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#yes!this is queued for attention

meimeikyu · 4 months

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i have a doodle post queued up for the morning bcs thats when more ppl r awake n see my art but im also posting it in like half the discords im in rn bcs i crave attention

#'numbers dont matter' ok but i like when ppl see my art n give it a little <3 or think others need to see it #it makes ME feel good!!!!#i love attention...#anyway ye doodle post queued for sometime mid morning n ill probably reblog it later in the day...#i just like when ppl see my art

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victorluvsalice · 10 months

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But wait, what's this? Moory's cowshed is dirty and the feed's run low? Well, we can't have that, can we? And as Bugs had the greenhouse pretty well covered, I decided Victor could head in there to clean things up and refill the hay. After all, he is the one with Scruberoo -- no matter how stinky he might get (and he did get fairly stinky), he could clean himself up instantly afterward. :p And once that was done, it was time to pet and milk Moory herself, making sure she was as happy a cow as she could be. :) Honestly, keeping her content is pretty easy, I've found -- I TOTALLY could have gotten this lot a cow earlier. XD

Anyway -- while Victor was busy with Moory and her pen, Smiler was busy with the chickens and their pen -- having finished up their chatterbots (and fixed another busted turbine), it was time to spread feed, clean the coop, tell the chickens terrible jokes to keep them happy, and collect the eggs! To my annoyance, though, most of the eggs were hatchable ones, with just one regular among them. *sigh* I'm blaming that on it being rooster-mania in the coop -- I think the population now is genuinely half-and-half roosters and hens. I DEFINITELY have to remember to cull the flock a little bit in a future episode -- I need those eggs for cooking and selling, damn it!

Once the two were done with the livestock, it was time to take on the greenhouse -- Smiler, having taken over herbalism duties, grabbed all the stuff out of the storage box and harvested all those plants (plus the plasma fruit tree), while Victor came in, took care of the creepy hands, and grabbed everything else. The pair also shared a quick tender moment while Smiler was powering down the depleted Bugs in preparation for putting it back on the robotics bench -- I like to think Victor was thanking Smiler for all the robotic help they keep building him. :) They're so cute, seriously...

Anyway, once the greenhouse was sorted, it was just a matter of waiting for Alice to finish her book; Smiler to finish playing around with the bonsai tree; and Victor to finish shooing a threatening fox (stay away from my eggs!) before the trio could finally set off to San Myshuno! Victor shared one quick tender moment with Alice while Smiler finished their heart, then grabbed a bunch of stuff from the fridge...

#sims 4 #the lazy save #victor van dort #alice liddell #smiler always #yeah Moory's actually pretty easy to keep happy #make sure she's clean and fed and give her a few pats or tell her a joke and she's good #honestly the chickens aren't hard to keep happy either #just one interaction per day is enough to move their Attention from Okay to Content #and it doesn't matter if the interaction was positive or not #so even if you're aren't an animal lover you can still have happy animals #Which I strongly appreciate #and yes that was a very well-timed kiss from Victor XD #I mean I too would be very appreciative if my enby partner spent all that time making gardening robots to help out in our greenhouse #you're doing good work there Smiler!#queued

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propertyofwicked · 22 days

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speed demon - LN

warnings: speeding + dangerous driving, references to sex

short fluff :) fewtrell!reader -> can be read as a stand alone or an extra to the secrets series!

my take on a BTS of the quadrant athletes video with willne and bambinobecky :) p.s hey caitlin i know ur reading this

lando’s girlfriend was a concerning driver. growing up in the english country side, especially with her racing-mad brother max, she became very accustomed to driving at insane speeds down backroads, learning where the swerve potholes and where all the cameras were. honestly, put her in an f1 car with a good song and watch max verstappen crumble.

her brother and his friend could speed around race tracks, y/n preferred real roads.

the only flaw in her driving ability arose when lando, who notoriously hates being a passenger, sat to her left, gripping any hard surface he could as his girlfriend threw her car around a corner.

“y/n, angel, you know i love you - but why do you drive like you had somewhere to be 10 minutes ago?”

“this is a good song,” she answered with a shrug, which only confused him further, yet she slowed down, glancing at the man besides her, “it’s got a good bassline. you literally drive at like 200 miles an hour and yet you’re getting stressed about me going 80 on an empty road?”

“the difference between you and me is that i wear a helmet when i drive that fast.”

“no one is stopping you from putting a helmet on in my car, lan.”

“erm, i think the national speed sign meaning 60mph should be enough that i shouldn’t need to wear a helmet in your car y/n.”

“god you’re so dramatic, lando - has anyone ever told you that?”

“yes. you. the last time i complained about your driving, you little speed demon,” he said, finally laughing quietly at the situation.

in fact, they were late. they were supposed to be at a quadrant shoot in 10 minutes, but still needed to pick up will and becky from the station near to the warehouse they were filming in. when they finally reached the station, lando jumped out of the car to meet them, leaving y/n to sit in silence, queuing a few songs for the short journey to the shooting location.

“y’alright y/n?” will asked, climibing into the back seat of her car, becky climbing in from the other side.

“i’m good, thank you will. how are you?”

“im good, however i’ll let you know how i feel after ive experienced your driving,” he joked, earning a guilty chuckle from lando who was buckling himself back into the passenger seat. her hand rose, slapping his arm lightly.

“hey! my driving is not that bad.”

“let them find that out for themselves, angel,” he responded, dramatically rubbing his arm, feigning pain. she ignored him, shoving the car into gear before jamming her foot onto the accelerator, the loud engine loud enough to wake the dead.

when they did arrive at the shoot, will had gone silent, his face paler than usual. becky was still smiling and chatting, but her face conveyed the same level of fear as wills. the group of them walked into the warehouse, where max was already waiting.

y/n walked up to max, taking him in a small embrace before stepping back to let him greet the rest of the group.

“will? you good man? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” max said, taking a step back to look at the man a second time.

“yeah, yeah, im good,” he responded, smiling sheepishly. y/n absentmindedly played with her car keys, the jingling of her key rings raising max’s attention.

“lando let you drive? jesus, no wonder will looks like he needs a fresh pair of trousers,” max laughed, doubling over.

“why does everyone think im such a bad driver? i have not crashed once. never. not a single crash. the same cannot be said for you or lando, max,” she exclaimed, beginning to feel offended at the accusations.

“in all fairness, lando warned me. i thought he was joking when he said she loved the accelerator more than she loves him,” will replied, the colour coming back to his face as he smiled. max shook his head at his sister again, before directing will and becky round to the sofas, running them through the plans for the day.

y/n felt a warm pair of arms snake around her body from behind, lando’s head coming to rest on her shoulder. he turned his head to look at her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“im not actually a bad driver, am i?” she mumbled to him.

“no angel, people are just jealous of your sheer ability to drive at dangerous speeds and do it safely,” he responded, he meant to be sincere but y/n could feel the sarcastic undertones.

she shook her head at him, pulling away from his embrace, but his hand reached out, latching onto hers, before pulling her back into him. this time her chest melted into his, her head tilting to glance up at him.

“i hate this scarf,” she announced, but stretched her neck up to presses soft kisses along his jaw.

“ouch. why? i like it.”

“’cos it covers your neck. i love your neck,” she said, smiling up at him again.

“i know you do angel. your love for my neck is the reason i have to wear a scarf for the shoot today,” he said, laughing, his hands moving from her back to push loose strands of her behind her ears. a blush rose up her cheeks at the memory of the night before, as her fingers moved to pull the scarf down slightly looking at the bruises beginning to darken on his skin.

she hadn't meant to, but she had found herself on top of him last night, legs straddling him as his pushed up into her. with max only a room over, she needed to find an outlet for the noises she wanted to make and his neck fell victim.

“whoopsies. but im sure the lando girlies would love to see you with hickies.”

“i’m sure they would,” he said, grinning at her still and nodding slightly, “im sure your brother would love it to,” he added sarcastically, glancing over to the man in question who was now handing becky a script.

she tutted in response, pulling his scarf back up to covering his neck. lando’s head tilted down to look at her again, using his hands on her jaw to pull her face up closer to his. his lips pressed soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks before finally planting a soft but quick peck to her lips.

“lando did you want to stop getting it on with my sister and come and do your job?” max bellowed from across the room, pulling the two apart.

lando decided he should probably drive the two of them home that day, and let max take the others back to the station, but the moment the car moved off from where it was parked, he stalled the engine.

"formula 1 driver but can't drive a manual without stalling it. that's embarrassing - now who can't drive?" she joked, laughing at him as he restarted the ignition.

"still you," he replied bluntly, his foot slamming down on the accelerator sending the car flying across the car park.

"please don't destroy my car," she begged quietly at the sound of her engine about to take off, "a man i quite like bought it for me and id hate to make him angry when he has to buy me new tyres."

"ill just buy you another car," he joked as he returned to the speed limit of the road ahead, his hand moving from the gear stick to rest on her thigh, grabbing lightly at it.

"you're not a bad driver, you know that, don't you angel?" he said after a few minutes of silence. he'd admit that she wasn't the best driver, but she was still skilled even if slightly reckless.

"i know," she said, her voice still heavy with the annoyance from everyone's teasing.

"you would be great at karting, you know?"

"stop it - i spent my entire childhood trying to avoid karting please do not bring it into my adulthood," she begged, albeit jokingly.

"why did you avoid it? im sure max would've loved to race with you," lando asked, glancing to his side to look at her face, her head leaning on the door panel.

"it was max's thing, i guess. i didn't want to do what he did. i wanted to be my own person. i still do," she said with a shrug. lando's hand moved from her thigh to grab hers, pulling it up to his face to press a kiss to the back of it.

"i'm glad you're unapologetically you. i don't think i could cope with two max's in my life. or two of you for that matter."

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #maxfewtrell #fewtrell!sister

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nariism · 7 months

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“Do you like me?”

Neuvillette freezes in his chair, eyes drifting up from his stack of paperwork. They find you sitting across the desk from him with what he can only imagine is a mixture of a pout and a mischievous smile.

What could have sprung this on? He tries to think back to the morning, if he had perhaps forgotten to give you a kiss good morning. Or maybe he had accidentally left his coffee mug unwashed in the sink again. Or–

“Well?”

“...We’re married,” he reminds you, in case you've forgotten. You haven’t.

“Okay, but do you like me?”

He sighs, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his work. “Yes, I like you. I love you.” Lilac eyes meet yours again in confusion. “What brought this on?”

“Is it so wrong for me to just ask?”

Neuvillette doesn't understand where this came from. He doesn’t think he’s good at being a lover, not even slightly, and a part of that is because he simultaneously knows you inside and out, yet not at all. Unsure of how to respond, he stands and makes his way over to you on the opposite side of the desk.

“I love you,” he repeats earnestly, leaning in far too close for you to remain unbothered. “For as long as my heart beats, my answer will always be the same.”

His fingers gently brush a lock of hair behind your ear before he closes the distance between you, lips pressed against yours in a show of reassurance. What he doesn’t expect is how big your grin is when he pulls away.

“Just kidding,” you muse. He sighs again, but smiles nonetheless.

Yeah, he’ll never understand humans.

a/n: hii everyone i have one neuv short queued for his release date (in NA server) and also a wriothesley... ahem... thing that's getting posted to my other account so stay tuned! ^_^

#— whispers in the wind ✧#not proofread!!#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fic #genshin fic #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader

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wordsinhaled · 8 months

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the thing about crowley’s confession is… he must have thought about it in the bit of time he had before doing it. i mean... he went and sat outside marguerite’s with his wine, and thought. he thought very hard about how there was a threat—a sleeper—a ticking time bomb in aziraphale’s bookshop that could explode at any moment, take away all their hard-won peace, their safety, their comfort.

but most importantly, a threat to aziraphale. gabriel had tried once to destroy aziraphale already, and only hadn’t because they'd swapped bodies. and crowley's clearly terrified that this time, what they're doing feels reckless, feels like playing with something far too important at stake. it's like... already knowing someone is so important to you—and then having the possibility that it could really be something dangled in front of you—and then knowing there's an existential threat to that potential? awful. horrifying. no wonder he can't find the words.

we know crowley is a romantic. we know how much joy it brings him to see other people fall in love. and... honestly... i'm not sure it’s that nina needed to spell the nature of his feelings out for him, exactly. crowley's known where he stands towards aziraphale for a long time if we're to judge him by his acts (which are always acts of service, care, and attention, which always speak louder than his words). so i don't think it was that, as much as just—the experience of being perceived by someone else, sort of jostling something for him.

because crowley's watched the romance films, hasn't he, he knows the exact tropes he's working with, but the idea that they could apply to him—to him and aziraphale? i don't think he considered that until it was offered to him as an option. and once it was, there was crowley's mind far exceeding the speed limit trying to wrap itself around all of this.

and so he must have looked at it, and all signs, all signs, were pointing to aziraphale being receptive.

crowley probably thought about all the times aziraphale had touched him in the last day alone. all the little glances and looks aziraphale had been giving him, which crowley surely hadn’t missed because he’s always staring right back. he probably thought about how aziraphale thinks the bentley is their car and the bookshop is their shop, about how aziraphale told him that he thought they’d carved a peaceful existence out for themselves. and after the ball, he probably thought about how aziraphale asked him to dance, at this event that was meant to get other people to fall in love, but aziraphale had wanted to dance with him.

so crowley most likely looked at all of this and thought he’s finally ready. he’s finally caught up. when i ask this time, he’s going to say yes. and he watched aziraphale so warily, too, after the realization, because there's a way that it feels, to be holding on to a truth so direly important and so terribly exciting and so very requited, as far as crowley can tell. it's like, am i holding myself differently now? can he tell? has he always been able to tell? am i about to muck it up? i'm about to muck it up. i muck everything up, but not this. not this. he's the center of my universe so it's worth it. and it's alright, even if i muck it up, because he's going to say yes. dear god: i'd only ask if it was important.

and so he queued up their song in the bentley and he talked to muriel like they’re a them, like they’re going to be a couple, a couple who needs us time. he gave himself the luxury of imagining it, of planning it all out in his mind—how everyone was going to finally leave off pulling them toward some greater purpose and just let the two of them be together, and aziraphale was going to at last let crowley be to him what he’s always wanted to be—what he’s been being already, evidently, to the point where strangers on the street ask how long they’ve been together.

and then in the end, to be rejected like that. to be rejected even while the love is pouring off aziraphale in anguished waves—and if he loves me too, then why won't he say yes? to be rejected and to know this isn't how it's supposed to go, even though it's the way it's always gone. crowley always asks and aziraphale always says no. somehow, this time was supposed to be different. he'd dared to hope properly. and how had he misjudged it so terribly this time? how much of it had been wishful thinking? and he had to have felt aziraphale's hands grasping at his shoulders, had to have felt the start of a kiss returned, and thought that maybe there was a spark of hope yet.

but there wasn't.

because nothing lasts forever. apparently.

#aughhhhhh #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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number-onekidqueen · 2 months

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𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞

Based on Moth to a Flame by the Weeknd & Swedish House Mafia

Post-tlt!Luke x Apollo!fem!reader

Angst - 3.1k

warnings: making out, Steve is a warning 💀, reader is cheating with Luke, SPOILERS FOR THE LIGHTNING THIEF AND A TINY BIT OF SEA OF MONSTERS.

It wasn’t him.

That was all you could think about as your boyfriend kissed you passionately in front of the whole camp. Sure, he was an excellent kisser, but it wasn’t as nice as it could’ve been.

If it was him, he would’ve known to leave the breathtaking kisses for private. Known that you hated to make a scene. Would’ve put your comfort before his lusty need to kiss you-

You couldn’t think that. He was evil. And he had hurt your terribly. You refused to say his name even now, six months after his departure. He had left you and betrayed the whole camp and was conspiring with Titans, trying to start a war.

Steve…. Wasn’t like that.

You liked him. He was nice and treated you like you should be treated. He was a spectacle to be around.

You still remembered all the drama from when he’d first asked you out. It was a story, all right, just like Steve liked.

You hadn’t been in a great place then. You cried every night over him - you still did - you avoided the Hermes cabin like it was a plague, and you just felt numb and empty every day.

And then he’d asked you out. Steve was from the Ares cabin, and after he had left, the red team had been having a lot of luck with winning Capture the Flag.

It had been another one of Steve’s victories, and he’d been triumphantly waving the flag around before he passed it to his teammate, and drew the camp’s attention.

“So, thanks to me, we get the best chores, best privileges. Thanks Chiron.” And Ares cabin roared as Chiron nodded awkwardly. “Still, I want one more thing. I have to have one more prize. Her. I’d like to ask y/n l/n to be my girlfriend.”

And your friends had talked about this for a while before, how they seemed to just know Steve had a crush on you - even though you couldn’t see it - and how they thought you guys would be perfect together. And how it would help you get over him.

You said yes.

And it was a fairytale from there.

Every time he won Capture the Flag, (which was every week just about) he’d pick you up and spin you round, kissing you. It became a tradition, a victory kiss. And they were long, burning, breathless kisses, and he would continue even when you tired and stopped. He was passionate that way, all about making your pulse quicken. But not as much as did when he-

At dinners in the pavilion, you would share a peck before every meal while you queued. He was always next to you, and although it was kinda dull having him dismiss your friends so he could talk to you privately, at least you had the company right? And you always shared your extra food with him when he was hungry, and sometimes he would try to feed you sandwiches teasingly, which everyone cooed at. You wished they wouldn’t-

On weekend nights, you’d come back with him to Ares cabin secretly, and he’d make out with you in his bed, telling you he deserved his girlfriend after a long and hard week. And you would kiss and kiss and kiss and your lips would be swollen, your head would be spinning and people would roll their eyes and talk about how stupidly in love the pair of you were.

Like a fairytale.

Except, it had a bit of a twist. When he finally tired of your body and lips, and let out a few gentle snores, then you would escape.

You started the habit the first time you couldn’t sleep after one of your make out sessions.

It was idiotic, but you couldn’t fight the way you were still loyal to the traitor you had called your lover, how you felt sick to the stomach each time you felt Steve’s arms around you, tighter and more cage-like than his had ever been. You couldn’t fight the way your mind flitted between the two boys, comparing and contrasting between them to the detail, draining you of your sanity as the night stretched on. Hypnos didn’t bless you with rest, and you cursed the god that had ever created overthinking.

You’d walked out, your arms huddled around you like his should be, and you stumbled in the cool darkness all the way to the beach.

And in the obscurity of the night, you would let your heart break properly, as completely as it needed to. You would sin, become the villain of your own fairytale.

You would whisper his name, over and over and over, as you would tell him everything that had happened to you. Every event that had transpired since he left. Eventually, you’d bring old Polaroids of the pair of you you’d hidden away, and an old flickering torch to view them with. A lot of the time you simply sobbed your heart out, whispering his name again and again into the sands, this beach the only place you could ever continue to love him.

Usually, you were out for a while, bathing in your midnight misery, sometimes until Apollo deigned to let the Sun give light to the sky.

It wouldn’t make you happier.

Once everything was visible, occasionally you stared at the ocean, spotting the distant specks that were ships. You wondered if any of them were his, stupid Princess Andromeda, with all the horrifying monsters aboard you’d heard about.

It was torture, thinking like that. That he was one call away, that you might scream across the waves and he would hear, and yet you were worlds apart.

Once the sunshine heated your skin, you would drown your love in the daylight, and head back to Steve, your… lover.

It was an awful, unhealthy routine. You knew that, and felt so many tremendous ways about it.

But it was also beautiful in a painful way you’d grown to love.

It was much the same tonight.

Relief like a tsunami washing over you, as you began to feel the sleepy inhales and exhales of your boyfriend. The fifteen minutes it took you to softly slip out of his embrace unnoticed, and how they dribbled by slowly. A quick check for harpies, a speedy walk to the beach down the faint path your careful steps had created.

Than the silence.

Agonising, serene silence.

The stars would hear his name again, as you spoke, the only witnesses to your traitorous actions.

You’d only said his name once, listening as it faded into the sounds of the night, the chirping of insects and breeze in the trees.

Crunching footsteps disturbed the peaceful aura.

Instantly, you were on your guard, cursing yourself for lacking in a weapon. No matter how heavy the clunky torch was, it would be no match for fangs or talons. You held it up regardless, circling around on your feet as you searched for the source of the sound.

“Is that a torch? Man, I’m outta here.”

You might’ve died. Your heart stopped. Your breath caught. Everything inside you froze.

It was him.

Him.

Your torch lowered as he approached, the moon casting a holy glow on his face and distinct scar.

He looked exactly as you remembered.

Tall, lean, eyes deep, dark and entrancing, curls the rich colour of cocoa.

Handsome as Adonis-

No. You raised your torch again, as you reminded yourself who this boy was, what he had done to you. No, you did not trust him, even if you missed him.

“It’s me. I’m not here to hurt you,” he reassured, approaching you softly as if you were the dangerous one, “you don’t have to be on guard.”

Being you isn’t enough anymore, you wanted to scream.

“What are you here for then? Are you planning some attack at camp?” You asked instead, horrified.

“What are you out here for? Are you planning to join me?” He whispered back, smirking.

“I- no, no. I could never do what you’ve done- what you do, no-“

“Yeah, yeah, I’m horrendous, I get it,” he interrupted, impatient, “but you’re still out here. And you were saying my name.”

The last sentence was almost… sensitive and hopeful. You didn’t like the way that vulnerability made you feel.

“I did not. I have not said your name since the day you left, the day you betrayed us.” You denied, shaking your head and backing away from him. He followed you, even as you feet moved left and right.

“Please, stop,” you begged, scared now as he continued to step where you stepped.

“No, I came back for you,” his expression and voice changed, no longer smug and smirky. He was desperate, genuine. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of you. I still love you, y/n, and the biggest mistake of my life was leaving you here.”

Your eyes welled at his words. This was all you’d ever wanted to hear.

“You can’t just say that, you- you-“ your voice broke, and you finally stopped your retreat as your back hit a tree. “You left me for six months. You can’t just come back randomly, if you loved me you wouldn’t have left and-“

There was only a foot between the two of you. And it was rapidly closing, each steady footstep bringing you nose to nose. You couldn’t stop it, and you didn’t want to.

“I-I- what are you doing, I can’t do this, whatever this is- I have a boyfriend and um, what-“

Your foreheads were almost touching. He was frowning, your guess was at the mention of Steve. Your eyes met, and you glanced away, knowing if you met his gaze once more you would give into anything he requested.

“If you loved your boyfriend,” he breathed, each word becoming hotter and breathier as it neared your lips, ”you wouldn’t be out here crying and saying my name like a prayer.”

It was impossible to resist. Your eyes met again, and it felt as if you didn’t have a choice as he leaned down to kiss you. Your body was just following what it yearned to do.

It was just as fantastic as you remembered.

Blazing, spectacular, thrilling fireworks all through your body. On both of your lips burning and tingling with electric attraction, as they moved at a seamless speed. On your shoulders, as he massaged the bones, his hands brushing the length of them. In your blood as every particle of you seemed to hum in joy and satisfaction. It was an eager, sweet kiss, and it was precisely what you’d been missing.

Why had you been trying to be a princess in a fairytale?

It was one of the only things you and he agreed on. You hated fairytales.

You preferred thrillers.

In sync you drew apart for breath, panting hard and grinning. After a short pause, you couldn’t hold it in anymore,.

“Luke,” you said.

It was like saying a dirty cuss word that held powerful meaning. A secret no one wanted revealed. This was the loudest you’d ever said it in months, and you felt glad at the release of his name from your heart.

It was the magic word for Luke.

Immediately his lips were on yours, and there was no restraint this time. If that kiss had been hungry before, these were starved.

Every ounce of anything either of you had felt was developed into that kiss. It was a myriad of different emotions, conflict and similar feelings rebelling and intertwining as your lips and tongues danced. I love you. I hate you. All I want is you. I’ve missed you. All I think about is you. I’ll never love someone how I love you-

“Come with me,” he begged, breaking apart as you shuddered for breath, and how could you refuse if he looked at you like that?

Luke beamed at you, seeing as you weren’t rejecting him and eagerly took your hand in his. The familiar warmth almost caused you to faint.

And then he was leading you swiftly away from the beach, into the woods, and towards another part of the shoreline.

You were almost giggly, as he pulled you along, over logs and past dense patches of lush shrubbery. It was like you were sixteen again, sneaking away from harpies and head counsellors so you could stargaze and kiss.

You made it to his ship soon enough, the Princess Andromeda.

It was certainly fit for royalty.

The style and size of the boat caused you to stop a moment, your jaw dropping.

Luke continued to tug at your hand, pulling you along and towards the deck before you could reconsider. You figured you were too far gone to turn back now. But you didn’t want to either.

“C’mon,” he urged, as you rapidly ascended the steps onto the ship. He led you inside, and down a few corridors, before he opened a door to what looked to be his room.

It was grand, stylish. A double bed stood in the centre, a desk and ensuite to the left, and a wardrobe and bedside table to the right. You knew then that this was probably bigger and better than anything he’d ever had in his life. You wondered if he ever got lonely in the large space, or simply always felt like a king.

Your thoughts were removed almost violently out of your head as Luke kissed you abruptly, pushing against you and using your back to close the door behind you.

“I missed you,” he muttered against your lips, his arms twisting around you and hoisting you up, as if you were a bride.

You laughed then, giddy, and said it back to him.

He placed you on the bed softly, grinning and giving you time to shift about and be comfortable before he climbed over you, hovering above.

The romantic assault ensued soon after. He tasted and smelled the same, and even though you were in new surroundings, it was like coming home.

“Your boyfriend,” he panted, laying heated kisses like freckles down your neck, “does he kiss you like this?”

“No.” The answer was breathy but definite.

You could feel his smirk on your collarbone. “He doesn’t know, does he? About what you do out there. Try and talk to me, look at photos of us, cry. I’m your secret.”

And he was exhilarated to be your secret it seemed, because the kiss he gave you then was heart-stopping and sped up, like all the love scenes in thrillers.

And then the kissing stopped, because you both stupidly needed to breathe, and he lowered his head to your neck, his nose brushing the hollow of it as he regained oxygen.

You sat up yourself, and while he continued panting, reached for the hem of his shirt. He froze, his eyes meeting yours in shock. He nodded insistently.

It wasn’t the worn edge of his camp t-shirt you were used to, but the smooth fold of a new, better-fitting, more expensive one.

You pulled it off, slowly, your fingers scraping against his sides in ways that made him shiver. It finally travelled over his head, and you tossed it somewhere on the floor, before cupping his face in your hands.

“I’ll never get over you. I never have. Steve is just Steve and you’re you.” You whispered, lovestruck.

You were sure he would’ve answered back something just as personal and romantic, but your fingers had found their way to his scar, the ridged line he’d loathed and you’d come to adore. All the words seemed to have evaporated from his mouth. You traced the length of the scar softly, before kissing every centimetre of it. His eyes had fluttered closed, and he was still. It was one of the only times his face looked so delicate.

He sank down into the mountain of pillows, yanking your shirt off and tossing it, and you hovered over him, tracing and smoothing your hands over the tense planes and valleys of his chest and shoulders. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, and you knew how much your care and adoration of him and his body meant to him.

He was even more muscly than before, somehow, and you marvelled at the strength and might of your beloved boy, as you began leaving a burning line of kisses from the hollow of his neck to his navel.

He shuddered, making little noises at each touch of your lips to his chest.

Once your lips had finished that journey, up and back, you settled into his side, tucking your head under his chin and on his chest.

His heart was racing, and as was yours, and the close, intimate feeling of it all was enough to make you beam. He turned his head to face you. His eyes were earnest, shining with clarity and joy.

“You’re the only good thing in this world. I love you.”

And the world seemed to stop once your lips met again, because everything was perfect.

Your heart, mind and body, all in the right place, cradled in his arms.

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

Thrills only last so long before they wear off.

The sunshine that streamed in through the porthole was like a warning from your father, a reminder that your actions were against everything you loved. Everything you believed in.

A reminder that while you loved Luke, you loved Camp Half-Blood more.

You left your heart there, tucked between his sheets, nestled in his warm embrace. The loss of it tore your chest, as you tiptoed through the corridors, gasping at the monsters you could now see and swearing at yourself as tears flooded your vision.

Maybe you should’ve woken him, you thought, given him one final kiss.

You never would’ve been able to leave.

You settled for leaving a note.

You will always have my heart.

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

He was awake.

Of course he was. You’d always been restless, while you overthought and he’d woken as you tossed and turned softly.

And he knew.

Knew then that you were going to leave him.

It was all over.

He’d wanted to hold tight then, keep you as his, and never be parted from you.

But he couldn’t.

He knew he couldn’t even though he wanted to, even though he had promised himself he would never lose you again as you fell asleep entangled with him.

It was the hardest thing in his life, feigning sleep as you silently slipped away, as you brushed his cheek in goodbye.

You will always have my heart.

They would always love each other.

Always be torn apart.

He realised bitterly you’d each be moths, drawn to the heat of each other, but always scalded and sent back by the flames.

#luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #pjo season 1 #pjo luke #pjo luke castellan #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan angst #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #pjo series #pjo show #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo spoilers #post tlt #more angst 😘😘#i know everyone was begging for more #you're welcome #and don't worry more is on the way

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writefightandflightclub · 2 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (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. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

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

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part.

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 :)

You’re spiralling.

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago.

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again.

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear.

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore?

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers.

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns.

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him.

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human.

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle.

Fuck.

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy.

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him.

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders.

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless.

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging.

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue.

Fuck.

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it.

Holy shit.

He wants you.

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this.

Unfinished.

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him.

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you.

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes.

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours.

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense.

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you.

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it.

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently.

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going?

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.”

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you.

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks.

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth.

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that.

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where.

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed.

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else.

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone.

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance.

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way.

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes.

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you.

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move.

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips.

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same.

Soon too.

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak.

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin.

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel.

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right.

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm.

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care.

You only know that you want more.

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up.

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position.

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation.

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.”

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync.

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you.

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means.

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him.

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible.

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one.

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now.

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways.

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him.

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.”

You don’t ever want him to stop.

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you.

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume.

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs.

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived.

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach.

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles.

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything.

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago.

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help.

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?”

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?”

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.”

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit.

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen.

“Of course I am.”

“How?”

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?”

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.”

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off.

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.”

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.”

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary.

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table.

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space.

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him.

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.”

“That’s fucking bullshit!”

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.”

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer.

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do?

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it.

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over.

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it?

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?”

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became.

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?”

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?”

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage.

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door- and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down.

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over.

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks.

Is there some truth in it?

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it?

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?”

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!”

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.”

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable.

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know.

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame.

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin.

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”.

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam.

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides.

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.”

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before.

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-”

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat.

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?”

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be.

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never?

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?”

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?”

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.”

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?”

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap.

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?”

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself.

That is what you want. With him.

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.”

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough.

It was everything.

Everything.

Wasn’t it?

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this.

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away?

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?”

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you.

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all.

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them.

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether.

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out?

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out.

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over.

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

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

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the-s1lly-corner · 3 months

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Going to the Digital Carnival w/ Jax

need to start utilizing the fact that theres a carnival and lake on the grounds, need to tie that into more hcs and scenarios.. hisshiss... anyways this is a queued post, never used the queue before so uhuhuh!! only one post to experiment, going to try to work on art all day since i have a whole load of wips i need to get to and one (and a sketch i need to bang out) that are time sensitive because of valentines but !! you know!! requests are still open by the by runs off

you have to stop him from cheating at any of the games that are set up... i like to think caine set up some prizes to be won, but even if there werent any prizes, jax is still going to try to satisfy his need to cause trouble and win

i think he would hate the Ferris wheel... and honestly i dont blame him

mix of being slightly afraid of heights, but even more afraid of the thing getting stuck.. i hc that he doesnt like being forcefully stuck in one place for long, but to be fair does anyone?

steals carnival treats, too

i think if there was one of those test your strength games he would beg for your attention (in the form of repeatedly saying your name until you finally look at him... what did you think he was actually going to beg?) and try to hit the thing as hard as he can

bonus imagine you go after him and you score higher than him

hes going to be a little pouty for the rest of the day, so heads up... you might be able to cheer him up with snacks.. you definitely will if you get your hands on some sour candy and give them to him

oh he definitely would approach you with a prize (perhaps a large stuffed toy?) only to yank it and hold it to him as a 'joke'

will probably pass it off to you after a second, he thinks the look of shock on your face is a little funny

besides, stuffed toys arent his thing, according to him..!

but he wont exactly throw out any prizes you win for him... so take that as you will

winks

youre going to have to help him in a few hours/the next day because he has little to no self control when it comes to sweet stuff so hes definitely going to get a stomach ache

no hes not going to learn his lesson

yes hes going to do it again next time you guys go out to the carnival

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x reader #jax x you #jax imagine

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alwaysonthemend · 9 months

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Author's Note: Well, I’ve had this one halfway finished for like a week and a half but my stupid laptop broke. Finally got a new one so here we are! I dedicate this fic to @takenbythemadness – your post about Jake seeing a producer flirt with the reader inspired me in the best way. Hope y'all enjoy :)

Content Warnings: Smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, choking, use of vibrator, overstimulation, dom Jakey, sir kink, pussy slapping, face slapping, dirty talk, orgasm denial, edging, passing out. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 4470

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Dating Jake Kiszka has been a roller coaster from the start – crazy and unexpected, yet fun and exhilarating all the same. Dating a rockstar comes with its ups and downs, but the two of you have managed to find a wonderful harmony with each other that even an earthquake couldn't shake. Jake makes you feel safe – protected and loved in a way that you’d never gotten to experience before. Jake has never been one for large and loud declarations of love – and he’s told you before that some of his past relationships have suffered because of it. But you have never doubted Jake’s love for you. He shows love in actions; small, little things that show you just how much you mean to him. All those other people that he’s been with in the past just weren’t paying attention.

He tells you he loves you in so many ways you lose count of them. He says it in the way he always makes sure you’re comfortable when the two of you go out. He says it when he always somehow seems to know that you’re feeling insecure or upset and he whispers in your ear how gorgeous you are. He tells you he loves you by sending you flowers to your job if you’ve told him that you’re having a bad day. He tells you he loves you when he buys you things he notices you eyeing in stores that you put back because they’re too expensive. Hell, he tells you every time you get in the car with him and your favorite songs are queued up to play. And of course, every night before the two of you fall asleep, he makes sure that the last thing he whispers to you before he drifts off is “I love you.” In fact, your relationship with Jake has been the best thing that’s ever happened to you. The two of you have a perfect synchronicity with each other – complete understanding of each other’s wants and needs.

Part of that synchronicity between the two of you is the dance that you were currently engaged in with him while he was getting ready for an interview and photoshoot. It’s a game that the two of you have played only a handful of times during your time together – but each one has been more than memorable. You're not really sure what causes it – sometimes it’s you starting it and sometimes it’s him. But it always ends with the same result: Jake fucking you so thoroughly that you can barely walk the next day.

Today is one of those days where that itch settles itself beneath your skin. You need it… badly. And there’s not much that you won’t do to get it. And the opportunity to do just that presents itself in the form of a cute producer who’s on the set today that has been intent on flirting with you from the moment you all stepped through the door. Jake was being forced to do an interview – despite his numerous and spirited protests, and he’d asked you to come with him. You’d agreed, hoping to find a chance to play your game. So, as much as you want to admire how attractive Jake looks in his all black outfit, you instead turn your attention to the cute producer.

“I’m Oliver.” He’d said, giving you a sweet smile as you and Jake had walked in.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You gave him your hand to shake and the grip lingered longer than necessary – and Jake’s dark eyes hadn’t missed it.

“Are you Mr. Kiszka’s assistant?” He asked, completely ignoring Jake as he focused all of his attention on you.

Just as Jake opened his mouth to not-so-kindly let him know who exactly you are to him, you speak up first.

“Yes, something like that.”

Immediately, you see Jake’s shoulders tense and his eyes narrow at you. You just give him a smile and slide past him, just barely brushing your shoulder against his as you pass. Oliver follows you as you take a seat off to the side, in view of where the interview will be taking place. Jake gives you one last sharp look over his shoulder before walking over to sit in front of the camera.

Body thrumming with adrenaline, you turn back to Oliver and give him a smile.

“So what’s your job around here? It seems like it would be fun.” You lean in close to ask the question and give him your best flirty smile. You can see Jake from the corner of your eye, watching your every move.

“Oh, it’s very fun.” Oliver says, obviously happy that you’re engaging with him again, before launching into what he does with the company.

You do your best to listen – occasionally asking questions to keep the conversation going, but your attention is more centered on Jake as he does his interview. He’s giving wonderful and thoughtful answers to each question, but his eyes often sweep over to where you and Oliver are. Tiny glances that aren’t outright enough for others to notice… but you can. You know him too well and you can clearly see that your plan is working. Every so often, just to dig your own grave a little deeper, you reach out to put your hand on Oliver’s shoulder if he says something funny. Your conversation with him is hushed in order to not interrupt the interview, so Jake can’t hear what the two of you are talking about – all he can see is your flirty touches and the love eyes that Oliver is giving to you.

Eventually, your conversation is interrupted when the director loudly announces that the interview portion is over. You glance over to see Jake making his way towards you.

“We’ll need you back here in a moment for some pictures, Mr. Kiszka.” He says, and Jake just gives him a curt nod as he strides over to you and Oliver.

“Hi.” You say, plastering an innocent smile on your face.

“What have you two been talking about over here?” Jake asks, and his voice is laced with faux interest. To Oliver, he seems perfectly normal – but you can see the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“Oh she was just asking me about my job here.” Oliver tells him with a polite smile.

“Wonderful.” Jake says, voice falling a little flatter. “Y/n, can I speak with you for a minute?”

“Right now?” You ask, glancing at Oliver. “We’re kind of in the middle of a conversation.”

Jake’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits and you almost regret your words. There’s no going back on your game now – but the promise of what you know is to come spurs you on even more.

“Right now.” He says coldly.

“We can talk later, Jake.”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, another set member comes over and saves you.

“Mr. Kiszka? We’re ready for your pictures now. If you could just follow me?”

“Of course.” Jake’s tone is smooth as silk as he turns to leave, but his brown eyes lock onto yours and you can’t look away. They’re ablaze with anger and the parting smile he gives to you and Oliver isn’t convincing at all. You give Jake another sweet smile before turning your back to him, heart pounding. You’ve sealed your fate.

Oliver quickly launches back into your prior conversation, but you can barely pay him any mind – instead, your mind is awash with thoughts of the trouble that you’ve gotten yourself into. All that’s left is just a few promotional photographs of Jake and then the two of you will be on your way back home… and the thought of what lies in wait for you makes you clench your thighs together in excitement.

Both lucky and unlucky for you, the photographer is finished with Jake quickly, and you watch with wide eyes as he strides determinedly over to you as Oliver continues babbling on about something or other in your ear.

“Are you ready to go?” Jake asks, interrupting Oliver’s endless chatter.

You open your mouth to protest but you stop short upon seeing the face that Jake is giving you. One eyebrow raised – almost as if in challenge, eyes venomous and dark, and his mouth is set in a hard line. You snap your mouth shut and give him a nod.

Oliver, noticing Jake’s body language, stops short and stares between the two of you.

“I, um…” He mutters, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I think I’ve gotta go do… something or other over there.” He jerks his head towards where the director is talking with some of the other crew members.

“Oh.” You say, turning away from Jake to give Oliver your best doe eyes. “Well, it was a pleasure getting to meet you, Oliver.”

He smiles despite the tension in the air.

“It was great meeting you too. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.”

And with that, Oliver scurries away, leaving you and Jake to stand in stony silence. You glance up at him but all you see is his back as he walks slowly towards the door.

“Don’t make me have to wait on you.” He says coldly, and you frenziedly jog over to catch up with him.

The drive home is silent. You fold your hands in your lap, nervously fiddling with a stray thread on your shirt. Jake stares resolutely ahead, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have turned white. In a desperate attempt to ease the tension, you reach over to turn the stereo on. The smooth notes of Dan Fogelburg spill through the speakers, easing the awkwardness for a moment. Without looking away from the road, Jake reaches over and turns it back off, plunging you back into silence.

By the time you arrive home, you’re sweating and a dull ache has taken up residence between your legs. Jake slams the car door shut and you follow swiftly behind him, excitement and fear thrumming through you. You enter your shared home and Jake still hasn’t looked at you – instead, he walks slowly over to the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He grabs a bottle of bourbon and pours himself a generous amount. He takes a sip, still refusing to even look at you.

“Jake, I-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His eyes finally snap to yours and you shrink back from his angry gaze. “I’ve heard enough from you today.” He drains the last of the bourbon. “Go upstairs and strip.”

“But-”

“I told you,” he slams his glass down on the counter, “to shut the fuck up.”

He’s not yelling, but there’s nothing but pure rage in his voice. Figuring you’ve dug your hole deep enough, you practically sprint up the stairs and into yours and Jake’s bedroom. It’s dark out, and the only light in the room is spilling from the floor lamp in the corner, bathing the room in warm light. With shaky hands, you strip your clothes off you, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Your heart is beating madly in your chest and your hands are clammy as you stand naked in the middle of the room.

You snap your eyes to the door as you hear the floorboards creak.

There he stands, anger rolling off him in waves. He’s barefoot now, and his hat has been discarded elsewhere. His black shirt is completely unbuttoned, allowing your eyes to roam freely over his gorgeous torso. His eyes are stony and his face is completely void of any emotion, leaving you with nothing to gauge what your punishment is going to be.

“Get on your knees.” He orders, slipping his shirt off his shoulders. You practically collapse onto the floor and you wince, thankful that the floor is at least carpeted.

Jake strides over to you, his dark eyes pinned on yours as you look up at him. Slowly, he reaches a hand out to you, gripping your jaw tightly. He leans in close, face just inches away from your own. You can smell the liquor on his breath.

“Do you remember your safeword?”

You nod and his grip on your jaw tightens even more.

“Words, y/n.”

“Gibson, sir.”

He releases his hold on you and straightens back up.

“Good girl.”

You release a shaky breath as you glance up at him through your lashes, mouth watering at the way he’s looking at you – like he can’t decide if he wants to yell at you or kiss you. You stare, waiting for his next instruction. You can’t help but notice how close you are to his cock, hiding behind his black slacks. You want it – badly.

“You just gonna sit there and stare or are you gonna do something?” Jake asks you coldly.

“You haven’t told me what you want me to do. Sir.” The brattiness in your tone makes Jake’s eyes widen momentarily before he smooths over his expression.

“You’ve been acting like a slut all day… flirting with that stupid producer right in front of me. You really think you’re in the position to be acting like a brat right now?” He gives you a sickly sweet smile but you don’t answer him.

His hand shoots out suddenly and tangles in your hair. You let out a surprised squeak as he pulls your head back roughly, exposing your throat. He leans back down, so close that his plump lips almost touch yours.

“You’re so fucking desperate for it that you flirt with that guy just to piss me off?”

You wrap your hand around his wrist where it's tangled in your hair. You bite your lip for a moment, debating your next choice of words.

“What makes you think I’m so desperate for you? Maybe I wanted Oliver instead.”

Jake growls and the sound makes wetness practically gush from you. You can feel it dripping down your thighs.

“You really think he could fuck you the way I do?” He pulls away from you suddenly and begins to undo his belt. “Think he could make you feel the way I make you feel?” He slides his pants off himself, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

You know that no one could ever come close to bringing you the pleasure that Jake brings you, but apparently you’re a glutton for punishment.

“Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. Only one way to find out, though.” You give him an innocent shrug.

Without warning, Jake’s fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. Your vision swims and a choked, meek little noise falls from between your lips.

“That little twig couldn’t fuck you half as good as I can and you fucking know it.” His grip tightens even more and your chest burns as he cuts off your air supply. “Fucking brat.”

Just as your eyes begin to roll back into your head, Jake releases you. You take in a staggering breath and cough.

“Suck my cock. And maybe I’ll think about letting you cum tonight.”

You waste no time in sliding his boxers down his powerful thighs, and your mouth waters as you take in his dick standing proudly at attention. No matter how many times you get to see it, you’re always overcome with how pretty his cock is.

Teasingly, you begin leaving little kitten licks over his head, just barely brushing your tongue against him. Before finally, you slowly wrap your lips around him and sink down until his tip nudges the back of your throat. You relax your jaw and breathe in through your nose as tears prick your eyes. Jake brings his hand to the back of your head and pushes you even further down on him, causing you to gag around him. You brace your hands on his thighs as he begins to rock his hips, fucking your mouth so deeply its taking all of your focus not to gag even more.

“Fucking take it.” Jake grits out, and you wish you could see what his face looks like as he fucks your throat. You can imagine what he probably looks like – brows pinched together and his head thrown back in pleasure. He groans and you whimper in response, more wetness dripping down between your thighs.

Jake pulls his cock from your mouth with a lewd pop and you take in a gulping breath.

“Look at you…” He says darkly, running a finger along your jaw line as he takes you in – mascara streaming down your cheeks and your hair a tangled mess. “Ready to admit who it is that you really want?”

You nod, whining as your pussy throbs with need.

“Say it.”

“You.” You tell him, and your voice sounds just as ruined as you feel. “I want you, sir.”

“Get on the bed.” You scramble to your feet, legs shaky and thighs a complete mess as you climb onto the bed. You sit in the middle and watch as he drinks in your form.

The bed sinks as Jake climbs into it. He crawls over to you and props himself up on one arm. With his other hand, he runs his calloused fingertips through the mess on your thighs, so so close to where you want him most.

“You’re fucking soaked, angel. Jesus.”

You whine and spread your legs wider, desperate for any type of relief.

“Please, Jake..” You cry, eyes screwing shut as his fingers ghost over your folds.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours, sir. All yours.”

“That’s right.” He says, swiping a finger through your folds and just barely brushing against your swollen clit. “All fucking mine.”

Without warning, he plunges his middle finger into you and you let out a wail at the stretch. He pumps into you as his thumb circles madly over your clit. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. He adds a second finger and you cry out again, before grinding your hips downwards to meet his hand.

“Ah uh. Nope.” He pulls his fingers from you. “Don’t fucking move. You wanted to act like a slut. Now you’re gonna lay here and take it like one. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Your entire body jolts as he slaps his palm against your cunt, drawing a pained yelp from you.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He inserts his fingers once more, fucking into you at an agonising pace. You moan and whine, but you diligently stay in place, resisting the overwhelming urge to rock your hips in search for more.

Slowly, Jake plays you into the edge of your orgasm, and your cries only increase as you draw nearer and nearer. Just as you’re about to fall over the crest of pleasure, Jake stops his movements completely and you whine.

“Did you really think I was going to let you cum that easy, angel? After how you acted today?” He shakes his head and tsks at you. “Silly girl. You don’t fucking deserve to cum yet.”

“Jake, please.” You whine, body strung so tight you feel like you might snap, “Please give it to me.”

“Give what to you, baby?” He asks, voice saccharine and filled with faux concern.

“You know what.”

“Oh, do I?”

Slowly, he begins to circle your clit again. Over and over again, he brings you right to edge before pulling back before you can finish. It’s agony, and tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he brings you to the edge for a fourth time before he pulls away.

“Fucking hell, please! Jake, please!”

Jake just chuckles at you.

“Baby gonna cry?” He asks you with a shit eating grin.

You clench your fists in desperation.

“If you’re not gonna let me cum you should have just let me take Oliver home instead. He wouldn’t make me wait for it.”

Your head snaps to the side as Jake’s palm connects with your left cheek. The blow is hard, causing you to bite down harshly onto your tongue and the taste of blood fills your mouth.

“You just don’t know when to shut the fuck up, do you?” He asks, but he’s not looking for a response from you.

He sits up and reaches over to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer.

“No…” You whine, regret filling you as you realize what he’s about to do.

“Yep.” He says, pulling the cherry red vibrator out and shutting the door back. “Act like a brat and you get treated like one.”

He clicks the button and turns the vibrator on, and you can immediately tell by the sound that he has it on the highest setting. He settles himself between your thighs, hovering the toy just above your dripping cunt.

“Color?” He asks you, dropping the act for a moment.

“Green.”

No sooner had the word left your lips and Jake pressed the toy onto your clit. You yelp and your thighs instinctively try to close but he stops you easily. The stimulation is so much and your whole body feels like it’s on fire as Jake begins to make slow circles on your clit with the vibrator. White hot pain and pleasure course through you and you whine loudly – high pitched and desperate.

“Jake. Jake! Oh shit.” You grind out through clenched teeth.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He says, and presses the toy onto your clit even more. “If you wanna cum, you’re gonna cum from this.”

You could sob at his words. It’s too much and your body practically vibrates as he continues his assault on your clit. And yet somehow, you feel the coil starting to tighten in your belly. It hurts but the pleasure is still there despite the overstimulation as you moan and cry out.

“God, look at you. You gonna cum from this, angel? I know you can.”

You squirm beneath his ministrations and crack your eyes open to see him staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. He’s rocking his hips into the bed, grinding his cock into the soft covers as he looks for some relief of his own. Your eyes roll back into your head as you hear him groan.

“Cum. Do it, angel. Cum for me,”

The band snaps and you're cumming, hard and violent. Your head feels like it’s in the clouds as the pleasure courses through you. Jake pulls the vibrator away from your poor clit and turns it off, tossing it to lay on the bed beside you. You lay there, brain fuzzy as you come down from your high.

“You ready for my cock, y/n? Ready for me to fuck you?”

You nod your head feverishly, body too weak to do much else. Your whole body is covered in sweat as your chest heaves.

“Get on your hands and knees, angel.”

You comply, rising shakily to get into the position he asked for. You sink your weight down on your forearms so that your ass sticks up in the air. You wiggle backwards, renewed desire for his cock coursing through you.

Jake pumps himself a few times before he nudges his tip through your folds, sliding through your wetness before he presses his cock into you. Slowly, he bottoms out, and the both of you moan loudly. He places both hands on your ass cheeks, digging his fingers into the meat of them as he begins to thrust into you. The stretch feels so good on your abused cunt, and all you can do is whine with each thrust into your pussy.

“God, you feel like heaven wrapped around me.” He groans, still thrusting into you agonizingly slow.

“Jake…” You whine, pressing your ass back into him. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, picking up his pace slightly. “Who else can fuck you like I do, angel?” He punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust that has you clenching around him.

“No one, Jake. No one.”

“Roll over. Wanna see you.”

Jake pulls out and flips you so that you’re on your back. He grabs your leg and tosses it over his shoulder before he guides his cock back into you. The new angle has his tip brushing against your cervix with each thrust and you wail his name. Sweat beads along his hairline and drips down his neck and his face is flushed as he pounds into you. Little grunts and moans fall from his lips and all you can do is just lie there and take it. Your tits bounce with each thrust and the sound of his hips hitting yours is loud and ridiculously pornographic.

“Angel, I’m so fucking close.” He groans out. “Give me one more.”

He places his hand on your lower belly, feeling himself inside as he fucks into you.

“You feel that?” He asks, voice sounding wrecked. “Feel how deep I am? God, fuck!” He curses, rhythm beginning to falter. He’s trying to hold on, waiting for you to cum first.

And you can feel him. He’s fucking you so hard and deep it’s like your brain can’t remember anything but the pleasure he’s giving you. You aren’t thinking – your mind reduced to nothing but Jake, Jake, Jake.

Again, that familiar feeling begins to claw up inside of you.

“Jake!” You scream, raking your nails down his back and leaving red marks in their wake. “Don’t stop. Please!”

“Fuck, y/n. I’m so- fuck.” He whines loudly and the sound pushes you over the edge.

You clench around him and you can feel him spill into you as your orgasm tears through you. Jake’s mouth is open in a silent scream as he cums. He keeps fucking you through both of your releases and you scream his name over and over as your climax keeps fucking going.

You open your eyes to see Jake’s chocolate eyes staring at you, filled with concern.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

As you become more aware of your surroundings, you notice that you’ve been cleaned up and Jake’s sweat-damp hair is beginning to dry.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” You paused for a moment before adding, “I think.”

“You scared me. Are you sure you’re okay? I shouldn’t have gone that hard…” He trails off, staring at you looking like a kicked puppy.

“Jake,” you smile at him, “I promise I’m okay, More than okay, actually.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“What exactly did I do?” You asked, sitting up to look at him more clearly. “Did I pass out?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.” You giggled, shaking your head.

“It’s not funny!” He protested, but his lips quirked into a smile despite himself. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Well, I was asking for it.”

“Fair. You were being quite the brat.” He said, laughing lightly.

You shrugged.

“Had to get you riled up somehow, didn’t I? Besides, that was totally worth it.”

“I am pretty good, huh?”

You slapped his chest playfully.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Angel, no one is going to hear the end of this.”

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

if you're reading this, i love you!

taglist:

@sacredjake

@ignite-my-fire

@demolitionndann

@brujamagik

@mybussyinchrist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfiction #dee's writing

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kicktwine · 5 months

Note

hey, any advice for ppl just getting into ffxiv? there's so much happening I'm a Little intimidated lmao

yes! actually! ok ok

Slow down. Don’t worry too much about terms and mechanics. The very beginning of FFXIV is very good at teaching you how to fight and how to do things, so long as you pay attention (and read your tooltips! Hover over your skills to read what they do)

if you’re getting lost in the lore, Jesse Cox has a very in depth and spoiler free video on Hydealyn’s history. I would argue you don’t need it, because you can coast by and learn everything you need by osmosis, but if you’re one of those ppl who wants a solid background before going forward it’s a great video!

The very beginning is a little overwhelming because you’re doing job AND main story quests at the same time right off the bat. You can do them at the same time and you’ll be fine, but the stories can get tangled, so you can choose to do blue job quests (they will teach you moves and buttons and stuff!! And unlock moves and buttons!) until you can’t do them anymore then use MSQ to get the experience in between. After you’re around 25-35 you can get a hang of spacing those out and just go ham on MSQ

you’re also learning the map which I can’t help you with i got lost in the shroud and ul’dah so often. click the blue text under the quest name to bring up where it is on the map

and it’s throwing new terms at you a lot. If you need them, it’ll come up again. If they’re not 100% necessary, like crafting and materia melding and stuff, it’ll be there for you to figure out whenever you want to.

If you miss a line of dialogue in a cutscene, which I did sometimes because I was speeding and then something important happened, hit / and then click “event” in your chat log. A log of dialogue will appear!

if you miss a cutscene entirely, go into any inn and click on the unending journey book.

when doing your outfits, go into character and then click the button near the top of your outfit display that says recommended gear. Always wear that. You can glamor over pretty looking outfits later

if you go into system -> HUD layout, you can move hud items around. It’s a little complicated, but I had to move a bunch of stuff to get comfortable!

spending your Gil is fine. you’ll earn it back, just save some for aetheryte teleporting fees for now

i swear you can ignore leves. you can. you can

and fates

you can sell any items (like beastkin blood or animal leather) you get from combat at any vendor by dragging it from your inventory into theirs. Keep food (to eat!), and clothes until they’re far too low level. animal parts you are not going to need ever unless you’re into crafting

hall of the novice is good for getting your grips but dungeons at level 15 are way more effective for learning how to play your class in the actual game

don’t be afraid of being a beginner in the beginning dungeons!!! You are either queuing with other beginners or people who know they’re going to be in an arr dungeon with new players. You have a sprout you’re safe people will 90% of the time be super nice. Let people know you’re new and they’ll help! You got this!!!!!!

once you get your chocobo go find “my feisty little chocobo” it will let the bird fight with you AND OR HEAL YOU (HELPFUL <-BLACK MAGE)

say hi to merlwyb for me-

#ffxiv #ask #anon #hope this wasn’t overwhelming HAH um but just have fun! That is the best advice just go at your own pace #and have fun seek out what’s coolest and most interesting to you #OH BUT MAKE SURE TO DO YOUR JOB QUESTS BEFORE YOU MOVE ON TO THE NEXT EXPANSION just keep those up to date

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dokeythings · 6 months

Text

| hey baby, i think i wanna marry you | (dokyeom)

PART 1

dokyeom has had the ring in his pocket everywhere you guys went for the past 3 weeks. but even without bulky case poking into his thigh all the time, he has thought about marrying you everyday for the last 4 years. there's been many occasions where he's almost dropped everything to get down on one knee, and ask you to make him the happiest man on the planet. he's usually too nervous, quietly slipping the ring back into his pocket without you noticing. he's not weary about how you'll react, because he knows you'll say yes. he's nervous about when the perfect time is. he wants it to be memorable, to be something you'll never see coming but also be perfectly ready at the same time.

today his family is having a little summer get-together, with some of the family members being ones he doesn't get to see too often. in turn, this means that you have never met most of them. of course they told him immediately that they would love for him to bring you along, as they want to meet the girl he talks so highly about. you happily accepted, loving spending time with him any chance you can get. dokyeom knows you're nervous, but he also knows that theres no chance in hell that they won't fall in love with you right away. he keeps his hands on the wheel, nodding along to the song playing. you're about 20 minutes out now, seemingly making you even more nervous.

"hey" you say. he turns his head to you briefly to show his attention, before looking back towards the highway. "do you need both hands on the wheel right now or?" you say as you trail off the end of the sentence.

he chuckles at you, knowing exactly what you mean by the question. he releases his right hand from the wheel and places it in your leg, holding his hand up as you slide yours into his. he gains a small smile from you in response, but he sees your other leg bouncing up and down.

"you hanging in there baby?" he asks, running his thumb over your hand gently.

"i think i'm gonna throw up" you answer honestly, feeling that distinct feeling in your stomach that you always feel during a social anxiety flare up.

dokyeom has the patience of a saint when it comes to your anxiety, never being annoyed or frustrated with it. he lets you tell him how you're feeling and what he can do to make it better. after all these years he's learned to understand it more, and can oftentimes be ahead of it and know when you are going to experience it badly. he wishes you didn't have to live this way, but he decided a long time ago that if he can't take it away then he will do everything in his power to make things more comfortable for you.

"i'm sorry sweet girl. i promise you're gonna have a lot of fun once we are there" he says, hoping that any ounce of his words can make you calm down a bit, but he knows it isn't usually that easy. you just nod back, holding his hand tighter. he exits off the highway, stopping at a red-light once you are in the town. you know you are getting really close now. he lets go of your hand for a second, making you instinctually frown.

he smiles at you sweetly, saying "just one second baby". while he's waiting for the light to turn green he picks up his phone which is playing the music, and messes around for a second before putting it back down and holding your hand again. he starts driving again as the current song ends and the next one starts up. you notice now that he queued your favorite song.

he knows how much you love it, always playing it every time you get in the car with him, and you sing loudly every time. he loves watching your little mini performance and how you light up when your favorite part comes on. however, this time your mind is elsewhere, and you don't really feel like singing along.

"come on, sing it, i know you want to" he says happily, shaking your hand a little and urging you to let loose. when you just giggle in response, nodding your head no, he sings it for you. now of course, he is a professional singer, so he sings it better than you ever do, and you prefer this version better anyways.

"i'm sorry i'm such a downer" you blurt out randomly, feeling bad about how often you probably burden him with your anxiety.

"you're not a downer. you're just nervous love, and thats okay" he responds calmly, wishing you wouldn't be so hard on yourself.

you keep your eyes out the window as he continues turning down street by street, eventually pulling into the driveway and stopping the car. he turns the car off and turns towards you, attempting to give you a pep talk before you go in. you notice all the cars parked on the street and the driveway, making the ache in your stomach even stronger.

"we'll go in whenever you're ready" he says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. you don't know how you got so lucky with him.

"i'm just so awkward" you huff, wishing you had the ability to make effortless small talk like he can.

"you aren't awkward baby. you're just a little shy sometimes. and it's adorable" he adds, poking your cheek. you have always been shy during new interactions with people, only warming up after a little while of knowing them. you perceive it as one of your biggest flaws, but he thinks its cute.

"i'm not shy with you. why can't i be like that with everyone else?" you question honestly. you are the most raw, authentic version of yourself with him.

he just smiles at your question, honored that you've always been able to be so comfortable with him. he loves that you don't have to hesitate around him, that you don't have to constantly have up your guard or filter what you say.

"just pretend everyone is me then" he replies, shrugging like its the most obvious thing in the world.

he manages to make you laugh, as you say "hmm okay yeah i'll have to try that" sarcastically.

before you can change your mind you take a deep breath and say "okay lets go". you unbuckle your seatbelt and look in the mirror one last time to make sure you look okay, to which dokyeom says to you an instinctual 'you're the prettiest girl in the world'. you both climb out of the car and take a few steps towards the house before he stops you for a moment.

"i'll be right here the whole time" he reminds you, bringing you in for a quick hug.

"i know" you mumble into his chest, feeling extremely grateful for him.

he takes your hand in his and leads you towards the backyard where everybody is gathered. once you get closer his mom and dad notice you two, and you are so relieved to be greeted with some familiar faces. you love his parents, and you got along with them right away. they rush over to greet you both, saying they are so happy that you could make it. dokyeom leads you down a little further to where everyone is sitting around eating. to your surprise as well as relief, the introductions are less painful than you imagined in your head. you do your best to return the small talk and keep a smile plastered on your face the whole time. whenever theres a little bit of silence dokyeom fills it naturally.

one of his cousins offers you both to sit down next to her at the table. you sit down on a bench next to dokyeom, fiddling with your fingers as the two of them talk and catch up with each other. the conversation lulls down, and you stay quiet not really having anything to add. dokyeom drapes an arm around your shoulder, tracing his fingers on your upper arm softly. you calm down at his touch. he knows this because the leg that you've been bouncing up and down has finally stopped.

"you want to get anything to eat baby?" he asks, knowing that you are already going to say no, even though a part of you could eat.

you say no thank you, throwing in a 'maybe later' to make him worry a little less. he says he's going to go get something as he stands up. he was going to offer you to come with him, but his aunt starts up a conversation with you. he smiles at you encouragingly before he leaves you alone to answer all her questions.

he comes back quickly, sitting down back next to you with enough food for the both of you. as he predicted, you reach over and take a piece of fruit from his plate. he smiles at you, happy you're eating. you spend the next few minutes eating as much food as your weak, nervous stomach can bare. you feel a sudden rush of bravery, feeling more confident with him here, keeping a hand on your thigh to ground you. you turn to his cousin and ask her about work, as it's something you have considered going into yourself. she happily answers, starting up a conversation where you feel yourself answering so naturally, something you're not used to.

dokyeom listens in quietly, smiling fondly at you as you speak about something you're so passionate about. he's proud of you. he's only been falling in love with you more and more since you've gotten here. he's watched you interact with his family, and run around with all the little kids present, happily playing along with their games. despite being nervous, you managed to come out of your shell a little. he's already had multiple family members pull him aside and tell him how much they love you. it's starting to feel like the ring won't live in his pocket for much longer. this could be it.

#dokyeom fluff #dokyeom imagines #dokyeom x reader #seventeen #dokyeom fanfic #dokyeom #dk #lee seokmin #svt seokmin #svt dk

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genshinology · 1 year

Text

𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔. zhongli

(requested by anonymous.)

content; zhongli x gn!reader. historical au to modern au (ig we could say that liyue has been modernised and like teyvat has been shifted into powerless realm without elements (please, bear with me and my stupid imagination ANSBHIQWKNDK)), reincarnation au, soulmates au, not really angst or fluff but like zhongli misses the reader and it shows, mentions of character death. wc; 1.6k (not proofread, let’s gaurr)

a part of my 800 followers event + *gasps* finally i am back to actual writing?!?!?! and get to continue this event??? HAHA ik this is so not my tradition of being inactive most of the part this year eek (btw, i have finals for like the next two weeks, so expect this blog only filled with queued stuff, etc.)

it was raining.

the day zhongli found you back on liyue past, dark days, where he was still the geo archon - all powerful, and craving the power from his people in the archon war, still under the name of morax - zhongli could not understand how you, a mere human without a vision, caught his attention in more ways than one.

sure, he believed that he knew you through guizhong, one of his old acquaintances, but he still could not comprehend how he could seek joy and calmness whenever you were around him, despite him still did not wander around with the body of his human form, zhongli. and how content you were when you knew that he was morax, not a passerby that casually tried to hit up on you.

it was raining, when he saw you working hard, a trait he found himself adored when it came from you, you were his everything back then, until he remembered how dread it was; one day, when the archon war finally came to its end, and news of you died tragically during the battle between gods, along with his close friends.

he could not imagine how helpless you must have been, without the power he often accompanied you whenever you said you were going out to catch up with the outside world. zhongli blamed everything on himself, how he was not able to protect the one people he cherished the most, you.

it was raining, once again, when he found you running towards katheryne, complained something about nearby monster attacks so that the adventurers’ guild could take the problem into their hand.

zhongli remembered how you thanked the receptionist, eyes gleaming with hope. the one emotion that he remembered back hundreds of years ago that was reserved for him. the one emotion he would trade his life for, because the hopefulness in your eyes was the one thing that kept him alive, the one thing that made him determined to be a better god, and he thought he was being deceived when he turned twice to properly look at your figure.

(yes, zhongli was no longer a god that oversaw liyue, but at times like this, he remembered how he was not really a gentle god to begin with, and the presence of you in the old days gave him hope for him to be kinder and wiser, and, he would not hesitate for a brief second if someone asked him how to be a respectable god (because zhongli, more often than not, was asked this question a little bit too much by the other gods and archons alike). he would, surely, answered those questions that you, the little human that he swore had sunshine upon you, was the one that brought the best out of him.)

zhongli could not believe when childe introduced you to him. (it was funny how he met you through his close friend, again.) you were helping xiangling at the wanmin restaurant, and as a regular there, he could not believe that it was really you. the same smile, the same height, the same face, even the same walk, and your kindness in serving other customers, even him, were all still the same. the y/n that he knew, the y/n that he wanted to protect, the y/n that he loved. it was still you, and zhongli knew that deep in your heart, you also sensed a familiarity when you approached him. it was weird, but you managed to introduce you to him, the new part-time worker at the restaurant and that this was your side income.

zhongli was wise, and smart. he, at that time, decided to not being too attached to you, although he assumed that he was actually immune to the death occurrences around him, since he learned that it was inevitable. all mortals he befriended with, all would only go and leave him alone, like how he always be.

but he could not deny the ache in his heart when he longed for your presence and attention, especially when you said you would be going back to your hometown, far away from liyue, and for once, zhongli reminisced the second, most bittersweet goodbye from you, and worst yet, he never knew when you died for a second time. all he knew was you admired him from afar from hu tao, and zhongli regretted his choice back then of not welcoming you into his heart once again.

it was a raining night, where cars and buses bustling around the busy city. the horns from afar, the colourful lights, the coffee in his hand, the droplets of rain that stained the café large window. all things, somehow, made him focused more on the memories of you, and the thousands of emotions that came along with them.

“may i sit here for a while?”

zhongli gave the person a brief nod, not really paying attention due to the fact that he was so deep in his thoughts, before he could feel the sense of familiarity to the person beside him.

zhongli never acted recklessly, often forming his own thoughts of consequences before doing anything, but he could not hide his shock when the person in front of him met his eyes, and, for a fleeting moment, zhongli knew it was you. he just knew.

if soulmates were real, he was so sure now that you were his.

you halted for a moment, part of you was awestruck by the manly aura that radiated off of him, but you could not ignore the tinge of sadness that suddenly overwhelmed you.

“have we.. have we met?” the simple question coming from you was more than enough to make his heart shattered into pieces, not because of the disappointment of you not recognising him - of course you couldn’t remember. you had been going through many stages of life cycles, and he would forever stuck with one - it was the fact that you thought you knew him, almost made the urge to pull you into his arms ten times stronger than ever.

the way zhongli kept on being silent made you quickly realised how off the question was, especially if you had just met a stranger in a downtown café. “wait, i’m sorry for sounding stupid. it’s just - i thought we know each other before but i may be wrong,” you sent an awkward laugh. “and i’m sorry if i am interrupting your personal space, that the rain is pouring and i could not catch the last bus and my umbrella is kinda broken -

“it’s fine, y/n.”

you almost dropped your phone at that. so, you had met. but you could not remember where.

the sadness inside you amplified the more you tried to shrug it off, his voice worsened your confusion to the negative feeling inside you, but, somehow, the more you held eye contact with this beautiful man in front of you, the more relieved you felt.

the sense of familiarity was not something you could ignore, with the fact that the man in front of you could technically be a bad person didn’t even come across your mind. “i know this might sound dumb, or stupid, or both but like - where did we meet?”

“somewhere, and i believe we were close at that.”

thousands of questions surged your mind, how could you forget a person that was close to you? the way you knew he wasn’t lying made your insides felt more relieved. who was this man? and why did you feel so sad? and relieved?

“the name’s zhongli,” he introduced himself to you.

the name struck you once again, but zhongli decided that this was all too much for you by reading your body language. even after centuries had passed, you were still the y/n he knew. “your umbrella broke?”

“i, uhh, yes,” you felt like you were sharing too much information on this guy who you barely knew, but the way he gave you the most gentle smile coming from a man made you knew that you could trust him. it made no sense, how you were not making any sense even in your own thoughts.

“let me offer you a ride. it is late and dangerous.”

you didn’t even doubt him and his words. something about him made you felt safe, and you thought you were the one who acted weirdly in front of him, but you figured that he didn’t mind. perhaps he had always been nice just like this.

“thank you, zhongli,” zhongli sent a small smile, one which pulled the strings of your heart. was this love at first sight, or you were actually close with him before? it was absurd, but you decided not to care with the intrusive thoughts.

either way, your gratitude made zhongli unknowingly blinked his eyes. those were the last words you said at him both times he met you. now, he swore he wouldn’t let you go again, with no responsibility of a god on your first life, and no treatment of platonic relationship with you on the second, he just knew that in this life, he would cherish every moment with you once again.

both of you decided to watch the rain after zhongli treated you with a drink, and, ironically enough, it was the most beautiful, and calming night you had ever seen.

#🍁.800;event #☆.works #twilight-theatre #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli imagines #zhongli fluff #zhongli angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin angst

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hotmessmaxpress · 21 days

Text

Rosquez a/b/o au, part ??

Today fucking sucked but I’m too anxious to sleep, so here’s some wildly self-indulgent pack cuddles. Nothing happens- they just snuggle. I'm projecting onto Bezz.

Bezz has had a bad day. A long and varied list of things has gone wrong, and he’s near tears by the time he manages to make his way to the ranch. It’s not a training weekend so most of the pack is probably off working, at their family homes, or off doing various responsibilities.

Bezz needs his pack, though, so he texted Marc and asked him if he could come over. Marc obviously said yes, and assured him that he’d have a nest ready for him. He promised a movie night in the big cozy pack living room, and Bezz is looking forward to snacking and snuggling with the fellow omega. Vale might even join them; Bezz loves when he gets their combined attention.

When he walks in the house, though, he immediately smells that it’s not just Marc and Vale that are home.

He sniffles as he steps into the living room, and finds not just Marc, but also Vale, Luca, Pecco, and Cele. They're all moving things around and getting situated as Marc bossily directs them and Vale watches, lazy and proud of his omega.

They turn to look at him as he walks in, and Luca drops the pillow he's holding to stride across the room and wrap Bezz in his arms. Bezz buries his face into the taller man's neck. He doesn’t mean to start crying, but he can’t help it. His shoulders shake with the force of it as he silently sobs against the alpha.

Luca gently guides him to the couch. Marc has arranged it for maximum pack snuggles; he pushed different pieces of the sectional together to create what is essentially a giant bed.

Netflix is queued up on the television, and the boys have put together a passable nest at the direction of Marc.

Bezz snuggles up between Marc and Luca, and the others arrange themselves around the three of them. Vale is obviously wrapped up in Marc, and Cele is pressed closely enough to Luca to be able to touch Bezz. Pecco is on Vale's other side, sharing a blanket with him since Marc has already stolen his.

Bezz doesn’t really speak and he doesn’t give a shit about what movie they watch, but he enjoys listening to Cele argue with Vale about what to watch. He knows Cele probably doesn’t actually care that much about the movie anyway, he just enjoys arguing with their pack alpha.

Pecco pipes in just to bother Cele, who then makes a dramatic announcement about being the least favorite member of the pack. Bezz has to crawl over Luca for a moment to kiss Cele’s face and scent him before he starts to actually get upset.

The pack calms down after that, getting comfortable in the blankets and pillows.

Bezz rests with his head on Luca’s chest, breathing in time with him. He has a hand thrown across him to hold Cele’s hand, and Marc is warm and comfortable against his back.

He feels safe and loved, and at some point in the movie he starts to cry again. He's just overwhelmed by the emotion of the day, and the relief of being held by his pack is too much.

Luca kisses the top of his head, and Cele squeezes his hand.

“Sorry,” Bezz whispers.

Marc shushes him gently. “We’ve got you,” he says.

Bezz doesn’t really watch whatever movie Vale picked. All he needs is the feeling of his pack around him, bickering and complaining and holding him.

They’re all he needs.

#self indulgent cuddle fluff #rosquez a/b/o au #mm93 #lm10 #vr46 #mb72 #pb63 #cv13

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semperama · 1 year

Note

Omg ok like maxiel sensory deprivation (???) blindfold situation or however u wanna take that

cw for a very brief mention of off-screen watersports and fisting

"How will I know if I'm hurting you? Or if you want to stop?" Daniel asks, sliding the slippery satin back and forth across his palm. He'll tie the blindfold himself. The idea of Max doing it for him...Nah. Nope.

"I will pinch you," Max says. He's grinning, like none of this is a big deal. "Really hard. Right here." He taps Daniel's side, just above his hipbone. "But you will not hurt me."

Daniel wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. "You don't know that.

"Yes, I do," Max says, and pulls him in for a slow, sweet kiss that melts some of the tension between his shoulder blades.

He's not sure how he let Max talk him into this, but then again, he's felt that way about pretty much everything Max has ever asked him for in bed. Between the two of them, Max is definitely the freak. Still, Daniel rarely has complaints after the fact. Okay, he never has complaints, except for sometimes a sick-sweet shame he feels--at the sight of a red handprint on Max's ass; at the feeling of Max's hand wrapped around his dick, directing a stream of piss onto his own chest; at the sound of Max whimpering his name while he clenches around Daniel's whole fucking fist.

"Please," Max says when he pulls away, and--yeah, that's why Daniel always agrees. Always says yes.

He kisses Max one more time, then closes his eyes--nonsensically, considering what he's about to do--and lifts the scarf to tie it around the top half of his face. When he opens his eyes again, he can still see a little bit--just light and shapes--but he can't make out Max's expression, and he supposes that's the point.

"We can skip the headphones," Daniel says. "This is probably enough."

"No," Max says. Then, again, "Please, Daniel."

He can't pretend he fully grocks Max's logic in this one. Max was a little stammery when he explained it, the ends of half of his sentences bitten off. Something about wanting Daniel to worry about him less. I do not think you think so much when you are driving. I want you to be with me like that. It sounded fucking terrifying to Daniel at the time, and even now that he's had time to sit with it, his heart is pounding. What if Max doesn't end up liking whatever version of Daniel comes out when he's not trying to please Max? If Daniel worries, or if he thinks too much, it's because that's what makes it good, right?

But this is what Max wants and--and Max has never steered him wrong, so--

Daniel already queued up his pre-race playlist, so when Max slips the headphones on him and the music fills his ears, he immediately goes to that place, his anxiety morphing into that familiar adrenaline-pumping, ready-for-attack feeling he gets when he's on the starting grid, the car hot and vibrating underneath him.

It's strange, though, to have his senses so cut off. When he's in the car, his vision feels hyper-sharp, and his hearing is tuned to the radio and the sound of the engine. Now, the music fills up all the spaces inside him, every facet of his attention. It's disorienting--but only for a moment. Only until Max takes his hand, squeezes it, and then brings it up to cup his own cheek.

Daniel kisses him carefully at first, like he needs to relearn his mouth. And maybe he does, because he's never experienced it quite like this. The music recedes a little into the background, edged out by the feeling of the stubble against Daniel's lips, and of Max's tongue sliding against his, and of Max's fingers digging into his shoulders. It's tempting to focus on those fingers, to try to gain some clue from them, but as if Max is reading his mind, his grip relaxes suddenly, his fingers petting the hair at the back of Daniel's neck instead.

They got Max ready ahead of time, so when Daniel lets his hand drift down between Max's legs, he can dip two fingers inside him easily. He immediately feels a pang of regret at the lack of feedback. He knows Max will have let out a little moan just then, but he couldn't hear it.

Max wants him to follow his instincts though, so he takes a deep breath and tries to get out of his head, focusing instead on the throb of the bass in his ears and on the way Max feels around him, how hot he is inside, how he clenches when Daniel tugs a little on his rim. After a minute, he withdraws and lets his hands smooth up the inside of Max's thighs, enjoying the breadth of them, the soft hair against his palms. On impulse, he leans down a bites down gently on the meatiest part, his hips rolling against the bed. It wouldn't even take him long to come like this, he thinks. Just worshipping Max's thighs and humping the sheets.

But that isn't what Max wants. And if Daniel's being honest, it's not what he wants now either. His heart is still pounding, his hands sweaty. All this adrenaline needs somewhere to go, and if Max wants it to go into him, then Daniel's going to give him exactly that.

He can't ask Max if he's ready, and he knows--yes, he reminds himself, he knows--that Max is ready, so he lines himself up and lets himself sink into him in one smooth, unbroken motion a groan he can't even hear rumbling its way through his chest and out of his mouth.

Daniel rarely fucks with music on. He's too susceptible to getting lost in the music and forgetting to set the right pace. But this time, he doesn't have to worry about that. All he has is the music--and the flex of Max's thighs and abs under his palms, and the narrowing spiral of pleasure deep in his gut. There's something almost disturbingly primal about it, about pushing his way into Max again and again and having nothing else to set his attention on but chasing his own high. He fucking sucks at meditation, no matter how he tries, but this is the closest he's come to quieting his mind in as long as he can remember.

It's not just about him, though. It's Max. Max all around him. Knees hooked around his waist. Fingers fluttering up and down his back as they try--obviously--not to clutch too hard at him. Daniel fucking loves him so much. He loves that Max wanted this and trusted him with this. He loves that Max makes this kind of thing happen for them. Max mind works in ways Daniel will never understand, but honestly, thank fucking God for that.

He can feel it when Max comes--not just the way Max clenches around him, but the sudden wetness that first hits Daniel's chest and then his stomach. Without thinking, he swipes his fingers through the mess and then gropes for Max's mouth, getting his cheek first before pushing inside. Max sucks hard, licks him clean, and Daniel has to pull away and fall to his elbows, tucking his face into Max's neck like he can hide from the wave of pleasure that breaks over him, pulling him under.

As soon as he can breathe again, he rips the headphones off, then the blindfold, and pushes himself up to look at Max's face. What he sees there is much the same as always: Max's cheeks are red, his eyes slightly wet, his mouth slack and his lips shiny-plump. He looks happy, thank fuck, and--

"Hey," Daniel says, frowning, "are you laughing?"

A snort escapes from Max, his chest visibly vibrating with it now. Daniel supposes there are worse reactions he could have, but this isn't exactly the evaluation of his performance he was hoping for.

"You started humming, toward the end," Max says, his voice pitched high with mirth. "It must have been a good song."

Daniel groans, burying his face in Max's neck again as the blood rushes to his face. "You're a good song," he says, pure nonsense, but also maybe not. "I hate you."

"I love you too," Max says, and turns his head to press a kiss to Daniel's temple. Daniel sighs and closes his eyes and lets himself feel only Max for a little while longer.

#maxiel #f1 #my writing #this ran away with me a bit #sorry if it's not really what you wanted!!

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jellyheadwriting · 1 year

Note

UHM THIS IS MY FIRST EVER REQ SO I HOPE I'M DOING THIS RIGHT. I loved your Shinji writing sm. I would love it if you could write [g/n] reader making a midnight snack with Shinji. No more stresses of school or tartarus for now just happily munching on stuff together before it's time to hit the sack. And maybe he tucks you in bc you nagged him THANKS MATE 👍

Hi!!! Thank you so much, I am honored to be your first request!!!! ( ´ ▽ ` ) I hope you like it...!!!

anmitsu (shinjiro x GN reader)

It was a warm June night.

All of your dormmates were fast asleep in their rooms, with all the gentleness of a baby who tuckered itself out from crying. An era of peace rested with you and your teammates… By some miracle, you are all happy and healthy.

Yes, everyone was snoozing away - Aside from Shinjiro and yourself. At this time of night, Midnight, you enjoyed time alone together.

Shinji sat upright on one of the lounge area’s couches, while you laid your head on his lap. Your eyes were on the TV, and his eyes were on you, his hand petting your head as you watched the cooking show he put on intently.

“Are… Are you sure you’re fine with watching this?”

He spoke quietly, with a slightly dry throat causing his voice to come out hoarse. Naturally, you looked up at him and reassured him that you liked watching this show with him.

“Hm,” He smiled, caressing your cheek with the backside of his hand. It felt like a feather tickling you.

Both of you looked at the screen now - The dish from earlier had finished being prepared, and they moved onto the next. Now they had begun to prepare a bowl of Anmitsu, a traditional dessert from the Meiji Era. Some example photos popped up on the screen, it looked so refreshing… Your stomach loudly growled.Shinji turned his attention back to you, and you hid your face with your hands, embarrassed that your emotions portrayed themselves so easily. He snickered at you, petting you again, offering reassurance.

“Hungry?” He asked you simply, since he already knew the answer.

“Anmitsu,” you repeated. “I’ve never had it…”

“ ‘S That so…”

A moment of silence passed. He scratched his cheek, eyes wandering to the front door as he thought.

“You wanna try it?”

You looked at him in happy disbelief, sitting up a little. You excitedly asked if he knew how to make it.

“Course I do,” he said, looking back at the screen to watch as they prepared it on the television. “Not like it’s hard. And, we have a couple of the ingredients here. Hm…”

He lightly tapped your shoulder, queuing you to let him stand up. After stretching a little, he looked back at you and gave you another small, yet warm smile. He grabbed his wallet off of the coffee table, and began to walk towards the entrance.

“Wait, are you going to the store? Let me go with you,” you said, suddenly feeling a bit guilty.

“No, you stay here,” He told you while slipping his shoes on. “I’m not gonna let you walk around at this hour. I won’t take long, promise.”

You weren’t feeling particularly stubborn tonight, so you decided to let him go. Not before telling him to be safe, though. He smiled, and you felt like you had ascended to heaven, seeing him smile so much in one night. When the door closed, indicating his departure, you turned your head back to the TV. About 20 minutes passed, and just as you were about to nod off, the front door opened again. You stumbled up from the couch to greet him, smiling with a sleepy face. He chuckled at your expression, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

“Sorry… That took a little longer than I thought. I had to stop by another store on the way home.”

You shook your head, telling him that it was okay. He thanked you, and took off his shoes again, heading for the kitchen. You followed him giddily, shaking away your drowsiness.

He wasted no time in preparing everything in the kitchen he would be using to prepare the Anmitsu. Curiously, he only brought out one serving bowl… You guessed that maybe he didn’t want any, and your heart hurt as you realized he was doing all of this just for you. You tugged his shirt, asking him if there was anything you could do to help.

“Hmm… You can stir the water and agar-agar powder while I prepare the fruit.. Just gimme a sec to get it going.”

You watched him with admiration as he filled a pot with water, mixing the ingredients together. You knew that he didn’t want you to do anything. He was probably just letting you stir so that you wouldn’t feel bad. Eventually you were in front of the pot, stirring as Shinjiro got out the store-bought dango. He stepped in between you and the pot before you knew it, telling you that you did a good job before pouring the hot mixture into a baking dish. He stuck that into the fridge, urging you to take a seat for a moment.

You did as you were told again, wishing to soak up his kindness like a sponge.

He brought out the cutting board, and turned to face you. “What kinda fruit do you want in it? We have a couple fruits in the fridge right now.”

You told him your preferences and he nodded, retrieving your selection.

The rest happened in a flash, he cut the agar-agar jelly into cubes, sliding them into the bowl he set out earlier. Next came the red-bean paste, the dango, the fruit, the Kuromitsu syrup, and finally a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Shinjo brought the bowl over, gently setting it in front of you. Your eyes sparkled with amazement, and he handed you your spoon, with a surprising amount of smugness, small as it was.

You thanked him for the food, and dug in. It was just as delicious as you imagined… He watched you eat it with a warm expression.

“Here Shinji,” you said, “Please have some.”

He hesitated, but after you gave him puppy eyes, he opened his mouth for you. You gave him the best spoonful you could manage, and fed him.

His cheeks warmed as he accepted.

“Isn’t it yummy,” you inquired.

He got a little more embarrassed at your praise, but he nodded.

As you finished the bowl, you gave him more spoonfuls, and he bashfully accepted all of them. Once you got to your last bite, you began to feel sleepy again, hazily setting your spoon down…You thanked him again, reaching out to hold one of his hands.

“I think it’s time to go to bed,” he got up from his chair, moving closer to you to help you out of yours. You agreed, rubbing your eyes as you stood up, holding onto him. You felt a little sad to be parting ways, even if you were both just going back to your rooms. You pleaded with him, asking if he would sleep with you in your bed.

“Huh?” he choked, looking surprised at you. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

You grumbled, and he sighed with restraint. As the two of you ascended upstairs, you spoke up again with another request.

“Can you at least tuck me in?”

He studied you, sighing again, but with a softness this time. “Alright, alright… Do you know how hard it is to say no to you…?”

While in your room, he helped you into bed, pulling back your blankets, and letting them fall gently back over you once you laid down. He smoothed your comforter out, and switched off the lights.

“Goodnight,” he said, and then attempted to exit.

You whined, and he turned around, shyly approaching you again. You asked him where your kiss was. He sighed his deepest sigh of the night, and leaned down, his lips ever so lightly brushing your cheek.

You finally told him goodnight, and fell asleep before you could memorize the cute face he was making.