragile

“The soft candle glow. The music so slow. Your skin on my skin. The room is spinning. Nerve in my bone. I'm shaking oh no. I'm talking though I shouldn't be. I've lost all sensibility. I've never been so fragile”

Epel Felmier: falling behind

“'Cause the sun's engaged to the sky. And my best friend's found a new guy. I'm only getting older. I've never had a shoulder to cry on. Someone to call mine. Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind”

Idia Shroud:this is how it feels(ft. D4vd)

“This is how it feels. To fall in love with you. To always think of you. To always dream of you. Yes, it hurts so much. To fall in love with you. So if this is how it feels. Tell me if our love is real. There's some type of strange appeal. To the way it was so effortless, uh. I cannot help it”

Malleus Draconia: Bewitched

“You bewitched me. From the first time that you kissed me. Waited all night. Then we ran down the street in the late London light. The world froze around us, you kissed me good night. You bewitch me. Every damn second you're with me. I try to think straight. But I'm falling so badly, I'm coming apart. You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart. And bewitched me. Bewitched”

Lilia Vanrouge: night light

“Cardboard boxes covеring the floor. Guess I won't be living in here anymore. Take down the posters of the pop stars on the wall. Empty room, it looks so small. All of the laughter. All the sleepless nights. Waiting for ever after. Snow falling outside, keeping on the night light”

Silver (Vanrouge): let you break my heart again

“One day, I will stop falling in love with you. Some day, someone will like me like I like you. Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie. Pretend that we are more than friends. Then of course I'll let you break my heart again. Some day, one day. I will stop falling in love with you. Until I do. I'll be thinking of you. Let you break my heart again”

Sebek Zigvolt: dear soulmate

“Dear soulmate. Do you think of me? 'Cause I do. Do you have green eyes or are they brown like mine? Do you have a sister too? Dear soulmate. One day I'll give this song you. We will drive up to the mountains? Camp in a little tent? When the bears come at night. Will you put up a fight? Or will you hide with me in my flashlight?”

Ibhana “Vesper” Baske: questions for the universe

“Falling in love feels more like crashing. Stars spin around my head. So I'm asking. Will my worries ever melt away? Mm. Run out of sentences to say. Wish that I could put this into better words. Will I ever fall in love or will I always search?”

Tao Yúchi: second best

“I'll never forget how stupid in love I felt. I'll always regret how I couldn't ever tell. That you walked a little faster, left me behind. Kissed me with somebody else in mind. I loved you so much. That I settled for less. Oh, you were my everything. I was your second best.”

Igor Kazentoc: serendipity

“I won't pretend I've been anxious. Just like I've always been. This time it's sticking. And time just stops ticking. When I have my arms around you. Four-leaf clovers and lucky dimes. Coincidences and cosmic signs. Have proved that I am quite naive. I'm falling fast, filling gravity. And all that I see is serendipity”

Junto Shuisha: everything I know about love

“I wouldn't mind (ahh). I heard that falling fast is so divine. Are these songs just telling plain old lies? 'Cause that's everything I know about love (ooh, ooh). Everything I know about love (ooh, ooh). I don't know that much at all. I trip, I fall. Every time I try, it's all too much. That's everything I know about love”

Jasper Spade: slow down

“I wish it would slow down. Even for a second. I'm so old now. Left my adolescence. Going out to parties. And getting way too drunk. Think I found somebody. But don't think that it's love. I wish it would slow down. Slow down. Mhm, mhm. ”

Aikat Spanos: I’ve never been in love before

“I've never been in love before. I thought my heart was safe. I thought I knew the score. But this is why. It's all too strange and strong. I'm full of foolish song, and out my song must pour. So please forgive this helpless haze I'm in. I've really never been in love before”

Phobes Spanos: what love will do to you

“Lately, I've been in a haze. Running late, can't think straight. The world feels smaller, yet the trees look taller. There's enchantment in the air. I know I sound stupid, I do. That's what love will do to you. Read my favorite book. For the hundredth time. At least I know of how it ends. In real life it just all depends”

Yes I know I placed valentine for my baby boy Sebek in the last post, but it fits Leona this time ok?

Anywho hope ya’ll enjoyed this as much as I had fun writing this:D

Finally back to posting shit!! I have had this in my drafts for ages

!!requests are open!!

comments are more than appreciated. but reblogs help the content reach more people so please reblog if you want to like<3 likes do nothing. Seriously, don’t like, reblog.

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plantingatree · 14 days

Note

Tips on how to ace exams ??

hii i hope the exams coming up for you go well!! here are my fav things to do to ace exams!! 🩷

1. if you need to memorise lots of content, use anki. anki is a computer software or website you can use to create flashcards. it automatically reschedules them for you so you can review them every day using spaced repetition. make sure you review the ‘due’ cards everyday (especially if you’re cramming) because otherwise the content to go over again will quickly build up and feel overwhelming.

2. if there’s math involved in your studying, do as many questions as you can. take pictures of questions that you get wrong and go over them again in a few days or weeks time (depending on how much time you have) to ensure you’ve learned from your mistakes and still remember what to do. there’s never enough questions you can do, the more you can get done, the better.

3. if you have access to past paper questions, do them alongside learning the content. exam technique is a whole new skill altogether that is super important to learn in order to ace the exams. a lot of certain exams also reuse the same questions / word them in a similar way so it also helps with memorisation and getting use to the style of questions and how to answer them.

4. Remember that although it’s stressful studying and anticipating these exams, it’s a temporary feeling. stress can be good to get you motivated but sometimes an overwhelming amount of stress can make it too difficult to study. take a deep breath, take it slow, and start again.

5. make sure you understand the content while learning it, too. i like to make mind maps that are similar to the flashcards so i can grasp the concept of the topic while also memorising it. some people rely entirely on exams being almost like ‘memory tests’ but they also examine your understanding of the topic, too.

6. get into a routine. wake up at a certain time, work at a certain time, take breaks at a certain time, and go to sleep at a certain time. keep these times consistent and make them into a habit like the way you make showering or brushing your teeth a habit. and remember the breaks you take are AS important as the revision. if you take no breaks you’re going to burn yourself out completely.

here are some timetables i like to use:

8:00-10:30

11:30-1:30

2:30-5:30

7:30-9:30

that’s 8 hours of revision with sufficient breaks.

or:

8:00-10:30

11:00-1:30

2:00-4:30

that’s 7.5 hours of revision but with smaller breaks, but you finish much earlier.

or:

10-12

2-4

5-7

thats 6 hours of revision with good breaks.

7. get good sleep, please. if you get bad sleep you’ll be too tired the next day and trust me that will mess EVERYTHING UP.

8. when learning flashcards, i like to read it three times, and then press ‘again’ (when using anki, or if you’re using paper flashcards, put it to the back of the pile). when it comes back up, i try to recall it. if i don’t get it right, i read it 3 times again, and then scribble it down on some paper — then press ‘again’.

10. use forest (or flora, the free version) forest is an app where you can grow pretend trees and ‘plant’ your own garden depending on how much you revision you do. if you end your timer before it ends, or go on a different app, it kills your tree! the more revision you do, the more coins you get and you can buy different types of trees. (message me if you get forest and you can add me! not flora tho, i don’t use that one)

i hope this helped!!!! good luck!!! 😁😁😁😁

#studyblr #study #study motivation #studyinspo #studyspo #a levels #study aesthetic #study blog #study notes #study tips

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gvfgal · 1 year

Text

1. Homeward Bound

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

18+ minors evaporate!!!

A/n: As promised, here’s chapter one! I’m doing things a little different this time, telling the story more from Jake’s point of view than the readers. It works well for this story, and I think you guys will enjoy the way it plays out. Also, no disrespect to Genoa, NV! Never been, I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but for the sake of my story, it’s a shithole.

Content Warnings: Drinking & Smoking (constant theme throughout), language, mentions of death, Jake and reader are a couple of sluts but we love them for it, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (please don’t be like them), fingering (f rec.), dirty talk, Not really a warning, but I use the words tavern/ bar/ and or “Riley’s” interchangeably, they’re all the same place.

Word Count: 6.2k

Jake always loved the open road. It was the only time he truly felt like himself, the only time he felt truly invincible. The last time he traveled down Route 95, however, he was headed in the opposite direction, escaping the very life he was about to throw himself back into.

After Ace’s visit and a night of drinking, Jake finally settled on the decision to return home. He put most of his belonging into storage, only packing what would fit on the back of his bike. As far as his job, he wasn’t too worried. He had a sit down with Hank a couple days before he left and explained the situation. “You know you always have a job should you decide to come back,” Hank told him. Jake turned in his shop keys, and that was the end of that.

On the night before his departure, he tracked Kira down at some seedy motel and told her he’d be leaving town, to which she began to cry, begging him not to leave. In all honestly, it made him want to vacate even more.

The next morning, before the sun even had a chance to rise, Jake was on the road, homeward bound.

The desert stretched out before him, a vast expansion of rugged beauty underneath the unforgiving sun. The roar of his motorcycle engine echoed through the emptiness, punctuating the silence that came with the open road. As he ventured deeper into the heart of Nevada, the land seemed to hold it’s breath, anticipation simmering in the air. Dust clouds billowed in his wake as he leaned into the twists and turns, feeling as if he were becoming one with the machine.

Finally, after a couple more hours of riding, the small wooden sign came into view, signaling his arrival.

‘Welcome to Genoa. Nevada’s oldest town.’

The outskirts of the tiny dot on the map loomed into view, it’s familiar silhouette etched against the sky. He slowed his pace as he entered, taking in the scenery that was almost identical to the way it was when he left. His town, a decaying relic in the desert, clung stubbornly to it’s dilapidated existence. The streets stretched out before him like veins choked with neglect, lined with crumbling facades and and fading signs that once promised prosperity. Shuttered business stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the ebb and flow that was Genoa.

Nature, too, had woven it’s touch, with wildflowers defiantly blooming in forgotten corners. A gentle reminder to Jake that even in death, life finds a way. The sight filled him with a mixture of disgust and an odd kind of loyalty. Despite it’s decay it held the indelible marks of his roots, memories were etched deep within it’s neglected corners. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, Genoa was still home, a bitter reminder of the life he’d never be able to escape.

Using only his memory, Jake continued through town in search of Ace’s house. Just when he thought he was lost, the row of bikes lined up outside of an old rundown manufactured home proved his memory wasn’t so rusty after all. He parked near the end of the line before making his way up to the front door. He could already hear the rambunctious group of men far before he was on the porch, and he figured knocking would be no use. Besides, it was only Ace’s house, and Jake knew he was welcomed in as if he lived there himself, which he did, at one point.

When he swung the door open, the buzz of conversation came to an abrupt halt, and every head in the room turned to look at him, staring as if they’d seen a ghost.

Ace was the last to look at him, and when he did, a large grin spread across his face.

“Jake! You made it!”

The rest of the men erupted into cheers, glad to see their beloved Barbarian prince return.

“Jake, you remember Steeljaw right?” Ace bellowed as he gave him a shove forward into the crowd.

Jake smiled, “how could I forget? It’s good to see you man.”

Steeljaw was never very affectionate, and the life altering incident he encountered did little to change that, if anything, it had an opposite effect. But when it came to Jake, there was always a soft spot. He tolerated most people, but Jake, he actually liked. He could never figure out why, and in the end, he never tried to.

Jake expected a rough handshake or a punch in the shoulder, but was pleasantly caught off guard when Steeljaw scooped him up into a hug.

“It’s good to have you back.”

Ace went around reintroducing Jake to the guys, each of them in turn giving Jake hugs and handshakes and ‘welcome backs’. Hellhound. Snakebite. Madcap. Django. Renegade. And so many more. With each of these men, Jake carried a special memory. He loved each and every one of them, that was something he couldn’t deny. There were his family, other than his mom (another interesting story for another day), the Barbarians were all that Jake had. They all seemed to really miss him, and he missed all of them too.

Well, almost all of them.

“And of course, Nicky No Name.”

Ace pushed the tall slender guy forward, mouthing a ‘play nice’ to Jake behind his back. Jake’s disdain for Nicky went far beyond the fact that he was an overall awful person. For him, Nicky’s face was a reminder of the loss of the one person who’s presence he missed the most in that room, and it wasn’t Rex.

Jake gave Nicky a tight lipped smile, “Triple N, we meet again.” He knew how much he hated that nickname, which is why it felt that much better to say it.

Nicky narrowed his eyes at Jake with a scowl, before correcting it almost immediately. “Jake Kiszka. Prince of the Barbarians.”

Nicky also knew how much Jake hated that nickname.

Ace knew that was just about as polite as the two could get, so he quickly dismissed Nicky and returned his attention to Jake.

“I’m surprised you actually came.”

“You and me both.”

“How was the ride?”

Jake shrugged, “long.”

Ace chuckled, knowing good and well that anytime Jake was on the road, he had a blast. But he was never one to admit those kinds of things out loud, so he left it be.

“What do ya say we head over to your old man’s house? Get that out the way now?”

Dread crept into Jake’s veins, entwining with grief, as he realized that returning to his childhood home stirred a peculiar turmoil within him. Overshadowing even the weight of the impending funeral. He swallowed it down though, if only momentarily, to respond to Ace.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

The men hopped on their bikes and began making the short ride down to the old trailer park that was once Jake’s kingdom. Cactus Creek Village, quite the kingdom to be sure. The chipped paint on the entry sign proof of just how much the place had to offer.

Images of the past flicked through his minds eye as he inched his way through. The laughter that once echoed through the trees, riding his bike with his friends, pretending they were motorcycles until the street lights came on. All the joys of his youthful innocence. But beneath the surface of those fond recollections lay layers of pain, unsealed wounds, and fractured connections. Those feeling were all the more solidified as the house came into view.

A house whose walls were etched with both solace and strife. As he put his bike in park out front, it felt like a collision of two worlds, grief and nostalgia intertwining in an intricate dance.

“Look the same?” Ace asked as he got off his bike and came to stand with Jake.

He squinted his eyes at the structure, noticing that most of the damage that he left behind was still there. “Too much.”

His eyes grazed the lackluster trailer park with a neutral expression. Scenes of his complicated childhood played like mirages on front of him, sublime memories that still haunted his dreams. He wondered for a moment if coming back there was a bad idea.

Several feet away, the door of a trailer swung open, hitting the wall so hard that the sound sent a stray cat scampering from underneath the disheveled porch. You stepped outside, an already burning cigarette hanging between your plump lips with disinterest. Those lips, so perfectly pink and inviting, stole the air from Jake’s lungs. His mind flashed briefly to the things that mouth could possibly do behind closed doors.

But he wasn’t able to focus on that for long before his eyes began to take in your attire (or the lack there of). A wife beater, clearly with no bra underneath. Your nipples stood erect against the thin fabric. Your breasts were in no way large, but just big enough for a handful, and that was good enough for him. Your bottom half was no more modest, a pair of gray cotton bikini underwear, nothing more. The curve of your hips was only slight, so slight, some may not have even counted it as a curve at all. But whatever the hell it was, Jake liked it, really liked it.

A pair of brown cowboy boots covered you from the mid calf, down. The scuffed leather on the toes led him to believe that you wore them often.

You were unaware of their presence at first, making your way down the stairs mindlessly before your eyes finally locked with Jake’s.

Yours were red and glossy, not from tears, that much was certain. Jake was sure that you’d realize your exposure and rush back inside to hide yourself like any normal girl would do. But he was quick to find out you were anything but normal.

You blinked once at him, expressionless in your affliction, and raised you fingers to your lips to remove the cigarette. Your nails were chipped midnight blue, hands appearing like fragile petals of a flower. You ashed the cigarette onto the ground, eyed never straying from his.

Admittedly, your stare was a bit intimidating, heavy and laden with something so intriguing it was as if you were hypnotizing him where he stood. You wedged the cigarette back into your mouth before tearing your eyes from him, returning to the task you set out to accomplish.

“Who’s that?” Jake asked, never removing his stare from where you were. He watched as you bent over to pick up a sun bleached watering can, surprised at the size of your ass. He hadn’t expected you to be carrying something like that behind you.

Ace shuffled up beside him and gave you a good once over, “that’s Riley’s girl. When he got sick, she came down here, kinda popped up out of nowhere, to take care of him till he passed. Never left after that.”

Jake turned and looked at him with a furrowed brow, “Riley’s dead?”

Ace laughed, “you really have been gone a long time, haven’t you? He’s been gone about two years now. Pancreatic cancer. He fought long and hard,” he nodded his head in your direction, “she took over the tavern too.”

Jake’s eyes found you again as you lazily poured water onto the foliage outside of the trailer. For it to be Nevada, you did a great job of keeping up your garden.

“She’s a bit quiet, doesn’t really talk to us much, but she’s a sweet girl.” He retrieved a key from his pocket and placed it in Jake’s hand, “I gotta get back to the guys before they burn my damn house down. Take all the time you need.” He hopped back on his bike and his engine roared to life, “we’re all hanging at the tavern later, if you wanna stop by.”

Jake nodded and watched as he backed out of the driveway and started down the road. Once he was out of sight, he turned back to watch you water your plants, his eyes tracking every dip and curve of your body.

When you noticed him staring again, you stood straight and faced him, raising your middle finger.

He smirked. Spitfire. Giving his dad’s house one more look, he decided that wasn’t a hill he was ready to conquer, not yet anyway. Instead, there was a wide open Nevada desert calling his name, and that was a call Jake could never stray away from. Tucking the key away in his jeans, Jake mounted his bike and cranked it to life. He pulled into the street until he was parallel with your trailer. You watched as a mischievous grin appeared on his face, his gloved hand raising to shoot you the finger right back. His bike screeched as he pulled off at a ridiculous speed, kicking up dirt behind him.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him drive away. Using context clues, you figured he was your neighbor Rex’s son. You’d heard stories about him from the gang hanging around the bar. The Barbarian Prince, they’d joke. You’d spent plenty of time with Rex, and although he was always pleasant with you, you knew any son of his had to be trouble.

But you were a magnet for trouble. It’s allure and consequences were woven into the very fabric of your existence. Trouble had been your steadfast companion, the architect of your tumultuous journey.

Trouble, is what landed you in Genoa in the first place.

But when it came to the mysterious beloved Barbarian, trouble never looked so good.

Most of the gang was already at Riley’s by the time Jake arrived. He’d spent his afternoon riding through the winding outskirts of Genoa, allowing himself some much needed alone time before the next few days ahead. Pulling his tasseled hair into a messy low bun, Jake nudged the door open with his boot and stood at the threshold to scan the bar.

He quickly spotted Ace’s large frame seated at one of the barstools, but just as quickly, he noticed you. Your hair tied in a messy bun on the top of your head as you hustled behind the bar, mixing up drinks for the waiting Barbarians scattered about the space. A group of them huddled around the pool table drank and talked loudly, demanding their voices to be heard over the loud rock music playing from the old fashioned jukebox positioned in the corner. Jake gave them a quick assessment before returning his attention back to you.

You were wearing a muscle tank, if he had to guess, the same one from earlier, only this time you decided to put a bra on. Good Girl. The hot pink straps peaked from underneath the tank ever so slightly, he liked that even more. With a smirk plastered on his face, Jake made his way through the dimly lit bar, perching himself on the stool beside Ace and patting him on the shoulder, his eyes staying trained on you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy fulfilling another drink order for a waiting couple. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering your body that, mixed with the contrastingly bright lights of the neon signs behind the bar, made you appear like an angel on earth. Glowing like a beacon, a beacon calling directly to Jake.

Before even glancing at him, you were talking. “What can I get for you?”

Jake chuckled at your obliviousness as he leaned forward onto the bar.

“Whiskey. Neat, please.”

When you finally turned to look at him, realization setting in, your face dropped, but Jake’s never faltered. He was a lot more handsome up close, something you hadn’t expected, but still relished in.

“Well, if it isn’t my Peeping Tom neighbor,” you smirked, wiping your hands on the towel that hung at your hip.

Your voice was like like honey. Smooth, rich, and pleasing to Jake’s ears. The very sound of it melded with the music filling the room made the hairs on his arms stand upright. It was as if every word you spoke was uttered with the intention of seduction, and it was working.

Your right eyebrow peaked on your face as you waited for his reply, arms crossing over your chest.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that came out of the house half naked,” he teased, his eyes boring directly into yours.

“You didn’t have to stare,” you quipped right back.

Jake shrugged, “how could I not?”

His response stunned you into silence, but not in a negative way. Being the object of his gaze, as good looking as he was, was enticing.

You’d never let him know that, though. So instead, you rolled your eyes and turned to pluck at the screen behind you.

“You want your tab opened, or closed?”

Jake was staring daggers into your back, still wearing that sly grin. His eyes traveled down to your ass, being hugged tightly by the black denim shorts you wore. They traveled further, all the way down your exposed legs and back up.

“Open…”

Ace turned his attention to the two of you, patting Jake on the shoulder, “no need, first rounds on me, sunshine.”

You smiled sweetly at Ace before pulling a glass down to prepare Jake’s drink.

“So, you’re Rex’s kid?” you asked.

Jake nodded, “the one and only. I think.”

You chuckled at his statement, knowing that when it came to Barbarians, that was probably a real concern. “Sorry to hear about his passing.”

He gave off another shrug as he retrieved his usual duo, a cigarette and his lighter, “wish I could say the same.”

This comment may have been off putting to others, but to you it was more than relatable.

You finished pouring his drink and slid it across the counter on a thin coaster.

“Well, he’ll be missed around here, anyway,” you glanced around the bar before focusing on Jake’s face, “but it seems like everyone’s glad to have you back.”

Jake’s attention was focused on getting his cigarette lit, and once it was, he looked back at you, noticing the way you were drinking in his features,his lips curled up around it.

“Glad to be back.”

He took his glass and raised it towards you, a silent confirmation that you were the reason for his satisfaction. You held each other’s gaze for what felt like forever, both grinning, yet silently assessing the other.

“Why do I feel like you’re nothing but trouble?” you questioned Jake, a hint of teasing in your voice.

Jake freed his mouth and leaned into you, and you instinctively did the same, your faces now hovering inches away from each other. The smell of tobacco on his breath was so intoxicating you could’ve kissed him in that very moment.

“Why do I feel the same about you?”

For a brief moment, you though he actually was about to kiss you, your mouths so close, all it took was one small movement to initiate. But just before it got to that point, Jake pulled away, standing from his seat and crossing over the the jukebox.

You watched as he flipped through the catalog, taking a sip of his drink in the process. Finally, Lick it Up by Kiss began playing loudly as Jake increased the volume. Turning back to you with that same smirk from before. He began nodding his head in an animated fashion, causing a real laugh to bubble up from inside of you. Something that didn’t happen often.

“He really is Rex’s boy!” Ace shouted over the music, calling out to everyone in the bar.

He raised his glass as everyone cheered, following suit. And once again, Jake looked to you, raising both his eyebrows and his glass.

You shook your head with a smile, “trouble.”

It was well after two am by the time you got off. Most of the gang had stayed right until close, and with only you and your coworker Angela left by the end of the night, closing took a lot longer than usual. And to make matters worse, you were now stranded at the gas station. Your old clunker had only managed to make it two miles up the road before it sputtered out, and now, it refused to start.

The cold desert air chilled your bones as you did your best to inspect under the hood, but with little to no knowledge about cars, you weren’t hopeful.

“Raggedy piece of shit,” you cursed as you kicked at one of the tires. You pulled your windbreaker tighter around your body and leaned back against the car, debating on whether or not you could conquer the mile and a half walk back home.

But just as the idea started becoming the best option, the sound of a motorcycle could be heard coming up the road. You watched as the driver pulled into the gas station, knowing well that it had to be a Barbarian, they were the only gang in the area. But what you didn’t expect was for that Barbarian to be Jake, still smiling as he pulled up beside you.

“You don’t look too happy.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but his smile was beginning to grow on you. So much so, that you could ignore his smart ass comment.

“My car won’t start.”

Jake turned off his bike and climbed off, not saying a word as he leaned down to look into the engine compartment.

You took in the way the muscles of his arms flexed as he gripped tightly on the sides of the car. The thought of him holding you that way sending a separate chill down your spine

After a few moments of inspection, he faced you again, just as you diverted your eyes to something else.

“Where do you want me to start?”

Your dropped your head into the palm of your hand, “fuck.”

Jake chuckled, “it’s alright. I might be able to fix it,” he sounded hopeful, though by just looking at it, he' knew it might be beyond saving, “have to get it towed first, though.”

You cursed again, you didn’t have the money for that.

“But for the time being, I can give you a ride. After all, we are neighbors.”

You glanced backup at his smirking face, wondering if he ever wore any other expression, “on your bike?”

He nodded, “what, you scared or something?”

Quite frankly, you couldn’t have been further from. Excited? A little turned on? Yes. Scared? Never.

“What’s your name?” you asked, deciding to ignore his statement. He took a step towards you and extended his hand, “I’m Jake. And you are?” You shook his hand softly and grinned mischievously, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

You removed your hand and climbed onto his bike, making sure to arch your back more than necessary.

That image of you on his bike that way was the first time Jake actually believed here might be a god. You were all too regal, even in your most natural state, he’d even dare to say perfect. And something so perfect had to be meticulously constructed by an all knowing power. He didn’t even care if he knew your name.

“I gotta run inside. Stay pretty.”

He left without another word, dissapearing into the store and leaving you out in the cold air. You waited patiently for him to return, and when he did, he climbed on in front of you. His already familiar scent filled your nostrils, and without though, you moved your body closer to his. Once he brought the bike to life you hesitantly wrapped your arms around his torso, bringing you a comfort that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Will you be alright without a helmet?” he asked, shouting over the roaring engine.

“It’s only a mile and a half. I’ll be fine.”

He put the bike in drive, patting your thigh twice, “well then, hang on.”

He pulled out into the street slowly and began making his way down the long stretch of road. Releasing your hair from its bun, you leaned into Jake’s ear, “you can’t make this thing go any faster?” You were aware that he was doing the gentlemanly thing and taking it easy, but feeling the rush of the wind and the vibration of the road traveling through your body had you craving more. The freeing feeling that speeding down the road on the back of a bike was enticing, but so was the danger of it. That feeling of gambling life itself for a few seconds of exhilaration, it turned you on, the tense energy radiating off of you and onto Jake.

You couldn’t see it, but he smirked, reving up the engine as he began picking up speed, causing your adrenaline to spike. Once the deteriorating buildings that lined the street started becoming a blur, you released you hold on Jake’s waist and spread you arms out wide, tilting your head back to greet the night sky. The wind whipped your hair across your face, blinding you every few seconds, but that didnt deter you one bit.

A genuine laugh escaped Jake’s lips, “you’re a wild one,” he exclaimed, his voice barely audible against the roaring wind.

Cactus Creek was still when you and Jake returned, the loud hum of his engine feeling out of place in the quiet night. Jake could’ve easily parked in his own driveway and let you make the 50 feet walk back to your place, but instead, he parked right outside your front door, a little too close to your flowers for your liking. After helping you off, the two of you stood face to face. The thrill of the ride had yet to wear off, and all those feelings you felt while in the back of his bike were still very much alive inside of you.

“You seemed to have enjoyed yourself,” Jake chuckled as he removed his own hair from its bun. Never in your life had you seen such tangled locks look so good, you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it, preferably with his head between your legs.

A small grin appeared on your face as you took a step closer to him, “what can I say? I love a good ride.” He pulled you close as soon as you were in arms reach, letting one of his hands snake around your hip, just shy of your ass. His opposite hand found your hair, pulling back on it gently until you were looking him in the eyes.

“Is that right?”

Your lips ghosted against his as you spoke, “who doesn’t?”

Jake liked that answer. If the twitching of his cock that was pressed against your leg didn’t give it away, the look on his face sure did. His mouth dropped to press firm kisses along your collarbone. Your eyes fell closed when his tongue appeared to lick a long strip up your neck. He continued until his mouth was hovering by your ear.

“Something’s telling me you’re no good for me,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe to punctuate, “should probably stay away. But somehow that only makes me want you more.”

You pulled away to look him in the eye, shaking your head solemnly, “you don’t want me, Jake. I’m not the kind worth loving.”

He took a mental note of that statement, replaying it over and over in his head fo months to come. But for the time being, it remained tucked away. He smirked at you, “who said anything about falling in love?”

The look of lust in his eyes and the grip he still had on your waist was the nail in the coffin. With both hands, you took ahold of his fac and crashed your lips into his, nothing but primal desire behind it. He kissed you back immediately, his tongue delving into your mouth like it were seeking out shelter in the rain. You all but climbed him, tangling you legs around him as he made his way up the steps. You never locked your door, there was nothing in that place worth stealing, and your hand searched blindly behind you to open the door.

Once inside, Jake quickly cleared your entryway table— its contents clambering to the ground as you pushed the door shut. He sat you down roughly as his mouth returned to your neck, much less graceful than the first time. You pulled and tugged at his jacket until it slid off his body, leaving him in a plain black t shirt. Your finger clawed at it, pulling it up so that you could feel more of his skin against yours.

“Still not gonna tell me your name?” he huffed as his hands began groping your chest.

You sighed heavily, “nope.”

Jake chuckled, “that’s fine,” he squeezed your chest a little tighter, causing you to hiss, “I’ll jut have to come up with my own name for you then.

He licked into your open mouth slowly, making sure to really taste you as he did so. “Hmmm. How about Cherry?”

“Cherry?” you gulped, “why?”

Jake smiled at your moment of innocence, the way your eyes pleaded for an answer made both his cock and his heart ache.

“Cause you taste just as sweet as one.”

Before his compliment had a chance to make it’s way to your heart, you yanked him closer by the collar of his shirt, “are you gonna stand here and talk all night, or are you gonna fuck me?”

Jake’s smile fell, a carnal look taking over his face. His rough fingers began undoing the button on your shorts, not even taking a moment to pull them down before they were sliding into your wetness. An almost silent gasp left your mouth as your head fell back against the mirror, threatening to send it crashing down.

“Yeah, Cherry? Is that pretty little pussy ready to fuck?”

You nodded, once again clawing at his back as his fingers continued to skate about.

He removed his hand from your shorts and brought the digits up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth. Yeah, Cherry would do just fine.

“Let’s not keep her waiting then. I’m dying to meet her.” He hoisted you off the table and began walking towards the only door that could’ve lead to a bedroom. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you began making quick work of your clothes. Jake doing the same. He was undressed before you were, and your eyes immediately zeroed in on the myriad of scars that adorned his body.

Each of those scars held a story, some twisted, god awful story that probably came with a mental scar to match. You couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of things he had seen, lived. You had a moment of clarity then, of how similar the two of you were. Both marred by scars of the past, yet still somehow standing.

Something you’d noticed from the very beginning was how tired Jake’s eyes were. Though he smiled often, you could tell there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. And seeing him there, in all his raw naked glory, you wanted nothing more than to take some of that weight off, if only momentarily.

With enough time to recover from the putty like state he had you in earlier, you finished undressing yourself and pushed Jake down onto the bed with only a finger.

He grinned up at you, enjoying where this was headed. You slowly made your way up the bed, eyes locked on his as your fingers began grazing along his skin. You were so occupied with taking in the rest of him, you hadn’t even taken a moment to look at his cock. But just as you suspected, it was as perfect as the rest of him. Radiating a cherry shade of red from the tip, like it was made just for you.

Straddling his waist, you raked your fingers through your untamed hair, Jake’s hands came up to massage your ass, “you did say you loved a good ride, huh?”

One of your hands began stroking along him gently, collecting the pre cum from his tip to ease your movements. The goofy grin he was wearing faltered as he let out a shaky breath.

Raising your hips, you peered down your nose at him, “don't worry. I’ll hang on.”

You sank down on him in one fluid motion, both of you moaning loudly at the way you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Jake’s fingers dug into your skin, and you welcomed the pain, throwing your head back in ecstasy as he stirred inside of you. When he loosened his grip, you took that as an invitation to begin moving, and using his chest for leverage, you began grinding your hips against him. He allowed you to do so for awhile, laying his bed back out the pillow as he watched you move against him eagerly. His hands felt their way up your body, one of them snaking up into your hair while the other came up to your mouth. You welcomed his fingers, sucking them past your lips as you clawed at his exposed chest. When Jake noticed you tracing on of the scars on his abdomen he looked up at you, searching for disappointment in your eyes. But there was none, not even an inch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered to him as you raised you hips to slide off of him, just to the tip, before sinking back down with a gasp.

Jake was never one to take compliments well, but he could tell you meant it. He grabbed ahold of your hips again and began thrusting upwards into you, speeding up the tempo at which you were moving. It was obvious that this wasn’t something that was meant to go on all night long. Both of you were clearly in need of blowing off steam, and by the way both of your bodies were reacting, you knew the end was coming soon.

He sent a harsh slap to the side of your thigh, his teeth bared as he tried to maintain his composure. “You take dick so fucking good,” he complimented as he watched the way your tits bounced from the force of the movement.

Your head lulled forward to smile at him, “I know.”

Jake returned the gesture, a soft groan escaping his mouth, “I’m gonna cum, Cherry.”

“Me too, Jake,” you wined, “don’t stop.”

He sought out your clit, rubbing slow circles against it as he continued to pound up into you. “Yeah. I bet you make the prettiest faces when you cum. I can’t wait to see.”

Your hips began faltering, and Jake could feel you clenching around him, causing a deep growl to grumble up from inside of him.

“There it is. I feel it, Cherry.”

“Cumming,” you sighed, “I’m cumming.” With one final bounce on his cock, you were cumming hard and loud. You were never one to be ashamed of being loud during sex, it made it feel that much better. And Jake enjoyed it thurrougly. The way your brows were knitted together, head thrown back, nails carving angry marks into his chest beside his scars. And your moans, to Jake, they were the sweetest sounds to ever come out of Genoa.

He fucked you through to your end before wrenching you off of him and pumping along his shaft. You were laid out beneath him, both of you watching each other as he continued jerking himself.

Jake’s eyes grew dark, “you want it, don’t you? In that sweet little mouth?”

Your jaw fell open, inviting him to do exactly what it was you were both think. The sight of it sent Jake’s release crashing into him.

“Such a nasty thing, aren’t you Cherry? Oh fuck… fuckkkk.”

Hot spurts of his release began dripping down into your mouth, some of it landing on your breasts and cheeks, but you caught as much of it as you could.

His legs were shaking by the time he was empty, and he collapsed back down onto the bed beside you, fighting to catch his breath. His hand searched for his discarded t-shirt, bringing it to wipe away the remains of the mess he left on your skin. You smiled up at him as he did so, “thank you.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you. Your eyes held a certain softness that captured his attention, yet, there was something lurking behind that gentle facade, something that hinted at a hidden depth. It was as if there were an entire secret world behind your eyes, one that Jake coould’t decipher.

There was no denying the allure you possessed, your beauty and your aura were nothing short of captivating. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that behind that beauty lay a trail of buried skeletons.

Getting reacquainted with the Barbarians was trouble enough, a path filled with danger and uncertainty. And intertwining himself with you seemed to add another layer of complexity. Despite all of that, though, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. There was a magnetic pull, a force that defied reason and lured him further into your orbit.

But he’d leave that alone for now. He had to burry his father tomorrow, and that was a burden of its own.

He lowered himself back onto the bed, pulling the sheet up over you body as you slowly began drifting off to sleep, hoping that he could do the same.

2. Our Old Friend, Death

Taglist: @myownparadise96 @writingcold @jordie-gvf

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