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#enjoy this
its-djotime · 4 months
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do you guys think adam's parents know he died? or that he's even missing?? his corpse has been in that bathroom for like 6 years. then scott tibbs, the only other person who was close w him killed himself so like?? do adam's parents just assume he's still upset with them and that's why he isn't answering his phone? did that guy who lives in his building ever think it was weird that his annoying neighbour suddenly stopped coming home?? did lawrence ever try to find ANYONE else who cared about him? or do you think the reason adam clung to lawrence so tightly was because he had no one else?
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baggy-holmes · 2 months
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throwback to last week when there was snow on the ground
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answer2jeff · 4 months
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Life Imitates Art —Carmen Berzatto.
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PART 1/2.
warnings: fluff. painter!reader x roommate!carmen. unestablished relationships. clunky overly detailed writing. carmy being concerned. angsty. mutual pinning. (reader is lowkey mentally unstable like Carmen. i can't write 100% healthy relationships i'm sorry!!!)
a/n: sorry i disappeared and didn't write for weeks and decided to randomly drop this!
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You needed inspiration.
With your last three pieces bought out from the French art gallery, L'art de L'amour, you hadn't touched your easel in days. Your brushes had gone dry, the paint clumping and staining every bristle. The lack of desire to make art felt like you hadn't seen the sun in 10 years.
You'd been ignoring this dreadful feeling with sleep.
Long day at the studio, the space filled with no one but younger, starving artists who wanted to admire your work for creative flow—but never wanting to know the real meaning behind every brush stroke, or why you used oil paints for specific pieces? Sleep.
The days fell shorter, the nights falling longer.
Even your roommate, a micromanager of his career, noticed.
It surprised you, possibly more than it should've. When you first moved into this apartment, you had every doubt in the world sharing a space would be enjoyable. For a while, you weren't sure if you could call yourselves "friends." Then again, living with a complete stranger—a man, no less, seemed impractical. But after a month or two, it was refreshing in a way. Carmen always cleaned up after himself, and was never opposed to splitting chores. There was no need to set specific boundaries. You felt respected, cared for. Every minute not overpowered by either of your desires to create were mostly spent with each other. It kept you sane.
You woke up to the sound of Carmen walking into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he struggled to shut the door of your apartment behind him. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, only to find that your bedroom door was wide open. You must've gone straight to bed after spending the entire evening trying and expectedly failing at "cleaning" up the apartment so Carmen wouldn't come home to a mess.
Bare feet pattered against the floorboards, the palm of your hand pressing into your tired eyes. You stretched your arms out, your t-shirt, who you weren't sure if it was yours or Carmen's, lifting up and showing just a sliver of your stomach over your grey sweatpants. The sunlight leaking through the windows blinded you.
"Oh, hey. You're up." A warm, welcoming voice greeted you, followed by the fridge being closed shut after restocking it with the necessities he picked up from Whole Foods.
You blinked to see Carmen hovered over the kitchen counter, clad in a navy-blue crewneck and gold chain dangling from his pale neck. His hands pried at a familiar brown wrapper. Blueberry muffins.
"Hey, yourself," you slurred, barely able to keep your eyes open as you hoisted yourself up onto the marble surface. You gazed down at him, grinning at his messy blonde curls.
Carmen smiled back, blue eyes admiring the sight of you: half asleep, your voice raspy while still having that airy cadence, your hair messier than it was the last time he willingly saw you—which he couldn't totally remember. He came home to the sight of your bedroom dimly lit by your bedside lamp.
"It's noon," he muttered, glancing from his phone on the counter, and back to you.
"Shit. Really?"
"Yeah. You've been sleeping a lot lately," he kept his stare on you as he opened the cabinet beside you, reminding you to 'watch your head' as he grabbed a ceramic plate.
"Isn't that a good thing?"
Your mind wandered to your exhibit. The thought of never having the ability to create such extraordinary work terrified you. So much that you hadn't even tried. It was almost embarrassing: Carmen seeing you like this. Rid of the one thing you convinced yourself you knew how to do.
"Not really."
You wanted to laugh. Maybe he just didn't get it.
If you could make even the painfully mundane into something more, than maybe you were more than just existing. Carmen was actually astounded by you and your work, even with the lack of knowledge in other art forms. Culinary was his calling, but for you? Oh, how he tried to grasp every concept you conveyed in your creative works. All in attempt to comprehend every thought in that pretty little head of yours.
Maybe he didn't understand as much as he wished, but maybe he didn't have to totally 'get it' to get you. Carmen found it hard to read people, their feelings, their true intentions, his whole life. But for once, he had confidence in his intoxicating marvel for everything you did. Even the way you covered your mouth when you laughed around everyone except him, or the way you styled your hair
"Well, it was for the sake of art," you smiled, extending your hand out to accept the plate that held the beautifully baked blueberry muffin. "Thanks for these, by the way."
"Pleasure. And I was actually gonna ask you about that. The—the art. Your art." Carmen joined you on the counter, his feet dangling beside yours. Your shoulders bumped past each other, a laugh coming from the both of you.
"Yeah? What about it?" You bit into your muffin, your gaze never leaving his.
"Well, I uh—I kinda wanted to visit your exhibit, y'know? Get to see it in its full form. I would've asked sooner but—"
"Yeah, yeah, it's okay. I know. Um—that'd be great. That's really nice of you, Carm."
A part of you wondered why he wanted to see it. But it wasn't all too surprising. Carmen took every chance he got to see your studio—even taking the initiative to drive you home from it on late nights, where you'd be endlessly analyzing your works even hours after Carmen would leave what was now, The Bear.
"Nah, I mean, I've just seen all that y'do and it's—" Carmen shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express his admiration without changing the atmosphere, "really cool. It's you, y'know?" His bottom lip was barred by his teeth and he looked into you for an answer.
You wished you could understand how the complexities of a kitchen; how it could clutch Carmen's attention to the point of no return, but you were happy for him. He was making something more of "mom and dads piece of shit," as he called it.
You never thought it was anything short of fucking awesome. He had all of this experience, drive, passion. Carmen felt more real, more rawly human to you than anything. Or anyone you'd met before.
He changed you. You were softer, calmer.
And still, you worried for him, dragging him out of the ever all consuming anxiety. Sometimes this was through watching X-file reruns on the couch. And every night, you'd move a little closer. By now, he'd keep an arm around you as your eyes became heavy and the room stirred with darkness and comfortable silence. He prayed to whatever ruled above him that you wouldn't notice, simultaneously wishing you'd want him to hold you gently like this. Even grocery store trips, something so simple, felt this way—which you missed out on this morning. You'd stand on the edge of the cart, your hands supporting your weight as Carmen pushed the handle with both hands, eyes scanning the isle for whatever obscure ingredient he needed for the dinner he planned on making you that night.
Every time he looked away, you stared. His beautifully carved nose, the way he bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his blonde eyebrows when he tried to focus on making a decision. You were afraid, in a weird, animalistic way. You hadn't stopped yourself from relying on him. What if loving him this way made him pull away–or worse, you? You had to admit, having something this painfully simple in your life that made up for the chaos, was a little hard to accept.
It took everything in you to pretend you didn't notice him cleaning up the bathroom you shared whenever either of you left your belongings lying around. You wanted to convince yourself it was because he didn't want to come off as a slob, or influence you to be one yourself. But it always felt more like he was looking after you. Nothing that belonged to you would ever be misplaced again. Not with Carmen around.
You took pride in the little things. Your shoes placed next to each other near the front door, your toothbrushes leaning against each other with corresponding colored clips to cover their bristles. This was good. Change was good.
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mmmairon · 1 year
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Friend of all animals
Aprilluc days 11 [violin] & 23 [childhood]
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amazinglyegg · 1 year
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Featuring Fallout 4 characters
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aimlessatlas · 1 year
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Hi I am new to the peepaw polls and decided to contribute
I want this fucker punted/affectionately
@threestripeslider
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linkyychan · 2 months
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Just.... ochako wanting to see Toga's smile again and again...
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roguenancy · 1 year
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Steve is a romantic at heart. He always has been.
He loves big declarations of love and all their cheesy fixings. He’s the guy who used to thrive off giving girls his jackets to wear, always brought them flowers before dates and as apology gifts, and wasn’t above writing cheesy love notes and shoving them into girls' lockers for them to find later and discover just how much he’s been thinking about them since they parted an hour ago. There was a special kind of warmth he got from seeing girls paint their cheeks with his basketball number before games or roll up to school in homemade t-shirts designed to look like his baseball jersey. Steve always liked the attention, but he loved the subtle possessiveness of it all. The way it seemed to scream out loud how much he was treasured by someone, even without the use of words.
It's no surprise when he starts dating Nancy in the fall of his Junior year and immediately wants to give her his class ring when he gets it later in the year. He’s barely even worn it himself, but he doesn’t care because all he’s thought about for years is how it would feel to see a girl wearing his class ring—sporting him loudly and proudly for all the world to see. But while Steve is a romantic at heart, plucked right out of a John Hughes movie scene, Nancy isn’t. She doesn’t mean anything by it, of course; she just didn’t grow up the same Steve did, attached to the idea of one day getting to wear some guy's class ring to declare their steady status. She tries to humor him at first and makes an attempt to wear it because it is a big deal, and once upon a time, the concept would’ve made her smile. But the ring never fit her fingers, and when she tried to place it on a chain to wear around her neck, it felt like it was choking her. It didn’t help that the ring was big— loud and gaudy in a way that is the opposite of everything that Nancy, who prefers dainty jewelry and simple charms, enjoys.
Steve’s ring ends up hanging in her jewelry box, unworn. She apologizes profusely and means it. She wants to be able to wear it. She wants to want to. Steve laughs it off and tells her it doesn’t matter because, to some degree, it really doesn’t. But he’s lying when he says it doesn’t bother him, and then every day after, when he tells himself he doesn’t mind that it’s collecting dust in a box rather than being worn the way he had always hoped it would be.
Nancy gives it back to him in the fall of ’84. Steve decides he’s over the sentiment of big romantic gestures and tosses it on top of his dresser. When it begins to taunt him with his own lonesomeness, he shoves it in a drawer and vows never to think about it again. And he doesn’t… at least not for a few years.
It’s the spring of ’86 when Steve’s class ring finally sees the light of day again. He’s going through his stuff, trying to sort out old clothes to give away like his mother asked when he finds it shoved in a drawer of his dresser. He immediately puts it on and then laughs. He’s still laughing when Eddie walks, arms full of boxes, and demands to know what’s so funny.
Steve trades Eddie his class ring for the empty boxes, makes a comment about how ridiculous so much of “that shit” seems now, and turns his attention back to folding shirts in the hope that Eddie will never be able to see the level of hurt decorating his face. Eddie puts it on out of pure curiosity. It’s chunky and flashy and heavy in his palm, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s slid it on a free finger and joked about what a stereotypical meathead Steve was in high school.
“I can’t believe you actually bought one of these things.”
“What? Man, c’mon, everyone does.”
“Uh-uh, Stevie. Do you know how many bills would have to go unpaid for something like this?”
Eventually, the two of them get back on track and return to going through Steve’s clothes, and Eddie’s so distracted by ribbing Steve about his rainbow-colored polo-filled closet to remember to take the ring off. Steve notices it on Eddie’s hand, sharp gold and a sea of silver, and has to bite back a smile. And when Eddie goes to leave that night, he forgets to take it off and give it back, and Steve lets him because it doesn’t matter that Eddie said he found the ring ridiculous, that they aren’t even dating, that Eddie didn’t mean it like that and isn’t showing him off, or that his parents would be livid with him if they found out. None of it matters because the sight of it on Eddie’s hand matters more, and the fire it lit inside of Steve ran so hot and so deep that he doesn’t care if he ever gets it back so long as Eddie wears it. After all, it’s so much better than having it sit untouched inside a drawer.
Eddie never does give it back, either. He intends to, or at least that’s what he tells himself every night as he lies in bed, spinning it around between his fingers. And for a while, a part of him meant it when he said it, but eventually, the smiles got too hard to hold back whenever he looked down at his hand and saw that flash of gold with the tiger mascot and Hawkins on one side and a basketball and 1984 on the other. It’s cheesy, he knows. It’s silly and everything he swore he was against. It’s a bit pathetic, and he knows he should do better because Steve is his friend, and if he had any idea about how the ring made Eddie feel, he’d likely be upset or at least uncomfortable. But despite it, Eddie allows himself to indulge in it. Allows himself to wear it and forgets to give it back, and continues to pretend he means to.
Maybe it’s because it’s been a long, challenging year. Maybe it’s because Steve never asks for it back, even when he’s noticed it still taking up space on Eddie’s hand. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing to make him this happy in a really long time. Whatever it is, it keeps the ring in Eddie’s company… right up until the point he’s back at school, and it’s a touch too obvious, and his feelings are getting too hard to ignore whenever he looks down at his hand and sees Steve’s class ring sitting there as if it belongs there. Eddie doesn’t want to give it back; some of him refuses, but he tries.
Steve makes a joke like he always does. Steve says it doesn’t matter that Eddie has had it all this time. Steve says it’s no big deal… And then Steve walks right out of Eddie’s house that night and forgets to take the ring with him. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s intentional or not, but he decides it’s enough for him. Enough that he’s going to allow himself to indulge for a little bit longer, so he puts it on his chain, tucked right alongside his guitar pick.
He wears it every day, tucked under his shirt, and learns to enjoy the slight weight of it against his chest. It makes him feel closer to Steve somehow and helps to remind him that even though he and Steve aren’t dating, Steve is real, and he is there, and he is a part of Eddie’s life now, even if it’s just as a ring on a chain hidden under layers of Hellfire shirts and band tees.
Eddie can’t help but find it fitting to have something of Steve’s be so close to his heart.
Steve mistakes the sudden absence of his ring on Eddie’s hand for Eddie having ditched it. The first time he notices it, he feels a part of his heart crack and wonders if Eddie can hear how it tears.
And just like all the times before, Steve tells himself it doesn’t matter. That he’s more upset over the loss of an expensive ring than the boy who’s no longer wearing it. He tries to remind himself that he and Eddie aren’t an item and never were, that Eddie never meant it like that, and that it was as much of a joke as anything else. He tells himself whatever he needs to get by. Whatever helps him fall asleep at night after he lays there, tossing and turning and clutching his chest to try to soothe the ache there. He tries not to think about the fact that it doesn’t help for long.
It's a surprise, to say the least, when Eddie stays over weeks later and Steve tosses him a shirt to change into before bed. Eddie changes right there in front of him and forgets that he’s wearing the ring around his neck because, at this point, it’s just sort of there, a part of him as much as his tattoos and scars are. Steve always tries not to stare at Eddie, and he’s successful at least half of the time, but the sight of the ring around Eddie’s neck fails him more than any flash of skin ever has.
Steve’s still staring when Eddie turns back around. He’s got a wild look in his eyes, something Eddie can’t put a name to but knows it’s responsible for the shiver that runs down his spine. His cheeks are a little red, the slightest flush that makes Eddie want to grab him and pull him close and see just how much redder he can get. It makes it hard for Eddie to think, being under such a scrutinizing look from Steve. It makes it hard to talk, so he mumbles out a question, chokes on a bitten laugh, and tries to ask if Steve’s okay.
“You’re still wearing it,” is the reply Eddie gets, and not at all the one he expects.
It takes Eddie longer than he likes to realize what Steve’s even talking about, and suddenly, the necklace feels like a noose around his neck. He’s embarrassed, shy, and worried. He has no idea what Steve is going to say or how he’s going to react. He’s a good guy, and Eddie knows it, but some things are too much for some people, and it’s not like this choice is anything close to subtle on Eddie’s part.
Steve will know what it means. Steve probably had a hundred girls lining up trying to wear his ring just like this throughout high school. Steve will be able to see right through him.
And Steve does.
Steve reads him like a book and finishes the story long before Eddie can even form a response.
Eddie’s fear jumps into his throat when Steve crosses the room in three strides and stops right in front of him. Eddie holds his breath and prepares for a shove, a hit, a curse out. Eddie tries to memorize the feeling of Steve’s ring where rests against his chest, heavy and comforting as it hangs around his neck. Eddie prepares for the worst, recounts every exit in the Harrington’s house, and plans the final goodbye in his head.
Eddie freezes when Steve’s hand raises to wrap itself around the chain on his neck.
Eddie is surprised when Steve tugs on the chain, not to yank it off but to pull Eddie closer to him.
Eddie melts when Steve places his free hand on the side of his cheek and leans in, smashing their lips together in a flurry of passion.
It’s messy and far from perfect. Their noses are crammed together awkwardly, and their teeth clash in a way that makes them both wince. It’s a little sloppy and a lot desperate, but it’s still better than everything either of them has imagined. And when it finally comes to an end, when they pull apart, panting and pressing their foreheads together, there’s only one thing Steve says:
“You’re wearing it.”
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embrosegraves · 5 months
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𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤
2233 words (request) Daniel Ricciardo x Reader  based incredibly loosely on Moonlight by Ariana Grande (I tried lmao) Childhood Friends-to-Lovers "Are they dating or not?"
Warnings: Mentions of Jules Bianchi, platonic use of pet names, partial smau, grammar mistakes
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To give a bit of context, you and Daniel had pretty much known each other since you were both in nappies. Every typical experience people had growing up, you experienced with each other. So for you guys, being platonically romantic with each other was normal. He called you Darl, and you called him Babes. That’s just how it was with you two. 
Apparently, that wasn’t obvious to the people around you. 
Everyone thought you guys were the classic Childhood Sweethearts trope. Everyone you encountered thought you were dating but had yet to announce it. And why wouldn’t they think that? It was obvious that’s what was going on right?
It’s not like they saw how you could cheer Daniel up with just a hug and a kiss to his forehead after a bad race. How whenever Daniel had placed within the top 5, the first person he ran to was you, just so he could pick you up and spin you around. You followed Daniel to every race, literally every single race, even if he wasn’t driving. You were almost always right next to him, the exception being when his mother was also at the race and you would be seen with her. 
Even the other drivers were convinced you were dating. Max and Lando were always talking to each other about how they thought it was a little cute how long you guys were being secret about it, even though it was obvious to everyone. They never would’ve thought that they had the wrong idea about it the whole time. How could they when they saw Daniel get you a bouquet of Gladiolus and Aster flowers and a box of Favourites chocolate every year for your birthday. 
Lando had brought it up to him later that night when you were all out celebrating. 
“Mate, why the box of Favourites?” He asked him. “And why not get her roses?”
Daniel just smiled his winning smile and said to him, “She likes being able to have different chocolates without buying ten different boxes, and she hates that roses are everyone’s first thought for flowers.” 
Before Lando could continue his questions, you came up to them stumbling and giddy. 
“Babes! They’re playing our song, come on!” You had grabbed Daniel's arm and began trying to drag him to the dance floor. 
“Lead the way, Darl!” And he let himself be whisked away. 
-~-
The next person to try and subtly  get you to confess you were dating was actually Charles. He had known you both for a while, considering that Daniel had raced with his godfather, Jules. 
“So how long has Daniel been doing that for you?” He asked. The thing in question was Daniel braiding your hair so it was out of your face. Daniel had been on his way to his media duties when he noticed that you were constantly blowing bits of hair out of your face. Charles had just finished his own duties when he saw Daniel finish off the braid and tie it with the hair lucky he always kept on his wrist. When Charles had started to approach you both, he saw Daniel give you a quick kiss to the cheek before going to do his duties. 
You looked up from the email you were reading on your phone and looked at him, thinking about when exactly he had started braiding your hair for you. 
“I believe he learnt how just before exams got really tough in high school. So probably since we were around 16? Maybe 17?” You scratched the back of your neck as you spoke. “How come?”
“Just seemed very domestic. Like he’d been doing it all his life.” Charles shrugged. He was trying his best to be nonchalant about the new bit of evidence he could add to why you were already dating. 
You had laughed and thrown your head back. You made some offhand comment about how true it was because you and Daniel were getting so old before you each said goodbye and went your separate ways.
-~-
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Daniel would never admit to anyone but himself that he loved you in more ways than you probably thought he did. He had admitted it to himself when you were both fresh out of high school. But he wasn’t sure if you also thought in the same way about him. So he acknowledged his own feelings but promised that he would never act on them unless he got cold hard confirmation from you. 
However his resolve was wearing thinner and thinner the longer he spent time alone with you. 
It was a calm night. One that had you and Daniel on the couch bundled up in a mountain of blankets and a plethora of snacks and cool drink in front of you. You loved the nights you spent with Daniel. 
The credits rolled for the movie you had just finished watching. You had fallen asleep just as the movie had ended so Daniel wasn’t worried about you complaining about missing the end of it like you usually did. He gently removed himself from the mound of blankets and set about tidying up  the mess around you before carefully lifting you and placing you on the bed in his guest room. 
Making sure that you were comfortable, he paused in the doorway. He loved how calm and secure you looked. Like there was nothing in the world that could possibly make you feel uneasy. 
These were the moments that he whispered to the world just how much he loved you. Hoping that one day, he wouldn’t have to whisper and that instead he could yell it from the top of his lungs. 
-~-
You took a bit longer to realise that Daniel was the one for you. You had already come to terms that wherever you ended up in life, Daniel would be right next to you throughout it all. You had known that ever since you were little. 
It took you until your mutual friend Jules, had spoken to you about Daniel. 
“So when will you tell him?” 
You were confused. Who was Jules talking about? And what were you supposed to tell him? “Who?” 
“Daniel.” was the only answer she got from the Frenchman. This made you more confused. 
“What do I need to tell Dan? I’ve already told him everything important.” 
He had the gall to laugh at you. “When are you going to tell him that you love him? It is obvious he loves you.” 
Everything he said added more and more to your confusion. What did he mean you needed to tell Daniel that you loved him? You always told him that. You and Daniel had been telling each other ‘I love you’ since you were little children. It was just something the two of you did as best friends. 
Taking pity on you and how clueless you seemed to be, Jules told you all about how he had noticed that you and Daniel did things to and for each other that people don’t ever do for someone that you claimed as your ‘best friend’. 
How a best friend wouldn’t be constantly worried about you catching a cold when it was barely sprinkling with rain. How a best friend would not let you cut his hair and tell people it’s because he trusts you the most. Jules told you that a best friend wouldn’t normally plan a fancy, private, and most importantly, romantic dinner for your birthday. 
And then he told you about things that a lover would do for their special person. How a lover would hoist you over his shoulder and walk around for everyone to see how in love he was with you. A lover would give him a hug from behind, your arms over his shoulders, whispering reassurances and comforts in his ear while giving him the occasional kiss to the temple. 
A lover would do anything and everything that you and Daniel did for each other. 
Hearing it from an outside party made you realise that you had been in love with Daniel for years. Thinking back on it, you had begun to fall in love with him when his career had started taking off. Of course you loved him before that, ever since you had met him, but that was when you found yourself in love with him. 
Jules could see the realisation dawning on your face. He smiled and patted your back, wishing you luck before walking off to find his family. 
-~-
You, Daniel and almost all of the other drivers were sitting around the backyard of Daniel’s Monaco home, playing around and watching the sunset. 
It had been years since you had that fateful chat with Jules. Everytime you thought of it, you had an indescribable urge to just lay everything out for Daniel to see. Looking over at where Daniel was, you saw him laughing at something. Lando had probably spit out his drink again. He never learnt that he could stand the taste of a mojito. 
You felt the wind breeze through your hair. You could just tell that it was Jules trying to encourage you. You closed your eyes and let out a deep breath. Giving yourself a quick pep talk, you got up and walked towards Daniel. 
“Could I quickly steal away from you guys? Won’t take long I promise.” You said once you got there. Receiving the OK from the others, you guided Daniel to a more secluded part of his backyard. There was an area that was sectioned off by some bushes he’d had planted when you told him years ago that you always liked the idea of a secret garden. 
“You okay, Darl?” he asked. His voice was gentle as he tried to figure out how to approach the situation. 
“Yes. Everything is great, I just need to tell you something away from all the others.” You had stopped in the middle of the little garden, facing him. You took his hands in yours. 
“What’s up? You’ve got me nervous.” He chuckled a little to ease the pit in his stomach. 
“Babes, we’ve known each other for so long now. It’s been so long that I literally can’t imagine my life without you in it. And I should have told you this years ago, but I guess nerves got the better of me.” You paused and took a deep breath. “Years ago, I promised Jules that I would tell you this. Not because I told him first either, because the bastard was too smart for his own good, he found out before I did.” 
Daniel’s face twitched the slightest bit at the mention of your late friend. Jules had meant the world to you both and you were heartbroken when you were told he had died. Daniel squeezed your connected hands in reassurance. 
“I’m in love with you Daniel. I think I always have been, but was just too oblivious to notice. I feel so safe when I’m around you and you are unbelievably understanding of everything I’ve ever gone through. I can only hope that I’ve managed to give you the same amount of safety and understanding that you’ve given to me. 
“I know that what I’m saying is probably going to throw you for a loop but I promised Jules that I would tell you and so this is me, keeping the last promise I ever made to him.” 
You were glad that that was the end of your big speech that you had come up with on the fly because no sooner had you stopped talking, Daniel had removed his hands from yours and cradled your head before leaning in to kiss you. 
You were slightly breathless when you parted, Daniel’s forehead leaning against yours. 
“I’ve been in love with you since we left school, Darl. It would make me the happiest I’ve ever been if you would let me call you my girlfriend.” This time you kissed him. 
-~-
Instead of rejoining the others, you and Daniel made your way to his garage and got in one of his many beautiful cars. You both had one destination in mind that would seal this new development in concrete. 
Monaco Cemetery. 
The moon was high in the night sky when you arrived at the cemetery. You both got out of the car and quietly made your way to the headstone that marked the burial place of Jules Bianchi. 
You moved to sit beside the grave, but Daniel had stopped you before you could sit. You were confused until he took off his jacket and laid it on the ground where you were standing. 
“Thank you, Dan.” You whispered. 
“Don’t wanna ruin your pretty dress, Darl.” 
You both sat in front of Jules grave in silence. Neither one of you wanting to break the peace. Eventually it was you who spoke in a soft whisper. 
“I did it, Jules. I told him. Just like I said I would.” You leaned your head on Daniel’s shoulder and he moved his arm to pull you closer to him. 
“He always knew it would happen, didn’t he?” Daniel whispered. 
“Jules was always smarter than we were, let’s be honest.”
The wind blew past them. If you asked them years later, when they recalled the night, they would tell you they heard him. Heard Jules laughing at them. 
“We should get back.”
“Yeah."
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Liked by youruser, landonorris and 381,674 others
danielricciardo Good things come to those who wait <3
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magellanica · 1 year
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~ First Experience on Brittle Hollow ~
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supernaturalcharlie11 · 10 months
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Gone but never forgotten - the Rock sisters
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equippd · 14 days
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that one guy from thar one game,,,
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"No Looking, No Touching, No Nothing." Ethan Landry X AFAB! Reader.
Well finally, here we are, the first smut for the new boy! I know, two fics of him in a row but hey, this is what love is! I adore this guy, expect me to revisit him many times! Now this is an idea that hit me hard and I couldn’t let it go, so, let's not waste time and get into this! 
Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.7K. Ethan Landry X AFAB! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Established Relationship. Rope Play. Restrained Ethan. Masturbation. Toy Use. Some Praise. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Gagging. Cum Eating. Denial. Ruined Orgasm. Dom Reader. Mean Reader. Punishment. Crying. Begging. 
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Ethan was a good guy, a great boyfriend, really, but sometimes, just like any person, he could annoy you or do something to hurt you and the pair of you could clash. The issue was minor in the grand scheme but when it came down to it at times emotions and tempers flared and made even small issues get blown out of proportion. You stayed upset longer than he did, and he folded sooner than you did. 
You expected it. 
He was a needy guy, not being around you for even a few days while you had this spat was unbearable for him, and so he conceded. He pleaded to meet up, you allowed it and when your hands were in his, he asked, “What can I do to make it up to you?”
It should have taken you longer than this to come to this idea but you had thought about, (masturbated to), this very idea a lot and thus here we are.
Ethan, wearing nothing but the ropes tied around his wrists and ankles and anchored to the posts in each corner of your bed. You were still mostly dressed, and had taken your time tying him up. He was watching your every move with great interest, you were securing his right wrist last, leaning over him, chest very close to his face and you could tell he was fighting the urge to press his face, feel you against his cheek, smell you, him trying so hard to be good was cute. You slipped a finger into the ropes hugging his wrist and tugged, “Too tight?”
A shake of his head as he responded quickly, “No, no it’s okay.” 
“Good.” You withdraw your fingers and then lean away from him, in favour of leaning over to your nightstand, you open the drawer and start rummaging through, you find the first item in no time. 
You pull it out and move it to your other hand, the first one still rooting around for what you wanted next. Ethan’s gaze was fixed on that first item in your grip, he recognized it of course, your favourite vibrator and he couldn’t help but wonder what you were planning on doing with it. You glance at him, a simple move of your eyes and a small smile plays on your lips, “Curious?” 
“Very.” He admits, he was already hard at the mere suggestion of you dragging him back to your place and tying him down to show how serious he was about earning your forgiveness.
Painfully so when you’d stripped him down without so much as a kiss, again with a taunt that he could get that when you’d forgiven him. Now with your clothes partly gone, him trussed up and held down, and you, gripping that toy that you’d cum against countless times, was dying for any kind of touch. You hadn’t even really laid a hand on him, it was all mere suggestion, teases, and here he was leaking pre-cum against his stomach, desperate for real contact. He always had an active imagination and during times like this he seriously felt it wasn’t always a good thing. 
Your fingers catch on the next item you were after, “Too bad. You’re gonna have to wait.” 
The object was fished out and you held up and that made him snap out of his mental train of thought while watching you, gaze tears away from the vibe and up to the new thing you were holding and his eyes got wider. Explaining it was unnecessary, he recognized it was a blindfold. He wanted to protest but would never dream of it and still, not like he could stop you either way. You moved closer, you slipped the blindfold over his eyes, secured it behind his head before you left him entirely. He felt you get off the bed, you left him alone on the mattress and next he heard the scrape of the legs of the chair you kept at your desk along the floor. 
You stop then. One hand on the back of the chair, the other still holding onto your vibe, looking over the criminally hot view of him tied to your bed. 
His voice cuts through, asking, unsure, neediness already colouring his tone, “Are you still here?”
A laugh breaks out before you then tell him, “Yes, I’m still here. I'd never abandon you.” 
"Good." He responds, clearly soothed by your admission.
You drop your panties and take your seat then. Settling back, legs spread, you reach down and begin to touch, slow, and soft, wetness already flowing. The pleasure starts low and easy and you begin to lean into it, an adjustment, shifting your hips, leaning in closer to your own touch and letting a small sound slip out. You weren’t sure he heard it at first until your gaze flicked to him, seeing his body react, a sharp inhale, a tug so minute on the restraints you almost missed it. 
God, he was really going to have a rough time with this. 
Soon fingers and quiet sighs weren’t enough and real flesh gave way to well placed silicone, one press of a button and it springs to life, the humming of the constant vibration filling the bedroom. You don’t waste more time, all warmed up, hands come down, the tip of the toy touches your clit and your legs jerk from the sudden and extreme jump in sensation and you let out a gasp. 
He was trying to picture how you looked at this moment. How would you be positioned in the chair, did you get totally naked? Were you squirming? Browns pulled together, bottom lip tugged by your teeth, back arching-Fuck. 
He wanted to see you. He listened hard, trying to commit every sound to memory, using each part as a clue to parse what you are doing to yourself that he wasn’t allowed to be privy to. He can almost see which is the most maddening thing, can kind of see but not really through the bottom of the blindfold. He shifted on the bed as your moans kicked up, it did feel good, but of course you had to play it up just a bit to really make it really hurt. Speaking of hurt he was beginning to ache, a dull but steadily increasing throbbing, a hard tug that made him want to wince. His cock was bobbing the same way his Adam's apple does when he takes a harsh swallow, sticky strands connecting inflamed red tip to pale taut stomach snap from the involuntary movement. 
Your hips move, pressing yourself closer to feel the vibration stronger, holding the toy more snugly and you moan, loud, his name and that makes him want to beg. Instead he allows himself to curse and that makes you smile, a truly indulgent smile, a deep breath before you ask, voice clearly laced with pleasure, “How you doing over there?”
Horribly, terribly, in pain, wanting to touch you, taste you, but most of all he was feeling very, very fucking sorry. 
He sugar coats it, still doing his best to earn his way back into your good graces, underselling how rough he was doing with a half shrug, “Not great.” 
“Awe, no?” You played dumb, asking him in a tone that was sickeningly sweet and bordering on condescension. The end of your taunting question was punctuated with another moan, your head tipping back as you ground yourself harder. Next you said, as if you couldn’t help it, more hushed and on an exhale, “God, that feels good.” 
Unfair, it’s all so unfair, he should be the one making you feel like that. His next response came out shakier than he intended it to, confirming what you said, “No.” 
A coo of mock sympathy pours out of you, “Poor baby.” 
He wants to whine but any sound he makes takes away from yours, he is still lost in his own head fantasising about what you are doing to yourself. He wondered if that sound, the one that sounded just a tad tortured, meant you were rolling a pert nipple between your fingers as you swirl your hips just so which then led to that sweet sounding moan leaving you? That slick patch on his stomach was growing steadily larger as he continued to ache for you, he was struggling to remember the last time he was this hard. 
If you had realised previously what great masturbation fuel Ethan tied up and helpless on your bed was in real life as opposed to just your mind, you are pretty sure you would have tried it out ages ago. No point in lingering on that now when you can make up for lost time. The pleasure was building, you were moaning more, and his resolve was breaking under him, being crushed under the weight of his own desire. He tugs on the ropes restraining him and he can’t help it when he says the weak, “Please?”
The grin almost splits your face in half as you ease up, lifting the toy just a hair off your clit as you ask, “What was that Ethan?”
He doesn’t respond right away, clearly not having meant to say it in the first place, and you sing song his name out, “Ethannnn-”
A huff and he asks louder, “Please?”
Delicious, his tone was positively edible, “Please what? You have to be clear.”
Another tug on his ropes and he admits, “You’re too far away.” 
You laughed, then you touched the vibe to your clit for a moment, the jolt of pleasure up your spine making another moan tear out before you ask, “I’m too far away?” 
“Yesss-” He practically whined, “Please? Wanna feel you.”
“Awe, lovely, lonely, Ethan.” You hum in consideration before you pull the toy away again and start to get up, “I suppose I can be a little nicer.” 
You push the chair aside and start to get on the bed, he feels the mattress shift and licks his lips in anticipation, waiting with an almost un-Godly amount of anticipation. He wonders where you will touch, what you will do and then, he feels it. Your legs brushing over his as you are getting comfortable on the bed and then nothing. He wonders for a second till it becomes clear, you chose to sit yourself at the end of the bed, between his spread legs. He could feel the barest hint of you on his calves so you were still technically touching him but it was yet again, another tease.
You are back to touching yourself in short order, vibrating silicone pressed back in place with another moan and a shudder he can feel now with you on the same surface as him and you are going to kill him. 
His head tips back, chocolate curls splay across your pillow and he groans, this was too much fun. You tsk, “Now, now, no complaining, or you won’t get anything.”
Easier said than done of course. He bites his tongue as another melodic little moan pours out from your mouth and into his ears, syrupy and maddening, akin to honey. He is sweating far too much, his fists are clenching as you are working yourself over, a stuttering exhale as you curse makes him pulse again, him still leaking all the while. 
As you look him over in his current predicament it makes the pleasure spike and more heat race through you. He was trying his best for you, neck and chest flush, dick so stiff it looks agonising for your boyfriend as he keeps attempting to tug on the ropes, as if they would magically give way any second and allow him to touch you or himself. The restraints easing to allow him escape was something you both know was an impossibility from how well you tied him, your knot practice had developed too far for something like that to happen. He was so sweet, so endearing, you soften slightly and place blame on how much pleasure is running through you for even considering it.
An idea strikes, leaning over, he feels your chest brush over his skin and his leg twitches under you as he feels hard nipples graze over him as you reach down over the edge of the bed to the floor, “I have a proposal.”
He hums in question and you continue, “I’d hate for you to ruin any chance you have of getting off so how about I make it so you can’t complain at all?”
Agreement comes lightening fast, a nod as those two words fills the space between you as he begs, “Yes, please, please, please-”
Your fingers snag what you wanted and you sit back up right, adjusting onto your knees you lean forward and ask, “Ready?”
A second and more confident nod and when he opens his mouth to respond you take that as your in and shove the damp lace between his lips, making sure the soaked gusset is pressed down to his tongue, effectively gagging him on your own arousal. You pull your fingers out and you sit back between his legs, hands totally off him and it took him no time to know just what you’d done. He moans into the wet and soft fabric, his eyes roll back behind the blindfold, another heavy bob of his shaft, slapping against his stomach. 
His hips squirm, thrusting up uselessly into the empty air and you enjoy the sights of him so much it pushes you further, you turn the toy up higher, your moans get louder in pitch and deeper in passion. 
The sounds of you were killing him, the wet slip of you moving it around on yourself, circling your clit probably, the creaking of the bed, the constant humming and the smell, Christ you were so close and so messy he could smell you.
He wanted you to climb aboard, bury your fingers in his curls and ride his face for all he was worth, he wanted you to take it, his tongue giving you what you needed instead of that vibration and having his nose buried so deep he would smell you hours after you parted. Another groan into the makeshift gag against his tongue, the taste of you is invading his senses, he wants it from the source, this wasn’t satiating his hunger at all, it was making it worsen, wrapping around his belly and tugging, causing another futile rock of his hips. 
You were getting close, he could tell from the frequency of your moans, the panting of your breathes, the inability to stay still, you sounded fucking perfect and he craves and hurts in desperation. 
“Oh fuck, Eth-Ethannn, M’ almost there.” You cried to him.
He knows, he knows, dear fucking God does he know. 
There is not a thing he can do about it, he can only listen and continue to throb as you keep repeating his name, a chant, a hymn, a prayer interspersed through gasps and moans and then that hitch, that damn hitch in your breath. It tells him everything, you are on the razors edge and you suck in that last breath before ecstasy takes hold and he is forced to listen to the worst torture of the day thus far when he cannot do a single thing about it, he has to listen to you cum all while whimpering his name and about how fucking good it feels. 
It feels incredible, electric and revitalizing, it spreads through you, washing over you beautifully, totally in sync with yourself and lost to the feeling of the moment. Perfection.
By the time you have rode out your bliss, his nails were hurting his palms from how hard they bit into them, the sheets below him felt damp from how much he had been sweating, his limbs a touch sore from how much he’d been yanking on the ropes attempting to do something, anything. In short, he was a wreck, the way he was breathing was as if he was post orgasm along with you but now, he was still thoroughly unsatisfied. 
Your voice cuts through his deliciously horny haze, a pleasant sigh as the humming stops, the toy turned off, “Mmm, that felt soooo good.” 
He is so sure. You were being mean, very mean and he wanted to tell you as such but with your balled up underwear still in his mouth he could not. 
You take him in again, the sight of him, the utter mess that was your boyfriend, his chin was wet, he’d been drooling. You know he is obsessed with the taste of you and the idea of him unable to help himself from licking and sucking the very essence of you from the material normally pressed to your most intimate places makes you want to go for another round already. 
You think that he has almost suffered enough, there was one last thing to do, to really drive home the point and make sure he doesn’t pull that shit again, that he is truly sorry and contrite. Another adjustment, you reach out, tug the panties from his mouth, they are drenched between you before and his spit, you toss them aside as he works his jaw out and you ask, “You sorry?” 
“So, so sorry.” He nearly hiccups and you hum, “You really are?”
He pleads, you are sure if you could see his eyes they would be positively beseeching, “I am! I really am! I’m sorry, please, please believe me.” 
“Okay, okay I believe you. So…Do you want to cum?” 
The answer was obvious, his excitement was immediate, “Yes! So bad, need it, need to cum, need you, please-”
You giggle at his frustrated urgency and say, “Alright, I’ll help you out, I’m gonna stroke you till you cum and won’t stop till you're done.” 
The words you picked were purposeful, carefully crafted to put him at ease. A false sense of security because you however had other plans. He’d take whatever you had to offer, and this was more than generous to him all things considered, “Thank you, fuck, thank you, thank you.”
“Of course, anything for you.” Hands start low. You are sitting on your knees between his ankles and your hands start there, begin to slide up, teasing touches of your fingertips and passes of your palms and he squirms. Short and soft pleas of, "Baby please, M' dying-" Go unheard as do soft calls of you name.
Your hands continue your ascent, up and up until your fingers pass over his inner thighs, intricate patterns drawn, so close but so far from where he truly wants them, he tries to remain patient, to wait but you make it a difficult task. Your hands don’t stop moving, gentle strokes and then two fingers, one on either side slide up, missing the base of his shaft but impossibly close to it before tracing along his hip bones. He groans in disappointment and you bite back your grin. You don’t relent, you watch it all happen, as you continue to tease, touching him, legs, arms, chest, stomach, hips, everywhere but where he wants it most, it all mounts.
He was already very worked up from your little show and so it didn’t take much until you knew it was inevitable and you timed it just right. 
One finger is all it took. One long, languid stroke of your finger, starting right at the base of the underside of his shaft, dragging up and over veins and the blushed and hot velvet of his skin, your nail catches on his frenulum before your fingertip circles the tip once, twice, three times before your hand pulls away all together.
His reaction was nothing short of gorgeous, back trying to arch, a gasp, his breath stutters before he bites his bottom lip in response to your first touch of the afternoon on him in any real way that matters.
Your hands are back on his hips, keeping your promise, your hands don’t stop stroking, just not where he wants it and you get your reward, you watch. 
Eyes don’t leave as it happens, his dick is straining, his chest rising and falling with quick and shallow breaths and he whines, begging anew, “No, no, please, no, kee-keep touching me, please! Shi-shit, shit, shit, I cah-can’t stop it, fuck!” 
And as if on cue, poor, desperate Ethan cums without a single thing touching his dick, your hands still on his hips, nails scratching lightly at the end of each indulgent stroke of your fingers. His dick is twitching jerkily against his stomach, cum not even shooting out, more dribbling, an agonising ooze coating his happy trail and leaking down his sides in short order as he struggles in his bonds, his head pressed to the pillow under it, heels digging into the mattress below. He whimpers out your name as the lack of sensation sinks into his bones, the heavy weight of the lack of pleasure as he leaks his cum out, the physical response of his orgasm happening, cock pulsing, sac pulled taut to his body but none of the actual amazing sensations to accompany it. 
You technically didn't lie. Your hands continued stroking him throughout his orgasm, even if it was a ruined one.
It takes a while for him to settle down. For his body to go slack and his dick to stop spilling white all over himself, and you feel accomplished, truly proud and also very hot and bothered over the fact that you did this to him, no one and nothing else. Just you. 
You reach out, your finger runs through the puddle of cum, dipping briefly into his belly button before going lower and lower and then running over his spent and slowly softening shaft, it makes him suck on his teeth, a sharp inhale that makes his body go taut again from overstimulation. Your hand lifts and when it does he relaxes slowly again, you suck on your finger, tasting him before you go in for more, he begs you to stop, tells you it hurts, you pay him, and his pretty promises no heed and press on.
You continue your pattern until you hear it. 
A sob.
Heart wrenching, show stoppingly stunning, you glance up, finger pausing on his body, and you see his cheeks are wet underneath the blindfold, you made him cry. 
You halt, he feels you get up, you come forward and sit up near his head, you reach down and tug his blindfold up, sad brown eyes are looking up at you, a pout on his wet face and you lean down. You kiss him and he leans up into it, impossibly needy, you smile into the kiss, nip at his bottom lip before pulling back and saying, a hand stroking down his face you tell him, “Now I forgive you.” 
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thronoai · 1 year
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nite-puff · 1 year
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something small and hella late for valentines day.
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Reblogs are greatly appreciated!
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jo6hny · 11 months
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overcooked - mark lee
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genre: fluff, mark and gn!reader playing a co-op video game and mark keeps dicking around and you just want to get past the first level god dammit.
word count: 368
“Dude, can you stop fucking up? Oh my god!” You shout, exasperated with your boyfriend’s antics. He was being extra annoying today and you just wanted to beat the level of the game you two were playing. You regret ever asking him to come over and play the copy of overcooked you bought at the mall.
Mark cackles at your reaction and continues dicking around. He thinks you’re so cute when you’re annoyed. He loves how your brows furrow and how your voice gets higher when you shout at him to focus on the game. He knew that he could do better but he just couldn’t because he loved seeing you so frustrated.
“Sorry baby, I’ll do better next round.” He promises, but you knew better. You knew that he’d continue being annoying and that he’d keep throwing the game away and you had enough. With a huff, you lightly throw the controller at him and cross your arms to sulk.
“No you won’t.” You protest, giving him a glare.
Mark coos at how adorable you looked with your arms crossed and your lips tut in a pout. The brunet wraps his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek with adoration.
“Baby you know how bad I am with games like these, I’m sorry.” He said, hugging you tighter. “I’ll make it up to you, though. Ice cream?”
Your eyes beam up at the thought of free sweets and you give in, much to your dismay. You could never fully stay mad or annoyed at him no matter how hard you tried. He always knew how to bring you back and to get you to soften up. Mark knew you like the back of his hand and he knew how to love you the way you wanted to and it was both such a blessing and a curse.
“Whatever.” You reply, faking nonchalance.
Mark giggles again at your antics and gives you a kiss on the cheek.
“I love you.” He says, looking at you with sincerity in his eyes.
“I love you too,” You say, kissing him on the lips. “Even if you’re annoying as shit and can’t play video games to save yourself.”
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