#Anyways I was considering going to a friend over this but I have not invested enough in those friendships to just dump this on one of them

[papermonkeyism]

Poking at the dinosaur project thingy, this time with some production technicalities point of view.

Here be musings.

I originally thought of the project as a calendar, then a series of calendars that could be collected into an art book once enough art had been made for it, and at some point I thought of just skipping the calendar part and going straight for art books.

I've been going back and forth between those options multiple times over the years, and it's still kinda open. Like on one hand a simple calendar with just thirteen illustrations (twelve months plus cover) is the easiest and cheapest option, though pretty limited (what to do once the year presented in the calendar ends, and you still got unsold leftover stock?), and the other hand art books are big projects requiring lots of work, even more money, but be a lasting and very satisfying thing to have.

Maybe I should take a middle road and make a zine instead?

Maybe.

Though, this is where the shape of the actual project comes in.

I've always planned the project as having a slice of life style format, with little story and more focus in exploring the setting. Kinda just looking in and enjoying the view while you go. But I've noticed that keeping the "narration" as illustrations kinda keeps the immersion at arm's length too. While that is fine and dandy for a calendar where the space for any narrative would be very limited anyway, if I was going to do more with the setting, I kinda need something deeper. Even if the audience is fine just looking at pretty pictures, with ADHD it would be better to have something deeper to help keep me personally invested enough to actually plan, plot and produce the materials needed.

Should I make an actual story, with plot and stuff? Feels kinda unnecessary for a thing focusing on just illustrations, and I don't know if I really "click" with a text heavy picture book format. I kinda feel it would make comic as the best option, though that has its own downsides. I've always wanted to do full colour paintings of the dinosaurs, yet going comic it would have to simplify a lot and make it grayscale just to keep me sane. And, as someone who has done well over 250 pages of a long form comic, that's still a HUGE commitment I don't think I have the resources - mental, physical nor financial - to pull off.

I also kinda feel having a plot story would sort of detract from the "exploring the world" aspect and put more heavy focus on characters, which. Well, it's not *bad* exactly, just not quite what I want.

(Also I am aware the dinosaur clan I have has a kid character, and I don't want to make her the point of view character for the story. I have no interest doing a childrens' book. I mean, I am perfectly fine if kids do eventually end up liking my stuff, but I don't consider them my target audience. My target audience is me, an adult person in their later 30s, and a handful of nerds I consider friends and/or mutuals.)

Another option I've been toying with is kind of a double edged sword.

Those who got the Almost Real speculative evolution zine volume 5 got a bit of a taste of this, as I kinda tried it out there.

So... I've gone to pretty great lengths as a layperson to work in the setting of the project thingy. It's always bothered me when dinosaurs get just dumped into a story with no regards to when and where they actually lived, making for an anachronistic hodgepodge of what's popular forming into a mismatched fantasy setting, usually with throwing humans into the mix. I don't like that. I'm more interested in seeing the actual animals as they were, when they were and where they were, where the focus is in the dinosaurs themselves. Thus the limit to Two Medicine formation (with some of the surrounding areas included too, though still keeping to the same time period).

I do not want humans in my dinosaur stories. Period.

But what if...

So, imagine a research journal. There's a scientist visiting the clan of Singing People the project focuses on, with the mission of studying them, their life and their world. The book or zine or whatever could be a story of the dinosaur clan introducing themselves and their life to this person. An outsider point of view to excuse learning about them by them teaching this POV person how their world works. There could be some interaction and maybe interviews, and of course illustrations because you need to document your subjects after all.

Like, I'm kinda excited about the idea. It would let me get into the details I want to picture without getting too into the heads of the characters to limit the chances of artistic exploration. You gotta document the surroundings your study subjects live in after all! But you'd still get to know the characters because it's the job of the POV person to learn about them. Win win!

It's just that I don't want to put too much attention on this hypothetical scientist. Like I said before I don't want to mix my settings. The dinosaur project thingy's world IS Laramidia in the Campanian period of late Cretaceous, it's not meant to be a scifi setting, nor do I want to have any focus on any time travel.

Wonder if it would be possible to leave the scientist character vague enough to never actually get explained? They're just nameless outsider from undetermined time and place who's interviewing some dinosaurs. Maybe with some peronal opinions or musings but no anecdotes about their own life or themself. And whenever there's interactions between the scientist and any of the Singing People it just gets handwaved away. (Of course the Singing People are curious about them too, but that's not the point of the study so it just doesn't get documented or something?)

I don't know. Could that work?

#shut up paper #dinosaur headworld #the herd #long post #just thinking out loud again

[attackradish]

Hello my mental health is the worst it’s been all year. If not longer

I could verify this by going through my vent tag but I am not going to because that takes time. This trait of mine is part of the problem but I’m not in a place to fix that right now.

ANYWAYS why am I like this. I have some inklings as to why.

Work is now opening an hour sooner. Meaning I have to wake up earlier and I have been losing sleep as a result. This is not good for the Mental Health

Current drama with a coworker that I am not going to go into that because it’s complicated and rather stupid.

Today was supposed to be my Tax Day where I did my Taxes but I was hit by dread this morning so I didn’t get around to it until like 5PM and then realized I don’t have one of my W2 forms and I can’t go looking around for that because my dad will tell me how stupid I am and how I never care about anything and am doing this on purpose. And I actually can’t care about anything I feel, but it’s not like I’m not trying it’s just that I have no soul.

I cannot give my friends the attention they deserve. I am burnt out I have no energy left for being a friend and yet there are people who miss me. And I can’t be there often enough for them not to miss me. I am neglecting them and I am a terrible person but I need to be alone.

I really do feel that I have reached my full potential. There is simply not enough caring or gumption or whatever it is I’m missing in this body of mine to achieve anything further. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move out or date or even get a job I like better than DQ. I’m done being closeted in my parents house and I’m ready to quit early.

I can’t quit early. Firstoff I have friends who care about me, and I can’t imagine what it’d do to them. I’ve got a baby niece in the house too who smiles when she sees me so I gotta live for her too. And that’s not mentioning how difficult and impractical non-painful methods of dying are. Seriously. Best option I have is locking myself in the walk in freezer with a CO2 canister, but I learned from a cool book I read that high concentrations of CO2 will make you feel like you’re suffocating, and the best gas for that purpose is Nitrogen. Which costs money and is very conspicuous.

I also don’t want to die. I just want the suffering to be over, and death really seems to be the only way out aside from Miracles like universal housing passing within the next year or two, or I attain Godhood and can just do as I please. I think about dying and it makes me want to cry. Being on the verge of tears for long periods of time really does something for my perception of my mental health, being that I haven’t been like this since the family dog died. Maybe crying would do me good.

I should probably get a therapist but I don’t have time or energy for my friends, scheduling these things takes time and effort and I don’t want to have to talk to my parents about it. I should probably get antidepressants. Also my laundry basket from yesterday isn’t even all the way filled up and it’s 9:58. And I have work tomorrow but no uniforms. God I just need to rest.

BUT HERE’S THE THING ABOUT REST. I’VE ALREADY HAD A WEEK OFF OF WORK BECAUSE OF THE FEVER. MY JOB IS UNDERSTAFFED AND I CANT MAKE THEM SUFFER THROUGH THAT AGAIN AT SUCH SHORT NOTICE.

Anyways I have been putting no effort into finding a place since like last year, or finding a therapist. Or really anything. I’m not sure if I can even do that. I have reached my limit. I’m simply not much substance. I’m nice to have around and talk to but quite frankly I don’t have it in me to actually survive on my own. I don’t have it in me to die either. So who knows what is going to happen. I’m going to rot forever. Dying a slow death with nothing but fantasy to dull the edges.

I have a friend who’s offered to let me crash at their place, but I can’t take them up on that offer because I’ll just be the same lifeless rock that I am. Forever. And I can’t do that to them. If I can’t break free on my own then I’m afraid I never will. My chrysalis will just stay gathering dust. Sapping resources. I need to grow wings but I don’t know if I can.

So here I remain. Closeted at my parent’s house. Probably forever. The brain does not engage. I’ve been dead for years but the body still breathes. This is all I am and it is not enough. I’m gonna pretend I live in Star Wars now until I forget the useless thing that I am. I have work tomorrow.

#vent.tw #Suicide mention #Literally I cannot kill myself. I lack the executive function and the conviction #If I had enough motivation to get sleeping pills or nitrogen or whatever I’d have enough to get an apartment and be free from this mess #God. I’m going to die of old age #Anyways I was considering going to a friend over this but I have not invested enough in those friendships to just dump this on one of them #Out of the blue

[russellsppttemplates]

Never letting you go (Max Verstappen)

There was nothing stopping you and Max now

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first Max big piece to sort of introduce their arc, let me know what you think! ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions Jos forbidding Max and reader of dating, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"What do you mean you're going to the Grand Prix?", you quirked your brow as your friend Cara sipped her coffee, "I thought you said you'd never be caught dead one of those", you chuckled.

"Matthew's company got a bunch of passes because they got a deal with one of the sponsors - I think? - I don't know much about it, all I know is that he brought three home because he thought you'd like to join us", she offered.

You never hid how much you enjoyed watching Formula One, even if watching it, especially in the last couple of years, often brought emotionally heavy memories back.

"That's nice, count me in! What type of passes are they?", you questioned, taking a bite from the cake on your plate.

"I don't know, he was talking all about them and I must admit I zoned out", she admitted, "but he said they were really good! He was very surprised at what the passes had, but his boss is very cheap so I don't know how great they actually are considering the possible comparison", she smiled as you nodded, "count me in, though. It's been a while since I stepped foot on one of them", you recalled.

The last race you attended was when Max was in Formula Three still. The paddock was so big and crowded with so many people, you doubted you'd bump into him. It wouldn't do you any good, would it?

"How did you get hospitality passes?", you gasped as Matthew handed you the lanyard, "they've invested a lot of money so I guess the sponsors didn't mind loosening the belt", he shrugged, putting his own around his neck after scanning it.

"Thank you for this, by the way", you flashed him a smile, "no worries, Y/N, the only way I could convince her to come was if you joined us, and I don't mind actually spending the weekend with someone who also knows a little about the sport", he chuckled as Cara laced her arms with her fiancé, "I'm glad he has you to talk to as well, there's only so much feigned interest I can muster up", she rolled her eyes.

Scuderia Alpha Tauri had been Toro Rosso, but despite the name change, as soon as you walked in, some faces were still familiar from the pictures you got sent from Max on gia first season with them.

"Why did you get interested in Formula One anyway?", Matthew asked you while you sipped on a latte, "I always loved the idea of the cars going very very fast, and then when I actually had the knowledge to understand how they worked, they really intrigued me", you offered, "I also had a friend who was very into it, so he also escalated my interest in it".

"He didn't pull you enough to work on motor sport though?", Matt wondered.

"I didn't enjoy the competitiveness of all of it", you admitted, "it's very strict, and if you want to be successful, it takes the good things away - your family, your friends", you opened your heart to him, thankfully noticing it and sorting the heartfelt confession seemingly about a job, "they travel a lot and they're really competitive that is, I'd never be able to do that for a job", you smiled, hoping you saved yourself from further questions.

"That's why you did mechanical engineering, then?", he asked, "for the most part, yes", you replied, "Oh, they're starting free practice", you smiled, looking over to the track from the balcony seats.

Sophie walked into the RedBull hospitality, looking for her family. Because it was Monaco, they felt safe enough to bring the Lio and Luka to the paddock, knowing they would be close to home in case things didn't go well as planned.

"Grandma!", the oldest boy called her from his spot on his father's lap, his brother sleeping on his mother's chest.

"Hey, my dears", she greeted, "You won't believe who I found on my way here", Sophie began, "I'm surprised Max didn't tell me he invited Y/N. It's a shame she isn't here with us, though", she commented.

The first indicator of surprise should be the way the blond woman looked at her mother, "what do you mean Y/N is here?", she whisper-yelled.

"I just saw her in the Alpha Tauri hospitality, I was walking with Helmut and he was headed there, that's when I noticed her. Max didn't tell you?", she quirked an eyebrow just as her son sat down next to them.

"What didn't I tell who?", Max spoke, setting his plate of food down on the table.

"Why didn't you tell us you invited Y/N for this weekend?", Victoria was the first to scold him, hitting his arm in a sisterly manner, "and in Alpha Tauri of all places? I'm sure they would've bent the rules a little and give you a pass so she could be a RedBull guest!".

Max thought he heard incorrectly. Y/N, his Y/N was in the paddock, in the sister team of the one he now drove for.

"I, I didn't offer her anything", Max said, his brother in-law looking at him weirdly as well, "I don't know how or why she is here, but I had nothing to do with it. We haven't spoken in a while", he mumbled. A while, three years, same thing, he supposes.

"Well, I just saw her. You should go say hi, I'm sure she would love to but she can't exactly find you where she is, it has to be the other way around", Sophie offered.

"What makes you believe she would?", Max questioned, both himself and his mother and sister.

"Because the way you never forgot her, she never forgot you", Victoria sterned, "don't you think she deserves your attention? She was in it for the long run, Max, and maybe she has moved on, maybe even has someone", the thought alone made Max loose his cool, "but she was your friend, the person you trusted most in the world and you let her slip".

"Don't sugar coat it, please", Max sarcastically replied.

"It's true, Max, and you know it", Sophie said, sensing her son didn't want to talk about the topic, but not allowing him to leave the table without a piece of her mind as well.

Max needed to put on his suit again, ready for qualifying, walking along the corridor until he found his door.

"Hey, before you go", Victoria called her brother as he was about to go into his driver's room, "Lio is really fussy, so we're just going back to your place, I'm sorry", she said.

"It's fine, whatever you feel the most comfortable with", he said, waving at his nephews and brother in-law.

"We will be supporting you from home, then", she said, kissing his cheek, "And Max? I know you're not used to it, but follow your heart", she smiled.

"Can I do that now?", he softly bit back, smiling and blushing at his words.

"What's stopping you?", Victoria said as she walked back to her family.

"Who is that?", Jos asked as Max asked him if he could invite you over for dinner before the season began.

The conversations with Toro Rosso were getting serious and the opportunity for a seat in Formula One was right there, up for him to grab if he worked enough.

"She's my friend, you know Y/N", Max tried to reason with his father.

"For this to work, Max, I think you need to distance yourself from home", Jos advised, ignoring his mention of you and carrying on with his lecture, "I'm talking no parties, no trips to come and see friends and family - I really think those are just getting in the way between you and the career you deserve".

The statement was clear, and Max knew better than to question it.

"I've spoken to your mother - she wasn't the biggest fan -, but you really need to focus on this", Jos reiterated, "no friends, much less girlfriends", he chuckled.

The dinner ended up being just Jos, Max and Victoria, the thought of having you there quickly erased in his head.

When Max met up with you before he left for the season, he was antsy. Just a week before, you had stolen innocent kisses from eachother's lips and revelled in the feeling of being in eachother's embrace without a care in the world. And it felt good, so good, like the piece that was missing in Max's life finally completed the puzzle.

"Hey", you greeted, kissing the corner of his lips and allowing him to pull you down to sit on the sofa.

"I spoke to my dad, I'm leaving in a few days", Max said, "there's some testing they want me to do still", he mumbled, lacing your fingers in his.

"And where do we end up?", you asked the million euro question. Truthfully, you entertained the thought. Even though being away from Max for most of the year would be a challenge, the love you felt for him was too big, too great for you to forgo that challenge. You were his and he would be yours.

"It's not going to work, Y/N. I need to focus on racing", he stated blankly despite how much it hurt him to utter those words out to you as the conversation with his father resonated with him.

"Max your focus is getting a Formula One seat", his father sterned, "do you know how hard it is? How much effort and work you have to put in? There can't be any distractions!"

"But Y/N isn't a distraction!", Max reasoned. If anything, you were the one keeping him humble and with both feet on the ground at all times. You cared for him, not because of his racing, who he was or who he could become, but because you loved eachother.

You'd never do anything to ruin his career, Max thought as he worked up the courage to tell you all of it. He couldn't get distracted, not now. He couldn't afford making mistakes because he had a girlfriend back at home waiting on him.

Your understanding, however, wasn't aligned with his expectations. He hoped you'd fight, at least, but you swalled your tears and nodded, "okay, Max. I hope you get your seat, you deserve it so much, I know it will happen".

Max put in on pole, leaving you to smile and snap a picture of the moment, wondering if you'd have the courage to send it to him.

"So, does this mean it's over?", Cara asked, "Because I could do with going home, actually", she nudged.

"Let's go, then!", you smiled, putting your phone in your bag and looking for the way out, ending up following the other guests into the paddock.

"Y/N, dear!", you heard someone call your name, and on cue, you looked for the voice despite the fact that it wad unlikely someone recognised you there.

Sophie didn't age, you thought, as you looked at the source of the voice that called you.

"I'm not going to hold you up, guys, you can go!", you smiled, waving at Matthew and Cara once you assured them you would be fine.

"I'm sorry, Sophie - they're my friends, and he was the one who got the passes from his office", you apologised for leaving her to wait a little for you.

"It's alright, dear. It's been so long since I've seen you", she nudged, "I'm sure Max would love to see you, too!", she jumped straight in.

"Would he, though?", you squinted your eyes.

"He would, Y/N", Sophie said earnestly, "I saw you this morning - at Alpha Tauri -, and he knows you're here", she smiled, "I'm assuming you're watching the race, too. Pay him a visit, okay?", she rubbed your shoulder and left a kiss on your cheek, "He's also my ride home, so I need to go look for him! Bye, Y/N!".

Race day meant rush everywhere, so you got to the paddock just in time before everyone rushed inside, finding the perfect spot to watch the race.

"I need to take this call, one second", you said to Cara, recognising Max's contact on your phone.

"Y/N, hi! I didn't think you'd pick up actually", you could hear the nervousness on his voice, "thanks for the picture, by the way, it was very... nice".

"It's no problem really, I thought it would be a good memory to keep", you smiled, "are you ready for the race? Or do you want me to give you a pep talk?", you chuckled. Back in the day, whenever he didn't feel too confident about a race, you had the power to help him out his head in the right place and bring his winning mentality to light.

"I'm fine, actually", he smiled, "I- I was wondering if you'd like to meet up later", he gulped, "I'd like to talk to you, but it's difficult until the race finishes, and then debriefs and media and all that".

"Sure, text me when you're done then", you stated boldly, "have a good race Max, you know I'm supporting you".

"Even if you're with Alpha Tauri?", he joked.

"I never stopped supporting you, it's not going to be a guest pass that's going to change it", you said as he bid you goodbye, ending the call and finding your friends.

When Max won, you clapped unashamedly as everyone else seemed to join you in your excitement, and after the race celebrations were done with, you waited patiently for the text to get to your phone.

"So you're staying back?", Cara asked, "I am, I'm meeting a friend", you explained. At her curious stare, you furthered, "do you remember the guy I told you about when you tried to set up that double date?", she nodded, "yes, the guy you were friends with, and when you both wanted to take a step forward, he had this big shot as his dream career and his father wouldn't allow him to date anyone", she said as she realized, "my goodness, he's here? Y/N, go for it!", she encouraged, "I know you still have feelings for him, who knows? Maybe this is your chance to reconnect", she rubbed your shoulder.

After you bid goodbye to Cara and Matthew, a text go through to your phone.

From: Max

Mum is waiting for you at the door :)

Approaching the hospitality, you quickly spotted Sophie, "c'mon in, dear! Max wanted me to get you myself, he was afraid no one would ler you in", she chuckled, guiding you through until you were in their dining area.

"Y/N!", Max beamed, setting down the crayons he was drawing with at the table with Luka and walking up to you.

"Hey everyone!", you waved at Victoria, putting a pin the two little boys' curious stares as they looked at you so you could hug Max.

"Congratulations, Max, I knew you could do it", you whispered into his skin, his arms hugging you so tightly against him.

"Thank you, Y/N", he spoke, "I missed you so much, I missed this so much", he squeezed you one more time before allowing you to greet the rest of his family.

"This is Tom, and that's Lio and Luka", Victoria said after she hugged you tighlty, "say hi, guys!", she encouraged as the two little copies of Max waved back at you.

"We're going to head home, it was great seeing you, Y/N!", Sophie announced, "I'm sure we'll see eachother a lot more from now on", Victoria complimented, helping her husband pack up the kids' belongings and toys so they could retire to Max's apartment.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime this week", he jumped straight forward, "I'm having dinner with the team today and then the rest of the grid want to go to the club, so I wouldn't be able to spend that much time with you, and I want to be able to just focus on you", he smiled.

"That's fine by me, I appreciate the thought", you smiled as he led you to one of the tables, asking one of the caffé staff for something to drink for the two of you.

“Listen, I think, I think we found each again for a reason", he began boldly, not sure if this was the way to go after not having spoken to you in a couple of years. Still, it wasn't a lie.

"Define found, considering we've been iving in the same city for nearly a year", you smiled, "although you don't spend much time here anyway, so I guess that's a nice enough excuse", you teased, your foot tapping his shin playfully under the table.

"So, Monaco, hm?", Max started, "I didn't expect you to live here out of all places", he nudged, wanting to know more about your move but afraid he was stepping in vulnerable territory.

"I did it because of my earnings for sure. I've got to save as much as I can on tax on the fortune I make as a female engineer", you sternly said as he looked the most surprised you'd ever seen him, "I'm joking - not all of us move to Monaco so our million euro salaries have better taxes", you teased.

"Why did you do it, then?", he asked, smiling at how familiar it all seemed. Just like old times, he thought.

"The company I work for was the one that needed the tax benefits", you clicked your tongue, "and they wanted people to move here. Only one of my colleagues moved here with her whole family, as they expected, so they ended up calling the ones that weren't attached to anything or anyone in particular, and I was one of them", you shrugged your shoulders, "I moved to a new country with a different language, the only people I knew were my work colleagues, so I had no one to complain about them to, but I make it work - at least I like to think I do", you smiled.

Not attached to anyone, he recalled, humming at your response, "it's not such a bad place to live, right? Granted I don't spend much time year, but still enough to appreciate it", Max spoke.

"How about you, Mr World Champion", you nudged, "how does it feel?".

"Obviously it's great, and everything that I worked for", he added, knowing the underlying topic in the conversation, "I get to drive fast cars and I travel the world, there's not much left for it to be the complete dream", he said, gingerly touching your fingers over the table and accepting your hold when you laced them together.

Conversation was flowing easily until one of the employees told Max that he would have to go and get ready for the dinner, meaning you would have to part ways.

"Does Tuesday work for you? I'm not sure how well I'll be tomorrow", he chuckled, "yes, that's fine by me, just text me the address and the time", you smiled, getting up and kissing his cheek, "have a good time, Max, but be careful with the alcohol, I'd hate to have to pick you up again", you reminded him of the time he got way too drunk and he insisted he would only go home if you came to pick him up.

.

Dinner was great and Max invited you back to his place, hoping you'd be able to talk properly about the elephant in the room in a more private and comfortable place.

"You're struggling there, aren't you? Even with your itty bitty small hands?", Max teased as your pinky just about stretched enough for you to not lose everything by dumping the contents of your bag on the sidewalk.

As you and Max left the restaurant, you fiddled with your wallet in your bag, hoping to keep the card the waiter gave you safe for the next time you wanted to visit the place.

"I do not have itty bitty small hands!", you argued, shaking your bag a little to make sure everything was safely in place.

"We need to have the same starting line - like", you rearranged them so your wrists would be touching. Still, it didn't make much of a difference on your end. It looked like it even highlighted a few more differences, "yours is much bigger, I give up", you giggled.

"See?", Max said as he held your hand out against his, "these are the size of fairy hands! Tinkerbell probably has bigger hands than yours!", he exclaimed as you noticed how much bigger his hand was compared to yours. His fingers were a little bit thicker than yours and his palm covered all of your hand almost completely.

Now or never, Max thought as he laced your fingers in his once you let your arms drop and rest by your side. His thumb rubbed your skin and warmed you up, "was this your plan all along?", you wondered, feeling the bravery around you two and choosing to act on it.

"Lacing my hand in yours or proving to you that my biggest mistake was letting you go all of those years ago?", Max stated as he looked deeply into your eyes.

"We should talk about this inside", you bit your lip, allowing him to guide you through the apartment complex he lived in.

His living room was decorated in classy tones, probably with the help of him mother and sister, as you sat down on the sofa and face eachother.

"I know I apologised at the time, but I'm still sorry, Y/N", Max said, "at the time it was the dream and I didn't have much room for my own decisions. Still, I should've fought", he concluded.

"You didn't blatantly acknowledge it and decided we couldn't be together, Max", you conforted despite the hurt you felt at the time, "it hurt, - like a bitch actually -, but not because you were following your dream. I never wanted to pull you back and get in the way of your achievements", you gulped, "but I would be lying if I said I wouldn't like to give this a go, to give us a chance", you smiled.

"I know I have crazy schedules - I am barely here during the season -, but you were always the one I thought about. When I first raced in F1, when I got my first podium, my first win, my bad races - I wanted you there", he admitted, blue eyes looking into yours, "I can't promise that it will be easy, but I'll never risk you or our relationship, that's non negotiable", he stated.

Moving closer to him, you cupped his cheek with your palm, the slight stubble tickling your skin, "I'm in, Max", you smiled, taking the plunge and kissing his mouth, lips moving in sync as his hands pulled you into his lap.

The blissful moment was interrupted by a meow, Jimmy and Sassy walking into the living room, "Oh, guys", Max held you close to him as the cats sniffled you, "this is Jimmy and Sassy, my cats, took then long enough to leave the guest bedroom", he smiled as you tried to pet them, "cute, they seem nice enough - for cats anyway".

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from an in-progress DP x DC soulmate AU starring Jazz Fenton, a very unfortunate mugger, and a smoothie. Oh, and I guess Jason is there too.

Jazz meets her soulmate in, of all places, Park Row. Or as the locals call it, Crime Alley.

Seems about right for her life, she decides as she kicks the shit out of the guy who was trying to stab him for his wallet fifteen seconds ago. Her soulmate watches her curiously, seeming unconcerned by the fuss, and takes a sip of his smoothie.

Also seems about right, for her soulmate. A guy who got too nervous when necessary violence happened was not going to survive Thanksgiving in Amity Park, much less Christmas.

Well, it is Gotham.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi, sorry, one sec," Jazz says, then leans over the groaning mugger and offers him a card to the best local crisis center she's managed to track down via research and word of mouth in the four months she's been in Gotham. Not her card, obviously, since she just roundhouse-kicked the guy in the head to protect her soulmate from him and that's arguably a conflict of interest. Or close enough, anyway. "So you should check these guys out, they've got a very high success rate in their job program and there's an associated food bank and rent assistance, if you qualify."

"What?" the mugger says dazedly.

"Also if you ever touch my soulmate again I'll make you wish for the cold mercy of the Infinite Realms," Jazz adds pleasantly. The guy goes very, very pale. Then he snatches the card from her and runs for his life and eternal soul.

"This is the nicest thing the universe has ever done to me," her soulmate muses, taking another sip of his smoothie.

"Getting you mugged?" Jazz asks wryly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Are you religious? Do you want kids?" her soulmate asks. "Also, who's your favorite Bat?"

"Robin, obviously," Jazz says. "The overdramatic and feral little stabby one, I mean. He reminds me of my little brother. Makes me feel a little bit maternal, to be honest. So that answers two out of three, and as far as religion goes, I only believe in Psychology Today, highly customized guns, and my mom's ninth-degree black belt."

"This better not awaken anything in me," her soulmate mutters under his breath.

"That seems unlikely, or we wouldn't be soulmates," Jazz says.

"Point," he says, sipping his smoothie again. Jazz didn't even know anywhere in Crime Alley sold smoothies, but she is new around here. "Wanna go break my bed? Or maybe go get coffee?"

"You've already got a smoothie," Jazz says.

"So I do," he says.

Jazz looks him over. He's her soulmate, so she's not surprised to find him gorgeous. She wasn't ever expecting a familial soulmate–Danny is a very intense sibling to have, and her parents are very intense parents to have, not to mention everything about Dani, and "soulcousins" aren't typically a thing–and she's never been especially interested in keeping around too many close friends, so considering all that, she was already expecting her soulmate to be a romantic one. If they are platonic, it's definitely only going to be because her soulmate is an aromantic asexual. Which he probably isn't, since he already asked about kids and religion and if she wanted to go break his bed.

Then again, she's met people who'll posture worse than that. Especially guys, and especially ace ones with a clear investment in their masculinity, and given this particular guy is built like a brick house could only dream to be, chances are he has some feelings about his masculinity. Though he's also drinking a visibly pink smoothie, not a neutral-colored protein shake or generic black coffee, so . . . fifty-fifty there, maybe?

Further inquiry will probably be required.

"I'm Jazz," she tells him. "What's your name?"

"Robin," he says. Then he–pauses. Blinks. "I mean–Robin."

He looks very confused for a second, and Jazz blinks too, and refocuses her eyes a bit. Oh, is he–

"Are you overshadowing that guy?" she assumes. For the love of–of course her soulmate would be a ghost, she thinks dryly. Who'd want a soulmate their mom and dad wouldn't want to grill for information and ask a thousand invasive questions, after all? "I mean, he's really hot, don't get me wrong, he looks good on you, but I'd rather meet you for real."

"'Overshadowing'?" Robin looks bemused.

"I'm Danny's sister," Jazz clarifies. Robin does not look less bemused. "You know, the new king?"

"What?" Robin says. Jazz frowns a little, feeling a bit bemused herself.

"Do you not get out much?" she asks.

"Never, actually, but also yes and constantly and way too often," Robin says. "My job is kind of demanding that way."

"What's your job?" Jazz asks curiously. Ghosts' jobs are always interesting, even if only for how they interact and manifest with their Obsessions. She wonders what his Obsession is, actually, because smoothies seem like an unlikely option but she doesn't have much else to go on here.

Can't be weirder than Box Ghost, either way.

"I'm a Bat," Robin says, then looks absolutely alarmed and also absolutely horrified.

"Huh," Jazz says, tilting her head. He seems really big to be one of the Robins, and a little too old besides. A year or two younger than her, maybe, and even the older Robin she's pretty sure is at best Danny's age. Though that's assuming this body is the one he fights crime in, admittedly. Although it's kinda funny if one of the Bats is just named Robin. Must get annoying on patrol, though. "I didn't know any of you were dead, but I guess that's not actually a surprise either, given the profession."

"Why did I say that to you?" Robin asks tightly.

"I told you, I'm the new king's sister," Jazz says. "You know, it's the royal family thing. Technically I'm his regent, legally speaking, but only because I'm better at paperwork and he doesn't count as a legal adult in the Infinite Realms yet. Hasn't been dead long enough, you know how it is. But I've been alive long enough to, apparently? But his 'being alive' technically stopped tracking at fourteen. It's complicated, basically."

"What the fuck does that mean?!" Robin demands.

"It means you can't lie to me because you're one of my brother's subjects," Jazz says, really not understanding his reaction. Every ghost knows this, after all. The only ones who wouldn't know it are too young to be away from their guardians' haunts or even leave the Infinite Realms at all. Definitely a ghost who knows how to overshadow someone this thoroughly and fully is old enough and experienced enough to know it, though. "Whose body is that, anyway?"

"It's my father's," Robin says. Jazz's eyes widen a little and she has several very concerned internal reactions before he chokes and sputters–"I mean–it's not–he's not–!"

"You realize there is no healthy way to mean that, right?" Jazz says. Robin looks frustrated and freaked out and she feels bad about it, because she didn't mean or want to upset him, but she clearly has. "Sorry. I mean, I still secretly feel like I'm the one parenting my parents half the time, you're not the only one with weird feelings about yours."

"I'm his," Robin says, then grits his teeth in visible pain. He's this close to crushing the smoothie cup he's holding but hasn't actually done it. Jazz wonders if that's an example of deliberate self-control or subconscious restraint.

She's pretty sure Robin didn't mean to say that, though.

"Are you okay?" she asks, a little concerned. Normally ghosts just stop talking about things they want to lie about, when they realize who she is.

"No," Robin says. "I'm just his. I've always been his, I always will be, his good soldier, his worst mistake, not his actual fucking son, why am I telling you this?!"

"I don't know," Jazz says, frowning in increased concern. "Usually people can work around the inability to lie a little bit, but you sound like you're being compelled to speak. Increasingly like, actually. Hm. What's your Obsession? And what kind of core do you have?"

"What?" he says.

"They might be making you unstable, is all," Jazz says. "I don't think it'd be a soulmate thing but to be fair I don't really know how that works. Are you dead, or are you a manifestation of something?"

"I'm dead," Robin says, staring at her. "That bastard clown beat my head in with a crowbar and blew up what was left of me. I woke up in my grave and–I–how did you know that?"

"Well, I didn't, that's why I asked," Jazz says reasonably, idly wondering why the Joker isn't dead yet, since this is Gotham and obviously it wouldn't be another "bastard clown" Robin was referencing, even if he wasn't a Bat. But like, at least dead via the court system, if nothing else. The Joker is insane, yes, but no one can argue he doesn't know right from wrong at this point. Does New Jersey just not have the death penalty, maybe? She hasn't thought to check. "Maybe it's the guy you're in? He's not drunk or high or anything, is he?"

"I hate drugs," Robin says, gritting his teeth again; tightening his grip on the smoothie again. He's trembling, just barely. "I hate them. I'd never touch them. I don't know what you are. You're scaring me. Please stop."

He definitely didn't mean to say that, Jazz can tell.

But . . . he doesn't know what she is.

He doesn't know.

Well, that's a problem.

"Robin," she says gently, and for some reason his face twists painfully at the sound of his own name. "Can I see your core? Please?"

#hardcover ship #anger management ship #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #idk which order is 'accurate' here lol #jazz x jason #jason x jazz #rinfic #long post #wip: queen regent jazz and her dead soulmate

[writefightandflightclub]

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

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

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

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

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

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

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

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

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

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

Many years earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?” 

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

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

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

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

“I really need to meet that guy.” 

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.” 

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

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

“You just don’t remember him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soldiers; not friends. 

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

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

Friends; not lovers. 

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

…realises he is having fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll follow you anywhere. 

***

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

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

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

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yay!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.” 

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

“Thank you, Sir.”

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

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yessir.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye. Here’s to that.” 

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

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

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

“Can I give you some advice?” 

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

“Marry her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colin has this all wrong. 

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

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

Isn’t that the same thing?

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

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

You. 

You. 

You.

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

There’s nothing here. 

Nothing with you. 

Nothing he could have with you. No way. 

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

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You a’ways do, asshat.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Even? 

It could never get close to even. 

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

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

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

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

It scares him.

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

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

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

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

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

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

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.” 

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

***

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

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

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

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.” 

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

“I stink.” 

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

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

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

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

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

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

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”  

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

You scoff. “What? For real?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?” 

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t-“

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

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

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

“But won’t your mom-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do.“

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

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

“Yeah. Exhausted.” 

“Let’s lie down then, alright?” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?” 

“Do I what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you ask, anyway?” 

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

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

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s only what you’re due.” 

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?” 

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

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

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

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

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…” 

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

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

“No. No, please.” 

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

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky. 

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

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

“And I love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you. 

The day he realised he was in love with you. 

And the day he started running from that.

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

The fourth will be tomorrow. 

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

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

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

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

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. you and todo are besties, somehow. you're thinking about someone else.

“If I’m gonna be seen out in public with you, I’m gonna need you to act sane, Aoi,” you offer, huffing. He barely looks up, still taken by the convention programme in his hands and you sigh, not bothering to repeat yourself as you pull your knees to your chest. It’s cold, and Todo is warm, so you rest on his shoulder and he’s kind enough not to shrug you off (or perhaps too distracted by the chance to see his ultimate waifu to). 

In another world, you’d be jealous, but you’ve long gotten over the potential of romance, settling comfortably into a platonic sort of siblinghood over the past year. God let you dodge that particular bullet and you’re thankful for it, although you’re staring down the barrel of Cupid’s shotgun. You shake your head away from thoughts of the pink-haired ray of sunshine, and look at your own schedule, wondering how Todo convinced you to come to camp out here this early in the first place.

You yawn loudly, raising your head up to see the sunrise along the horizon, past other huddled bodies dotting the streetside. Rather than be upset at Aoi for having such delusional aspirations, you should be glad that despite all that you’ve all been through in the world of curses and worse, he can still invest in something as ridiculous as fanatical love. Even normal, attainable love terrifies you to the very core, chilling you more than the winter frost trying to seep into your bones.

“If you’re going to ignore me, I’m not doing this again,” you say out loud. Todo looks at you finally, but instead of meeting your annoyance similarly, he grins widely. 

“Ha, actually, can’t wait till you come out with me for the international tour!”

You glare at him, then check your watch.

“Wasn��t this shit supposed to open hours ago?” You ask.

Todo shrugs, eerily calm. “I’ll wait hours for her.” Your nose scrunches in disgust.

“Okay, you might, but what about me?!”

Todo gives you a look, shrugging his broad shoulders again, something that irritates you. “Love is patient, you know?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” 

You get to your feet and he considers reaching for you, then remembers you don’t have the heart to ditch your friend anyway. Crossing his legs and resting his face on his planted elbow, he waits and watches you. As expected, you stand and make to leave, but turn on your heels and sigh before sitting back down. For the next few minutes, you don’t say anything additional until finally Todo glances at you. 

“Text Yuji back.”

You blink.

“What do you mean, ‘text Yuji back’?” 

Todo has intermittently pulled out a boar bristle brush and smooths down his edges, preening in the mirror, and you can’t believe how many hair products are in the small pouch he brought with him. You wait for him to respond, blood pressure rising as he takes his time, then places his brush down on the camping blanket.

“He’s worried about you.”

You grimace.

“Tell him to mind his business.”

Todo looks at you sideways. “You are his business the same way Takada is my business.”

You would argue with him that Takada, again, is not going to fuck him, but it would involve admitting that the unaddressed part of that statement is true.

“I respect you-“

“Debatable,” you interrupt, but Todo continues as if you haven't said a word.

“But that’s my brother, you know?” 

By now, Todo is spritzing perfume on himself, enough to make you choke. You’d strangle him if his neck weren’t so thick.

“Tell your brother I don’t like him,” you murmur. 

Todo pats his face with overpriced lotion. “I’m not lying to him.”

“Aoi, I swear to God.”

He rummages through the bag again, and spritzes you this time, a floral scent that has you swatting the air.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I can’t have you cramping my style. Takada needs to know that my friends smell good too.”

You can’t believe that you woke up early to do this, but bite your lip and decide not to rage further. Before you can ponder what exactly to do about the friend of a friend who very clearly is in love with you, the gates open and Todo has packed up in a millisecond, warning you not to slow him down. 

He’s fanatical in love, and while you’ve once wished someone would adore you to this extent, it’s been more than you can handle to have even a fraction of this type of adoration pointed towards you.

#yuuji x reader #yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #platonic todo x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #mimi's notes #daydreams: jjk

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

What's One Night With A Different Knight

Pairing: Jake Lockley x Reader & Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: very brief mention of abuse; not towards the reader just as an idea but besides that I think it's safe here- there's some bickering at the end but otherwise a... relatively cute fic

Genre: very much fluff

Summary: When Marc coincidentally overhears you telling your friend you might dump Jake he steps in to help

***

Jake Lockley. He's been your boyfriend for about 3 months now although at this point you're not too sure he'll keep that title much longer. It's not that Jake mistreats you or anything but, he can be cold, distant. Sometimes it feels as if he's not there even when he's with you, which honestly isn't saying much because these days he's hardly with you anyway. This thing between you, it's new, and you want to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he's going through something he's not ready to share with you because of how new things are. That you can understand, and you don't necessarily want to give up on your relationship if all of this is because he's having a hard time, especially because he was so kind and charming when you met. Although, 'he was so kind when we met' is the beginning of too many stories that end with bruises, restraining orders, arrests, death. So you won't put too much weight in 'he was kind and charming when you met'. You don't want to believe that Jake would ever hurt you but you still don't know him well, and you can only ignore so many warning signs. The more you mull it over the more you think it's time to end things. You just want to figure out the best way to do so.

"El I think I'm gonna break up with him." You mutter to your friend as you walk back from dinner together, the summer nights being perfect for it.

"Jake? I thought you really liked him!"

"I do. Or- I did. These days there's not enough of him around to like. That's the problem." You sigh. "I know he has a life, I mean, so do I but the bottom line is that Lockley isn't putting in effort and I refuse to be the only one that cares in this relationship."

"Maybe you should talk to him about it?"

"Maybe. It's just that it's only been a couple of months, if he's already falling off like this so soon I mean, it seems like he can't be bothered." You shrug.

"I think you should talk to him if you see a future with him in any capacity. But I know you don't have patience for being treated like an option."

"Correct, I don't. I won't prioritize someone who won't prioritize me. I'll think about it though. I just- I'm not going to beg him to be invested in our relationship that's all."

You had no way of knowing that, coincidentally, not Jake but one who shares his body heard a good bit of this conversation. While Jake hadn't told you about his secrets, between Moonknight and his fractured mind, it didn't take Marc and Steven long to find out about you. Considering how little he fronts, it was easy for them to solve the mystery that had him showing up more often. You. They obviously didn't know you personally but they knew enough about you. Marc had particularly taken an interest in you and while Steven would never admit it, because you weren't his girlfriend, part of him liked you a little bit too. They'd both like you to stick around but Marc, unlike Steven, is willing to cross lines if it means keeping you around. Which is why the night after hearing you vent to your dear friend, he's strolling coolly to your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. He knocks on the door with all the confidence in the world, smiling kindly when you open the door, even when he sees the confused look on your face.

"Jake? What are you doing here?" You ask. Marc reveals the flowers from behind his back.

"Now I would've got your favorites but forgive me I'm not sure what they are. I do however know flowers and put together some that show what I feel about you. Blue salvias, morning glories, forget me nots, and a collection of carnations and camellias." Marc says.

"I'm not personally well versed in flowers so I'm not sure what any of them mean but thank you." You chuckle. "And what's up with your voice?"

"I thought it'd be fun to do an accent." He shrugs.

"Oh? Should I do one too?"

"Nah, I love your voice too much." He winks.

"How cute. Did you, really come all this way just to drop off some flowers though?" You ask.

"No. So you'll have to look up their meanings later, I'm actually hoping you can spare a couple hours of your evening for a date. I thought I'd surprise you."

"A date? I'm hardly dressed for a date."

"Well you could wear a paper bag and still be the most gorgeous person in any room we entered, but I'm a patient man, go ahead and get ready. I'll wait."

"Give me 15 minutes." You say ushering him into your apartment.

"Take your time mi amor." Marc says, throwing the endearment in to appear more like Jake.

Marc??? Where are we? Marc sighs at the voice in his head, he'd hoped that both alters would be blocked for most of the evening.

"Jake babe, where are we going?" You call down the hall.

"It's a surprise princessa!" 

"I mean I know, I really just need the dress code."

"Casual is fine, although you'd look perfect in anything."

"So charming this evening." You muse.

JAKE'S GIRLFRIEND?! THAT IS JAKE'S GIRLFRIEND MARC!

Marc rushes into the bathroom and turns on the faucet, glaring at the mirror.

"Yes I know who it is Steven thank you."

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?!

"I'm thinking that Jake is about to lose her and I have no interest in letting that happen."

So what's your plan?! To tell her the truth about us?

"No! At least, not tonight. Tonight is just about showing her what she deserves."

That is absolutely mad. Not to mention a betrayal of trust, both hers and Jake's. She thinks you're someone else Marc.

"Yeah, that's kind of the point."

So you're just going to pretend to be him indefinitely?

"No, she's this close to breaking up with Jake so- I'm proving he's not a shit partner."

Right, so that when he fails to deliver after this she'll dump him quicker.

"I'm trying to save their relationship not ruin it!"

You realize if Jake ever tells her about us and she finds out about this she will probably be pissed off

"That's fine because if I don't do this they probably won't even last long enough for Jake to tell her about us."

You've lost your mind Marc, you cannot pretend to be Jake anymore than you could pretend to be me or I could pretend to be either of you

"For a couple of hours, I absolutely can actually."

"Jake? Where'd you go?" Your voice halts their conversation and Marc turns off the sink, swinging open the bathroom door to greet you with a smile.

"Apologies hermosa, I'm here." He says.

"Well, let's go on this surprise date of yours." You say  You've put on a pair of jeans and a mesh sweater over a crop top for the evening, something comfortable but cute since you still don't know where you're going.

"Yes, let's." Marc offers his arm to you and you loop yours through it as you exit your apartment.

"Will you tell me where we're heading now?" You ask him while he leads you through the streets of town.

"I will not, but I'm sure you'll guess before we get there." He says.

"How on earth would I be able to guess before we get there?" You frown.

"Listen closely amor." He says and you allow yourself to take in the sounds of summer evenings. There are people talking, and walking, everywhere, but after a moment you hear faint music, not like the kind playing in restaurants that you pass. It's- carnival music? You can hear the sounds of laughter and screams and the almost obnoxious chimes carnival games are known for and just as you piece it together you just barely pick up the smell of overpriced fair food.

"Are we going to a carnival?" You ask with an excited gasp and though Marc doesn't answer he smiles in a way that tells you you've guessed correctly. Just then you turn a corner and are suddenly met with so many bright lights you're tempted to close your eyes for a moment.

"Surprise." Marc says quietly as you approach.

"I didn't even know there was a carnival in town! This is so cool!" You say beaming at him.

"I thought you'd like it." He smiles softly.

"I love it. Thank you." You tell him.

"Anything for you." He says and he means that. He's not sure Jake would say it but- he feels that way. In this moment, watching you take in the carnival with childlike wonder. He would do anything for you. He's sure of it.

"What should we do first?!" You ask him excitedly.

"Whatever you want, it's your surprise. We can do it all, ride every ride, play every game, eat everything from every stall, win every prize they've got, we can just walk around, we can ride the same ride a hundred times if you want. I'll do whatever makes you happiest." Marc says and you smile so sweetly he's sure his heart is fit to fly out of his chest and into your hands.

"Let's start with the swing carousel." You say pointing out the ride.

"Of course." He nods leading you both to the line. He's quiet as you make your way to the front and onto the ride but he holds your hand even after you're sat in your swings waiting for the ride to start. After a few moments, the ride lifts into the air and begins spinning in large circles, taking all of you with it. Marc watches you as you happily look around at the rest of the carnival from the vantage point this ride gives you. There's a childlike wonder to your happiness that when he's looking at you he feels at peace like every problem he's ever had is dissolving. It's a feeling he wants to hold onto. When the ride ends you and Marc take turns picking what order to hit the others in. Honestly, he'd let you decide every step he takes if you wanted to, but you insist that he have some say in the evening.

"I didn't take you for the carnival type Jake." You say after you've ridden most everything there is to ride here. The use of Jake's name is like a bucket of cold water in Marc's face and he has to remind himself not to react outwardly.

"I don't know that I'd say I am actually but I am the make you happy type, cariño." Marc says kissing your cheek.

"You're so cute tonight." You giggle. "We have to ride the ferris wheel before we go." You point at the large brightly lit up wheel.

"Alright but before that let's play one of these games, yeah? Tell me what prize you want and I'll win it for you." Marc says.

"You don't have to do that Jake." You shake your head.

"I want to. Go on, pick a prize." Marc tells you. You look at the different games around the carnival and your eyes eventually catch on a stuffed raccoon. It's big with blue eyes and paws and ears and feet and it's hanging over one of those impossible ringtoss games.

"Do you think you could win one of those raccoon toys?" You ask, pointing at it.

"Easy." He nods.

"Well the bottle ring toss is notoriously hard usually. Don't take it too seriously." You tell him as he walks up to the booth with you.

"Trust me princessa, I've got this." Marc winks at you before buying his rings from the attendant who looks extremely bored.

"Alright." You laugh.

"Watch this." He turns slightly to the side and tosses the rings in rapid succession, making every throw with surprising accuracy.

"Wow." You say.

"Told you it'd be easy." Marc says throwing his arm around you. He points at the stuffed raccoon you wanted and the game attendant pulls it down with a shocked congratulations.

"Thank you Jake." You say kissing his cheek.

"Of course amor. To the Ferris wheel now, yes?"

"Yes! Let's go!" You smile, clutching the raccoon closely. Your Ferris wheel ride is peacefully quiet and when you eventually return to the ground, Marc walks you back to your apartment. You chat idly as you walk, catching up about how you've been since you last saw each other and before you know it, you're at your apartment door.

"I had an amazing time tonight." Marc says.

"Me too. I dunno what's up with you tonight but, I like you like this." You say with a small smile.

"Yeah? Me too." He smiles. You place a hand on his shoulder to lean up and kiss his cheek shyly.

"Text when you get home, okay?" You say.

"Of course amor." He nods.

"Goodnight Jake." You say softly.

"Goodnight mi vida." He breathes out as you step into your apartment. You almost don't want to close your door because it means the night is over but you do and Marc leaves, whistling happily to himself as he was back to their flat. It's not until he makes it all the way back that a voice rings in his head.

If we didn't share a body hermano I would kill you right now.

Marc looks at the nearest reflective surface to see Jake glaring at him.

That was my girlfriend! What the hell are you doing?!

"Hey, if not for what I did tonight she'd probably be your ex girlfriend by morning. She was ready to dump you just the other night. You should be thanking me." Marc says.

Marc, that's Jake's life. It's not your place to meddle, we agreed to let each other have our things. You overstepped seriously. 

This time it's Steven who steps in, gentle but scolding.

"I just saved his relationship. That girl deserves better, all I did was show it to her."

Not only have you fundamentally destroyed the trust of their relationship but you've set an expectation you don't even know if Jake can maintain! At best you've strung her along and at worst you have to maintain this lie which can only lead to a million other problems because when you eventually start to care for her and hearing her call you Jake starts driving you crazy and you're tempted to tell her the truth you won't be able to because at that point you'll be in so deep that she'll never speak to either of you again if you do tell her.

"I gave her exactly what kind of relationship she should have, now Jake either has to step up or lose her for good."

And when he doesn't fill this weird bar you've set up because he's not you, then what? Because she was about to dump him until you stepped in, right? 

First of all who said I couldn't fill it?!

"If you can be that for her why haven't you?"

It's none of your business Marc

Case in point. He's not gonna do what you did. You've just created this unnecessary contradicting person for her and there was literally no reason for that.

"Whatever, she deserved a nice night."

You're ignoring the part where she is MY girlfriend and you had no right to take her out! Just because she doesn't know there's more than one of us doesn't mean it's okay to take advantage of that!

"If she's your girlfriend. Treat her well and we won't have this problem."

The only problem is you meddling

"God you two are such nags. I saved your relationship tonight Jake. I won't apologize for it because you're lucky you can still call her your girlfriend right now." Marc rolls his eyes and walks away from the mirror and their conversation. Yeah maybe he should've left well enough alone but you deserve nice things and even if it means you leave Jake for not being enough, at least you should know that someone will give you everything you deserve.

Meanwhile, after you've showered and changed you look up the meaning of those flowers he brought you, the blue salvias mean 'I think of you', and morning glories mean 'affection', forget me nots are self explanatory, the different colored carnations mean everything from my heart aches to I'll never forget you and the various camellias have meanings of longing and other dramatic declarations of love, at least according to a website you found. It's a very thoughtful collection of flowers, more emotionally expressive than Jake has been for most of your relationship but it's something that warms your heart as you lay in bed thinking about your date. An absolutely perfect date.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction

[enkas-illusion]

Games at the Fair

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Fluff – nonetheless, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 

Theme: Friends to lovers (more like situationship to relationship I guess??) ; non-sorcerer au

Content warning: fluff, jealous Nanami, flirty stranger Choso x reader, suggestive, mentions of smut

Summary:

You've been conflicted over your situationship with Nanami Kento ever since the two of you shared a moment two weeks ago. The elephant in the room has been left unaddressed so meeting your crush/friend for the first time in two weeks makes you feel some type of way. The stars align when a hot stranger named Choso tries to woo you at the fair, you decide to indulge in his advances a bit to force a reaction out of Kento instead of talking to him like a sensible adult.

Author's Note: Hello, this is my first attempt at writing a one-shot. Borderline giggling-in-your-bed, kicking-your-feet type fluff but love is cringe so it is what it is. All characters are in their 20s. If you enjoy it, feel free to like, reblog or comment. Open to criticism, just be kind about it. Thank you for reading! 

-Eren’s Birdie

Song dedication: Yes or No by Jungkook / Love Talk (English Ver.) by WayV

Your eyes wander to the cafe door once again when you hear it open. You think you're being sneaky with it but your desperation did not go unnoticed by a certain loudmouth.

"He'll be here, chill already! Kento is a man of his word," Gojo teases, making the rest of the group giggle.

"Yeah well... okay whatever." You reply curtly. Your gaze moves up from your coffee to look at your friends, only to find Satoru, Suguru and Shoko all looking at you intently.

"We were pretty drunk that night but not so wasted that we’d forget everything. We saw you two leave the club together and you're kinda painfully obvious about your infatuation... So what's up with you two?" Suguru inquires calmly.

Geto often swears he couldn't care less about gossip but he's annoyingly attentive when it comes to catching hints and linking pieces together when there's any sort of drama encroaching. 

You consider rolling your eyes but for some reason you feel like a criminal caught in an act... there's only so much one can evade before they gotta surrender. So you give in and lean forward towards the table but not before glancing at the door. Only this time, it's to make sure Nanami isn't the one walking in.

"Well, that night, if you guys remember, Kento was the only one who had decided to stay sober since he assigned himself as the driver-" You began, only to be interrupted by Gojo.

"Yeah and for what?! He booked an uber for the rest of us anyway when he left alone with you." Shoko smacks him on the head as if to shut him up. You side-eye him as you continue your story.

"Anyway... so, having had one too many shots, I was right up there with you guys. But when I started feeling a bit uneasy, Kento offered to drop me home and come back again." You realise you're fidgeting with the sugar packet on the table nervously but you stop the action as you look up to see all three of your friends leaning in, waiting for you to continue. It almost makes you laugh but you hold back because you know the odds aren't particularly in your favour with this story, and you’d hate to be teased for it by them later tonight.

"And then he drove me to my place. I invited him up for a cup of coffee-"

"At like 2 in the morning?" It's Suguru this time.

"It was the alcohol talking, okay?" You sigh and he simply shrugs, urging you to continue.

"We did end up having some coffee and we talked till like 4am? I’m not actually sure but it was late late. By that time, I was neither buzzed, nor uneasy. I was well aware of everything that was happening... and it just so happened that we kinda kissed and then he blurted out some excuse and left." You mumble towards the end of the sentence; so much so that if your friends weren't as invested in this story, they would've probably missed what you'd just said.

"HOLD ON- what do you mean kinda kissed and left?" Satoru almost yells. "Please elaborate." Suguru adds.

"Well, it just happened, okay? I don't know how to explain it, one minute we were talking and the next minute he held my face and pulled me in to kiss me so sensually, yet so softly that I honestly don't know what to make of it! But when things got heated, he excused himself cause he didn't think it was right to take advantage of me when I was drunk. I tried telling him I wasn't but he just left. He said he'd talk to me later but he has texted me about everything BUT the incident as if it never happened and do you know how annoying it is cause it's been TWO WHOLE WEEKS!" You sigh, out of breath, only now realising you could probably give Eminem a run for his money with how quickly you blurted everything out.

"Jeezzzz... that's bad. How can Ken fumble so badly?" Gojo laughs in disbelief. 

Shoko adds, "He clearly likes you, and it's obvious you like him too - yet both of y'all are pussies who are too scared to do anything about it. It's the most frustrating trope of all romances if you ask me."

"Well, what do you want me to do? He has to be the one to initiate it. He's the one who left me hanging." You state, matter-of-factly.

"Whatever it is, figure it out asap cause here comes your man." Satoru gives you a sly smile before waving and smiling at the door. You turn to look at Kento walking in. He's wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway and you mentally slap yourself for instantly feeling aroused at the sight.

"Hi," his voice breaks your trance as you greet him back along with everyone else. "Sorry for being late, I had to wrap up some things last minute at work." He adds. Maybe you're being delusional but it sort of feels like he's directed it specifically to you.

"No worries Kennyyy, we've got our tickets right here, we can walk right in front of the line at each ride." Gojo waves the tickets proudly as Kento makes a less than pleasant face at his friend's stupid nickname.

"Thank you Satoru, what would I possibly do without you." Kento says it with a straight face, making you snort quietly. Your eyes meet for a split second when he looks at you and suddenly you're reminded of how nervous you're supposed to be around him.

"Let's get going? Would still hate a big crowd even if we had the premium passes." Suguru interjects as you all pay and leave.

You hand Kento a Matcha-flavoured cold coffee. Although it's common knowledge that it's his go-to drink of choice, he raises an eyebrow in surprise while accepting it. "Thank you." He gives you a quick smile as he walks out the coffee shop, next to you.

But wait a minute... Your brain goes into overthinking mode as you realise you seem too pliant. Bringing him his favourite drink, making those eyes at him, laughing at his jokes, seemingly ignoring the elephant in the room for his convenience.

And before you could rationalise with your own self, you clarify, "We knew the guys would want to rush to the fair as soon as you arrive so Shoko thought it'd be a good idea to order yours beforehand." 

Lies. Pure bullshit. But two can play this game so that’s exactly what you were planning to do.  

The carnival was a short walk away and Gojo generously allows everyone about 20 minutes to do their own thing before calling them to where the roller coaster is.

Suguru and Satoru had split from the rest to check out the Mirror house and Horror house. You lock arms with Shoko as the two of you seemingly share a single brain cell when you rush towards the candy stall. This stall in particular had been on your list ever since Shoko had heard that they had candy in every flavour imaginable. Nanami tags alongside with his hands in his pocket, comfortable with being left out. 

"Let's get the basics out of the way. The sweetest, tooth decaying batch for Satoru?" You wonder out loud.

"And half sour, half spicy for Suguru?" Shoko adds and the person attending to you suggests a few options. While you're busy choosing for the boys, you hear Nanami speak for the first time in what feels like forever. "What are you planning to pick for me?" 

"Kento you're never really picky about food so I don't really know what you enjoy… I'm the wrong person to ask…" Shoko says awkwardly. She was trying to give you an opening. He looks at you to check if you caught onto the fact that the question wasn't for her to begin with. 

"Hmm… since you're here, it'd be best that you pick whatever you like." You give him a half-forced smile.

He looks like he’s about to retaliate but his mouth closes as soon as it opens and it has you wondering what he’s fighting his own mind over so hard. Was it really that conflicting to decide whether he liked you or not? You push the unnecessary thought to the back of your head, not really wanting to dive deep into the feelings department at that moment.

Instead he turns around and picks a mixed bag of chocolates that ranges from pure milk to 99% cocoa. You would've picked the same for him and it kind of makes you happy that you know him so well. Maybe you were being a bit mean now, but nevermind - this is the plan, to rile him up so much that he has no option but to realise that some issues need addressing. 

Once you pay for the candies, you buy a few more snacks from other stalls before you see Gojo's texts on the group chat, calling everyone to where the roller coaster is.

Like Gojo had said before, the premium ticket really does push you to the top of the line. You barely have to wait for a few moments for them to do the basic machinery check before the group of 12 people that you're a part of is let in.

As if following an unspoken agreement, Shoko and Suguru sit together at the front but Satoru is too much of a dumbass to get the memo. As soon as Kento sits on one of the seats, Satoru climbs in next to him. You quickly sit behind Kento to avoid further embarrassment. 

Shoko turns around and her face almost looks murderous when she stares at Gojo. He only shrugs back at her. Seriously, how can someone be so smart yet so oblivious and clueless when it actually counts???

You're too busy to notice the person next to you. But you turn your head when you see their seatbelt being secured in place along with yours.

"Well if it isn't my lucky day," the guy says as he looks at you, "... sitting on a roller coaster next to a pretty lady."

You're amused by the compliment. You know this all too well — the easy to flirt, charming, hot guy who knows exactly what to say to get the girls swooning. The tattooed sleeve and dishevelled hair only feed into the fuckboy image and you know better than to be serious so you decide to humour him.

"And why might sitting next to pretty ladies be of any consolation? Don't tell me you're scared of a carnival ride." You feign shock.

"Nah, it's a relief. We get the hand holding part out of the way, and when this is done, we can move onto better rides." He winks at you.

"And who says I'm holding your hand?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

"And why wouldn't you want to?" He challenges you, copying your tone. He makes a waving motion over his face and body as if to present himself to you. It kinda makes you laugh as you visibly cringe.

"Alright, fine! We can go the usual route of dinner and a movie first!" He adds.

"My god, you're relentless!" You're fully laughing at how unserious this strange man is.

"Actually people usually call me Choso but I think I can get used to Relentless." He puts his hand out and you shake it briefly. 

"Hi Relentless, I'm y/n," you reply, smiling.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady," he says, repeating your name. You hear the first signal that secures the seatbelts in place. Choso puts his hand out and you look at him.

Your eyes briefly wander to the front to check if the stranger's words had any effect on Nanami. Even if it did, you're disappointed to see that he wasn't showing it at all.

"I don't remember saying yes?" You question playfully.

"Will it improve my chances if I say that I'm terrified of roller coasters?" He retorts.

"Are you? For real?" You ask, surprised.

"Nope." He snorts, still holding his hand open invitingly. You laugh before swatting his hand away.

"I don't hold hands till the 10th date!" You joke as another signal blares and the roller coaster slowly begins moving towards the drop.

"So does that mean I can hold your hand after 9 more dates?" He teases.

"Guess you'll never know unless you try." You tease him back.

Just before the dip, you swear you saw Kento look back to give Choso a quick stare down, but before your brain could note it for later analysis, the adrenaline overtook as soon as the ride commenced.

When it ends, you quickly say your goodbyes to Choso before you regroup with your friends. You'd stay here all night if you were to decipher each of your friends' emotions but more or less everyone made a what was that!? face, except for Kento. His face had pure annoyance written over it. You were almost surprised by how obvious his usually unreadable face was.

You change the subject to talk about random shit as you walk towards the games section. When the rest of the group starts chattering about whatever, Nanami pulls at your arm to slow your pace to let the group walk ahead. You slow down as you fall behind and he finally speaks up.

"Care to explain?" His voice is calm but laced with irritation.

"Explain what?" You frown.

"I thought we..." he trails off, as if he's unsure about the right words to use. You decide you’ve had enough of him wanting to say something yet saying nothing at all. So you decide to do it for him.

"Yes, I also thought we had something going on but it's okay, you take your time, ignore me for 2 more weeks if it suits you and run away again the next time something happens." You say, mostly calm but almost not. It's only now that you were letting your annoyance take control because you were upset. Clearly. The last two weeks had been awful, mentally playing a game of ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ each time he texted you.

Kento's eyes soften as he runs his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, I should've reached out. I got busy with work after the weekend and later I figured I could just talk to you face-to-face when we met today." 

Excuses. Not good enough.

"You had plenty of chances to do just that in the last hour or so. I like you Kento... I don't know how many more hints you want. But I'm kinda disappointed..." you look at him. 

Nope this is enough, best not to take shit any further, you decide. But that's the problem with confronting someone, you always test the limits of how much you can poke a person till they burst, "I hate indecisiveness. At least Choso knows for sure what he wants and makes his move on time." 

The puppy eyes he was looking at you with up until a second ago fade away and his jaw tightens as he gulps whatever words he had on the tip of his tongue. Speaking of the devil, as if on cue, you see Choso near the games section, only to find him already looking at you.

"Date 2?" Choso grins at you, "Tell me sweetheart, do you like stuffed toys?" You nod.

You can sense the tension as Choso ignores Kento who’s standing right next to you the whole time. You walk further away from both the men, suddenly finding the display of the soft toys a bit too interesting. Shoko is looking at the stacked toy pyramid and you ask her what prize is for what game.

"The dolphins and elephants at the bottom are for whack-a-mole," she says, pointing at Satoru who's frantically trying to win it.

"The random tier above it, ugliest by the way, is for the ring hoop thingy," she points at Suguru trying his hand at the game.

"And the top tier with the fluffy teddy bears is for Target shooting," she points at the stall where you were just a minute ago. You turn to look at Choso and Kento both picking up rifles to begin shooting their respective targets.

No matter how annoyed you may be at him, you can never ignore just how beautiful the man is. His forearms look delicious as he adjusts the rifle to his shoulder. You peel your eyes away from Kento’s veiny arms with much difficulty and focus your eyes on the target.

Each person gets five shots. Five clean shots to win the teddy bear. And both the guys take their aims in tandem. It almost feels like watching two teams take penalties during a FIFA world cup finale, not knowing who's gonna win. 

You know Kento is competitive but he's always a good sport even when he loses a card or board game to you. Once again you’re surprised to see him groan out loud in frustration when he misses the last shot, whereas Choso gets a perfect score, winning the teddy bear.

Choso brings the big teddy and hands it to you, "Let's exchange gifts? My teddy for your number?" You smile at the soft toy in your hands. Before you have a chance to respond, you hear Kento’s stern voice coming from behind Choso.

"No. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let that happen." he declares. Hell of an awkward situation to be in as Choso, you and Shoko all stare at Kento, who looks visibly angry.

Kento points at the Panda at the very top, the biggest prize of them all, "What the hell is that one for?"

"Oh... No one tries that ‘cause it's the hardest, Beat the bar challenge. You gotta hang onto the pull up bar for 3 whole minutes so it's basically an impossible prize." Shoko explains.

"Okay." Is all Kento says in return as he walks towards the man in charge of the bar challenge game. He gives the man a token and pulls up his sleeves even further as he grabs the bar.

You stare in disbelief as the countdown lights up on an LED display next to the bar as he hangs to it. It has you baffled that Nanami is doing this out of pure spite and jealousy but you'd be lying if you said you weren't turned on by the change in his demeanour, seeing him all worked up like this.

As he passes the two minute mark, without any sign of struggle, a sizable crowd gathers there to see if he really takes the panda home. Towards the end, Gojo and Geto start the 15 seconds countdown, hollering and hooting to cheer at their friend.

When Nanami's eyes meet yours, his cocky smile only grows when he sees you cheer on him as well. The tiny crowd roars when the 3 minute mark is crossed.

He half-yells a, "Just to be sure" as he does a muscle up with ease before jumping down from the bar. You're impressed but you still mouth a ‘show off’ as you roll your eyes at him jokingly. He walks towards you with the prize panda in hand. 

The panda is about three feet tall and extremely fluffy — no wonder it was the top prize.

Kento, not so politely, pulls away the bear Choso had won for you and instead holds his panda out in front of you. He looks to the side to find the other man and with a smug smile tosses the bear back at Choso, who catches it with quick reflex.

You're still processing the whole thing because you kinda want to memorise every moment - this is so out of character for the stoic man you've always had a crush on. You've liked him for how calm and composed he is but seeing him like this has almost multiplied your attraction to him tenfold. Guess you pressed all the right buttons.

He pulls you out of your reverie as he says, "Is this decisive enough for you?"

And before you can answer, he pulls at your waist with his free hand till you're flush against his chest.

His head leans down to your level as he kisses you more passionately than he did the first time at your place and you can't help but feel weak in your knees. You feel as if your brain is going to short-circuit any minute now but you kiss him back, relishing every moment of it before he pulls back.

"I'm going to assume that's a yes." You can't help but blush as you look down to avoid his eye contact. How can you possibly stay mad when he has so clearly declared his intentions with you in front of everyone. 

"Satoru, I take it you have your car this time. I’m gonna ask for a raincheck on drinks night." Nanami says to his friend. You feel dazed as you simply look at your three friends with equal amounts of embarrassment, shock and excitement.

Reading between the lines isn't hard. Kento might as well have said 'I'm going to fuck her and I cannot wait one moment for it' cause that's what his words seemed to imply.

“Why am I even surprised?" Gojo sighs.

Shoko punches his arm, "I'm pretty sure they couldn't care less about those drinks."

"Righttt," Satoru grins at you and says, "Have fun! Kenny has a really big penny. Saw it in the gym locker room once."

"SATORU!", you scold him.

"Hey dumbass, maintain some decorum." Suguru cringes.

"It's okay, she's about to find out anyway." Kento says coolly as he intertwines his fingers with yours and starts marching towards the gates.

You stare back to see you can't find Choso anywhere. Makes sense, you note to yourself. Then your eyes land on your friends and you grin with all your teeth. You turn your head to the front again as you look up at your man.

Up close, you notice the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead from all the exertion at the pull up bar. Holy shit, you wonder, everything about this night couldn't have gone any better... but you have a hunch, he's about to prove you wrong all night long.

#erensbirdie #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsukaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanamikento x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #nanami fluff #nanami smut

[magicfootballstuff]

Just Friends (claudia pina x reader)

Summary: After your cousin set you up on a blind date with her teammate, you’re too stubborn to give Alexia the satisfaction of knowing her matchmaking was a success, but it’s harder than you thought to keep your blossoming romance with Claudia a secret.

Can be read as a sequel to Blind Date - shouldn’t be necessary to read that one first but it does provide a bit of context.

———

“So how was it?” Alexia asks.

You should have known that your cousin’s invitation to meet her for coffee two days after your blind date with her teammate was just an excuse to be nosy and find out how it went. Still, you decide to play dumb.

“How was what?” you ask, as you sip from your coffee.

“Don’t be an idiot, you know what I’m asking,” Alexia scolds you with an eye roll. “How was your date with Pina?”

“It was nice. She was … nice.”

It was way more than nice. Part of you wants to gush about how well the date went, about the kiss and the fact you haven’t stopped thinking about Claudia ever since and how you can’t wait for the second date, but you’ll save that for your friends rather than your over-invested cousin.

“Nice enough for a second date?” Alexia asks, raising her eyebrows in hope.

“It wasn’t that kind of vibe. We got on well once we got past the awkwardness of being on a blind date, but we both agreed it felt more like friends.”

“Damn, I was sure that you two would hit it off. Never mind, now that I’ve opened your eyes to the wonderful world of dating women, there are so many options…”

“Alexia,” you warn her. “I’m an adult. I can date on my own. Do you know how embarrassing it was to have to admit to Claudia that my cousin is interfering in my love life?”

Alexia grins and counters, “Equally as embarrassing as Pina having to admit that her teammate was interfering in hers?”

“Yeah, about that… don’t ever set me up with one of your teammates again. You might like that kind of drama, but footballers aren’t it for me.”

“How about musicians? I think I know a girl who…”

“Alexia!”

��——

Your second date with Claudia is a cute afternoon coffee date. Her busy football schedule and your university deadlines mean you don’t have much time, but after the success of the first date you agree to meet again a few days later just before Claudia has to go away for a Champions League game.

“Did you get interrogated by Alexia too?” Claudia asks, as you sit on the terrace outside the coffee shop waiting for the waitress to bring over your drinks.

“Yup,” you confirm with an eye roll. “I think she’s disappointed it didn’t work out between us.”

“Didn’t it?” Claudia asks, with a smirk.

“You know what I mean,” you grin back at her. “Anyway, she’s already trying to set me up on another date.”

“Really?” Claudia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Anyone I’d know.”

“Well, I’ve warned her against setting me up with footballers,” you reply. “Been there, done that.”

“Ouch,” Claudia says, clutching her chest dramatically as if pretending you’ve wounded her heart. “You were a lot more charming on the first date.” 

“Anyway, I’ve told her not to bother setting me up with anyone else either. Not that Alexia needs to know, but I’ve already got my eye on someone.”

“Oh yeah, what’s she like?” Claudia grins at you. “Should I be jealous?”

“She’s stunning,” you tell Claudia. “Quite funny, got these really nice eyes, a really pretty smile. And she’s not a bad kisser either.”

“Well I think you should date her then,” Claudia shrugs, as the waitress brings over your coffees and sets them down on the table between you.

“So do I,” you agree, with a smile.

———

What you didn’t consider is that by keeping your continued dates with Claudia a secret from Alexia, she would keep trying to find you the perfect girlfriend. 

It’s been four official dates with Claudia now and it’s going well. Far from being jealous of Alexia’s determined matchmaking, it’s actually a big source of amusement between you. There’s a bit of a thrill to keeping this to yourselves, the excitement of your first ever romance magnified by the secrecy, like you and Claudia are living in your own little bubble as you get to know each other. And it’s going so well that you’re starting to catch real feelings for her, so you know the bubble will have to pop sooner or later, but the longer you can keep this away from Alexia’s scrutiny, the better.

Which means Alexia still thinks you’re single and perfect for her matchmaking experiments.

You don’t know if Claudia was just more resilient in telling Alexia to stop or if your cousin has just reserved the special ‘family only’ wingman approach for you, but it seems to be just you on the receiving end of Alexia’s plans. Since the first date with you, Claudia seems to have escaped unscathed, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t find endless amusement in hearing you complain about Alexia’s latest plot.

Tonight, your cousin has brought you to a gay bar. Alexia has a week off from football matches and has decided that you’re not fully out of the closet until you’ve experienced Barcelona’s gay scene. Plus, as you expected, she thinks it’s another opportunity to find you a girl.

You’re perfectly happy with the girl you’re already seeing. The girl you’re currently texting to fill her in on your latest predicament.

You Alexia’s brought me to a gay bar

You glance over at your cousin, who is currently talking to a group of three girls close to the bar, and try to guess which one she’s going to send in your direction. Probably all three, one after the other, as you politely explain to them each in turn that you’re not actually looking for anybody and even if you were, you’d approach them yourself instead of asking Alexia to do the hard work for you.

Luckily, Claudia responds to your message almost immediately.

Claudia Still trying to set you up?

You Desperately. What are you doing tonight?

Claudia Night in with a couple of the girls. Wish I was with you instead

You let yourself imagine that scenario, mentally banishing Alexia from this bar and replacing her with Claudia. Though this is your first experience of a gay bar, you’d much rather be enjoying it with her than your cousin. You like the idea of being glued to Claudia’s side all night, holding her hand in yours, dancing with her, kissing her, so that all the other girls here tonight know there’s no point hitting on you anyway because you’re already taken.

Maybe one day in the future, if things get serious enough between you that you decide to come clean to Alexia, you can enjoy nights like those with Claudia.

But for now, you’ll have to settle for Alexia and her determined matchmaking.

You quickly text Claudia back.

You You wish you were in a gay bar watching Alexia try to set me up? Weirdo…

Claudia Can I come over later?

You You seem pretty confident Alexia’s not going to find me a girl tonight

You put your phone away as Alexia returns to you, thankfully alone, and fills you in on the latest gossip.

“So the one in the middle, the one in pink, is called Nadia and she’s single,” Alexia says, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “Plus she thinks you’re cute. You should talk to her.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that you’re still trying to set me up with someone?” you ask, hoping to deflect Alexia’s attention away from her mission. “Like, what if one of these girls you introduce me to ends up being a serial killer and you send me home with her. How are you going to live with yourself if my mutilated body shows up in two weeks time? How will you show your face at family Christmas this year?”

“You’re such a little weirdo,” Alexia says, draping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple. “You know, that’s why I thought you and Pina would be a perfect match. She’s weird too.”

“We do get on well,” you admit to Alexia, adding, “As friends.”

You manage to wriggle free from Alexia’s embrace and at the mention of Claudia, take your phone out again, angling your phone away from Alexia as you read the latest message.

Claudia I think you’ve got your eye on somebody else 😉

You glance up at Alexia again, who is already scanning the room for her next target. You don’t know how much more of this you can put up with before you crack and confess what’s been going on between you and Claudia.

You Give me thirty minutes then I’ll make my excuses

———

It’s starting to feel dangerously like an actual relationship.

Claudia invites you to watch her next home game and it’s easy to accept. You go with your aunt and your other cousin Alba and everyone thinks you’re there to support Alexia, but when Claudia nets a stunner of a goal in the second half, you cheer much louder for her than you do for either of the two goals that Alexia scores.

At full time, you make your way down to the side of the pitch and wait patiently as Claudia signs a few shirts for fans, before she finally gives you her full attention.

“Congratulations,” you tell her, your chest bursting with pride. “That was some goal you scored.”

“Helps to have my number one fan in the crowd,” Claudia quips back.

“Oh really? Where is she?”

You look around, pretending to scan the crowd, until Claudia slaps your arm.

“Idiot,” she scolds you. “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot.”

You sat with your family to watch the game, wearing an old jersey with Alexia’s name on the back, but the two of you know that you probably wouldn’t have come to the game if Claudia hadn’t asked you to be here. She’s the one you came to see.

You’re prevented from being able to express any of this, however, by Alexia’s appearance at Claudia’s side.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Alexia greets you teasingly, draping an arm around Claudia’s shoulders. “You’re not corrupting my baby cousin, are you Pina?”

“I told you, we’re just friends,” you say to Alexia.

She raises her eyebrows and says, “If you say so…”

“As if I’d want to date a Putellas anyway,” Claudia scoffs.

“You’d never be so lucky,” you tease her right back.

“Okay, I’m gonna leave you two to flirt,” Alexia says, giving you a deliberate look. “Are you coming round for dinner at Mami’s tonight?”

“I’ve already got plans,” you answer elusively, because while you haven’t yet asked Claudia, you’re hoping she’ll want to come over and celebrate her goal with you tonight.

Alexia backs away and greets a few young fans a little further down, and you can focus all your attention on Claudia once more.

“So we’re just friends, huh?” Claudia asks in a low voice. “Do you let all your friends do the things I did to you last night?”

“Only you,” you say, cheeks flushing at the memory of having Claudia in your bed last night. “Do you want to come over and do it again tonight?”

Claudia grins.

“Like you even need to ask.”

———

Claudia spends the night at yours again, claiming you as her reward for scoring in the match, and you wake up the next morning with her arm draped around your middle and her head on your chest.

“Morning,” you mumble sleepily, pressing your lips to the top of her head as she stirs against your side.

Her arm tightens around you, fingertips squeezing your waist, and she nuzzles her face further into your chest.

“You’re a great pillow,” Claudia replies, her voice still husky with sleep. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” you agree, your fingertips tracing absent-minded patterns up and down Claudia’s naked back.

Moments like this, the two of you spending a lazy morning in bed together, are like a little glimpse of heaven. And to be honest, it’s these moments that make you question the decision to keep your budding relationship a secret. You could do this all the time, spend more nights together than apart, hold each other’s hands and gush about how much you like each other and cheer Claudia on at her games instead of pretending you’re there to watch Alexia, if only you stopped hiding the fact that you’re dating.

It’s been almost two months since that blind date. To be honest, you’re not really sure why you’re still keeping it from Alexia. Claudia is starting to become too important to hide.

“What if we told Alexia?” you suggest. “I mean, we’d tell everyone but she’s the reason we’re keeping this to ourselves, right?”

Claudia lifts her head, hair tousled in a really cute way, and frowns at you.

“You really want to?”

“Don’t you?”

Claudia pauses to think, then says, “I guess so.”

You’d been hoping for a little more enthusiasm, but Claudia doesn’t seem convinced.

“We don’t have to,” you quickly backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

“I’m not saying no,” Claudia says, her eyes going wide as she realises you’re doubting yourself. “I want to tell the whole world about us. It’s just a big step. Like you say, it’s not just telling Alexia, it’s telling everyone.”

“It’d be nice though, don’t you think? I love that this is our little secret, but wouldn’t it be great to not have to hide. I could wear your jersey to watch your games instead of Alexia’s.”

“I like the sound of that,” Claudia grins. “But that would mean … well, we haven’t really put a label on this yet, but if you’re going to wear a jersey with my name in public, that sounds pretty official, don’t you think?”

You know what Claudia is implying and this is new territory for you. You’re not sure if being able to refer to Claudia as your girlfriend is something that just happens or if you need to ask her permission first, but you agree that when you tell Alexia, you want it to be with that label.

You’re just about to open your mouth to ask Claudia if she wants to be your girlfriend, when there’s a loud hammering on the front door of your apartment.

“Shit,” you say, as Claudia rolls off you. “Stay here.”

You clamber out of bed and grab the nearest clothes you can find, a pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt that Claudia wore yesterday when she arrived at yours, before you race out of your bedroom to the front door.

You peek through the spyhole before you open the door and are immediately glad that you did because you can see Alexia standing in the hallway outside your apartment.

Rushing back towards your bedroom, you tell Claudia, who is still lounging about amongst the crumpled sheets, “It’s Alexia. Get dressed and hide.”

The banging on the door resumes, and you know you need to answer it and hope that you can somehow keep Claudia hidden away in your bedroom until you can get rid of Alexia.

Quietly closing the bedroom door behind you and trapping Claudia inside, you return to the front door and pretend to be surprised to see Alexia as you open it.

“Alexia? You woke me up.”

You rub at your eyes for dramatic effect, which goes ignored by Alexia as she doesn’t wait for an invitation and steps into your apartment. You spare a glance at your bedroom door, hoping that there’s no sign anybody is behind it.

“Do you want to come for brunch?” Alexia asks, dropping onto your couch. “You skipped out on family dinner last night, I thought we could hang out today instead.”

“What if I’ve got plans?” you ask, thinking of how you’d much rather spend the only day this week when Claudia doesn’t have training with her, especially as she has to go away later in the week for an away game.

The problem with dating your cousin’s teammate is that Claudia’s schedule is Alexia’s schedule, Claudia’s free time is Alexia’s free time.

“Do you have plans?” Alexia asks.

“Yes.”

“And what are those plans?”

“None of your business,” you retort, because you haven’t been awake long enough to come up with a good excuse. Searching the depths of your brain for an escape, the best you can think of is, “I have to study.”

“You can study later,” Alexia counters, shaking her head. “Does Pina want to join us for brunch?”

You feel all the colour drain out of your face.

“I don’t know,” you manage to choke out. “Why don’t you ask her? She’s your teammate.”

“I’m not stupid,” Alexia says, with an amused smile. “You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been like a different person since you went on a date with her?”

“So what if I have?” you shrug, determined to keep up the lie until you can resume your conversation with Claudia from earlier and get her consent to tell Alexia. “It was a nice date. Maybe finally going out with a girl was good for my confidence.”

Alexia ignores your deflection and continues, “Then there’s the fact that Pina has turned up to training with a hickey twice in the last few weeks, and both times were the day after you’ve had mysterious evening plans you won’t tell me about.”

You’re starting to realise that there’s no way out of this, but you continue valiantly.

“What Claudia does in her own time is…”

“You know, I really thought that taking you to the gay bar last week would force the secret out of you, but you’re really committed to keeping this from me.”

You close your mouth and clamp your lips together, knowing that there’s no escape. Silence is perhaps your only option.

“I know,” Alexia continues, “why don’t we just ask Pina now if she wants to join us for brunch?” Alexia pauses, and you only have a split second to prepare yourself for what comes next, before she raises her voice and shouts through the apartment, “Pina! We’re going for brunch - do you want to come too?”

You think this might be the most humiliating moment of your life, until it’s overshadowed a few seconds later when Claudia sheepishly opens your bedroom door and peers out. She’s at least dressed, of that you’re thankful, but with you grabbing her t-shirt in your haste earlier, she’s thrown on a hoodie from your closet that both you and Alexia recognise as yours.

“She knows,” you tell Claudia, with an apologetic shrug.

“Of course I know, I’m not a fucking idiot,” Alexia says, rolling her eyes. “It’s very cute that you thought you were hiding this from me. But you’re both very into each other and it’s disgustingly obvious.”

“Is this where you warn me against hurting your cousin?” Claudia asks, stepping further into the room and coming to stand by your side.

Now that the secret is out, you reach for Claudia’s hand and give her fingers a reassuring squeeze, before dropping them again.

“No,” Alexia shakes her head. “You’re adults and I love you both. But this is where I say I told you so. I knew that setting you two up was a good idea!”

“And this is why we didn’t tell you,” you blurt out. “I know that winning is your thing but this isn’t about you winning at matchmaking, it’s about…” You pause, and turn to look at Claudia, taking a deep breath before you address her directly and continue, “It’s about how much I really like you and want to wear your jersey at matches because I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Are you asking me?” Claudia asks with a smirk, Alexia’s presence completely forgotten.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” you ask.

“Yes,” Claudia says, stepping closer and reaching for your waist with her hands as she goes in for a kiss.

A kiss that is interrupted by Alexia pretending to retch in the background.

“Okay, no,” Alexia cuts you off. “I take it all back. You’re not cute together and I definitely don’t need to watch as you defile my baby cousin, Pina.”

“It’s a good job you arrived when you did,” Pina tells Alexia, her hand dropping and finding yours as she turns to look at your cousin with a mischievous look in her eyes. “If you’d been ten or fifteen minutes later, I’d have been doing a lot more to your ‘baby cousin’ than just kissing her.”

“Claudia…” you whine, cheeks burning in shame, though a part of you is disappointed that Alexia did show up when she did if that was the wake up treat Claudia had planned for you this morning.

“Yeah, that’s too much information,” Alexia grimaces. 

“You’ve only got yourself to blame,” Claudia shrugs. “You set us up, remember?”

Alexia’s eyes rake down your bodies, from your mismatched clothes to your joined hands, and she lets out a groan.

“Yes, and I regret it every day. Now go and get dressed - in your own clothes. I’m taking you both to brunch to celebrate your relationship. Don’t make me regret that too!”

Claudia turns and starts to walk back to the bedroom but you’ve got an appetite for winding up your cousin so you pull Claudia back by your joined hands and flip Alexia off with the middle finger of the other as you dip your head and press your lips to Claudia’s in a deliberately messy kiss.

The cushion that Alexia launches at your head is more than worth it.

#claudia pina x reader #claudia pina imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

[spywhitney]

This is Peter B Parker referring to Miles' day pass from the spider society. This really goes to show how little they thought of him.

I understand where Peter and Gwen are coming from. I'll give Gwen a half-pass since I get it and I'm personally not invested in this romance between her and Miles anyway, so to me it's like: "oh, this girl you have a crush on deceived you? Well I didn't care about this relationship like that, so oh well." She's also only 16 so lol. (Which is funny considering Miguel was going to leave her, Jess was the one who persuaded him to let her in.) (From a writing perspective, the point of Gwen seeing Miles and going off the mission is to show she really cares about Miles ands wants a friend, but not enough to tell him the truth ((see also: loneliness, isolation, fear etc)).

Peter's behaviour towards Miles is interesting considering he apparently owes the birth of his child to him. He needs to redeem himself because the part he had in this is foul. He was deadass smiling and laughing in Miles face knowing why he was really brought there.

Lets say Gwen and Peter were successful in deceiving and letting Miguel capture Miles and his dad (or his mum, because maybe the father situation is a misdirect) died, there's no way I'd forgive them if I was Miles. It's (a bit) less to do with what they did, but more so why and what would've transpired if they succeeded.

They can be regretful, confused and torn over wronging him, but that doesn't change or lessen the effect of what they did. Well (or bad) intentioned or not, lying to Miles was never for his own good.

This is getting way longer than I intended so I'm ending it here, but this is why Hobie is so cool. He steered Miles in the right direction, while also giving him the space for autonomy- he treated Miles like an adult. And Margo let Miles go after talking to him for less than five minutes, both of them knew enough about the situation (while also not knowing Miles well enough depending on what the movie shows or what you assume) where they too could've went along with the spider society but chose not to.)

#atsv #spiderverse #miles morales #peter b parker #across the spiderverse #thoughts #observations #gwen stacy #movie quotes #movie observations #miguel o'hara #jessica drew

[vladdyissues]

How do you see the first year after Vlad x Danny wedding? (Let's consider, they have married when Danny was 20)

As addition, whom can Vlad invite for the wedding? I know it depends on is it the ghost or the human wedding but anyway.

Would their wedding be a secret? Or headlines would shout, "One of the richest men has married... on a guy!" ? (Alt. "Phantom and Mayor Masters' relationship is confirmed: THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED!")

🏆 Vlad is a showy guy when it comes to public opinion (e.g., bragging about his charitable works, anything that stokes his popularity), but he’s also extremely private about his personal life. For this reason, I think he’d keep his wedding to Danny secret and simple. Marriage license, officiator, small gathering of maybe five people, I do, I do, and done. Light refreshments, champagne and oysters, a small cake. Ceremony performed in his backyard or—perhaps more appropriately—Lambeau Field, home stadium of the Green Bay Packers. Maybe a few fireworks as a surprise. Nothing too wild. 

👻 Vlad doesn’t seem to have the best opinion of—or relationship with—the ghosts in the Ghost Zone, so I don’t see Skulker or the Vultures getting an invite, or a Ghost Zone wedding happening at all.

💍 Whether Jack or Maddie approve of this wedding is the big question. I honestly can’t see them ever in a million years approving of their former college friend marrying their only son—unless they were aware of both Vlad and Danny being half ghosts.

“Your son is never going to die,” Vlad tells them gently, maybe during the meeting where he asks for Jack and Maddie’s blessing to marry Danny. “Forever is a long path for Daniel to travel alone. But it doesn’t have to be. Not if you allow me to be with him. I have the means and the resources to see that he is always taken care of. I have a raft of investments locked in place that will ensure my fortune perpetuates for the next several hundred years. With me, Daniel will always have a roof over his head, a place to call home, and someone who loves him. Dearly. Until the end of the time. I mean that in the most literal sense.”

Jack and Maddie are stunned silent for several moments.

“What’s the point of asking us?” Jack finally mutters. “Once Maddie and I die, you can do whatever you want. We won’t be able to stop you.”

“It matters to Daniel. And I love him. That’s why I’m asking you.”

They still don’t like it, but facts are facts, and scientists appreciate that more than they do good intentions. Another thing they appreciate is truth, and Vlad’s soft words and earnest face have convinced them of his honesty.

Jack and Maddie share a tearful look, clasping each other’s hands, before turning to Vlad.

“Okay,” Maddie croaks. “Just—promise us he’ll stay in school.”

“At least an Associate’s degree,” Jack adds.

“Don’t turn him into a spoiled brat.”

“Trade school certificate, bare minimum.”

A baffled pause, then Vlad laughs. “You have my word. By the end of the century, Daniel will have more degrees than a thermometer.”

The Fentons release a pair of relieved sighs.

They can handle their son being an immortal entity, but not an uneducated one.

#asks #danny phantom #pompous pep #vlad masters #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #jack fenton #maddie fenton #ficlet #hjbwrites #sorry anon i got a little too serious there for a minute 😆 #and damn it i never actually answered your first question oops #wedding day + 365? danny would be in an ivy league college somewhere #while vlad maybe helps the fentons on some ghost tech #and tries to stay out of trouble in the ghost zone #ghost shenanigans still going on in amity park so the adventure never ends #god i just realized jazz would be vlad's sister in law 🤯

[mazeinthemiroh]

Headcanon how skz would confess to their crush?

how stray kids would confess to their crush

genre: headcanons; fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, i got emotionally invested in hyunjin's and jeongin's so ignore me

pls like and reblog if you enjoy <3

bangchan

there's not a lot helping this man honestly

he spends days racking his brain for a good way to tell you that he is completely and utterly in love with you

should he make a grand gesture?

should he be smooth and nonchalant with it?

he's a libra so his indecisiveness is sort of a given lmao same bro

he even consults stays on his weekly channie's room live, only to be spammed with various ultra cheesy pick-up lines

if you were a transformer, you'd be Optimus fine

he ends up trying to do it on a whim

which is unlike him. he tends to plan everything to a T

but he feels that with feelings like love, there's not much to plan. he forces himself to be impulsive

and it works!

he makes it a casual affair: just two friends hanging out in a familiar setting (chan needed the familiarity to calm his nerves a bit)

and he just came out with it

"listen, i know we've been friends for a while. but i can't help the romantic feelings i now have."

he'd give a little shy smile, his eyes trying to look into yours but he can't hold your gaze for long enough.

"so, i was thinking maybe we could... go out? i'd think we'd be really good together."

lee know

my gosh

it takes so freaking long for minho to confess to you it's actually frustrating

infuriating, even

you guys are practically dating anyway with the way you flirt and feel comfortable with each other

people see you guys together in public and assume that you're already dating

so YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE

but nothing was confirmed

no words solidified a definite bond

so things felt a bit uncertain, even with the definite mutual liking between you both

minho takes his sweet time that's for sure

he just wants to be certain that you like him the way he does too. sometimes he has a hard time differentiating between people who are being friendly compared with people who are actively taking a romantic interest

he wants to make sure his feelings are being reciprocated in a genuine way

it's hard to read people sometimes

once he's certain that you like him the way he does, he will just come out and say it

"hey, you wanna go out with me?"

he would say it with a little, shy side grin. i mean how can you say no to that??

changbin

changbin is not-so-subtle about his feelings for you

it's written all over his face from as soon as you walk in the room

he's wrapped around your finger

and he's confident in himself too

so there's nothing really stopping him from just going up and asking you out

but he needs to know where your heads at before he makes THE move

considering he hangs out with you a whole lot anyway, this comes quite easily to him

"are you interested in someone at the moment?"

he'd ask. and you'd answer, "yes actually." and his plan goes downhill from there.

does that mean you're interested in someone else or... or maybe it means you're interested in him??

"oh? who's that then?" he'd ask, a jealous tone not well-hidden

"oh i can't say," you'd shake your head playfully.

he's suddenly quiet when he figures out what you're trying to insinuate. he'd thought this'll be easier.

you'd give him some help at this point

"but he's got an outgoing personality. big muscles. and a handsome face, too." you'd smile at him knowingly, hoping he'd take the hint.

he almost laughs at himself for not realising before. that's all the reassurance he needs.

"well, from what i hear, he likes you too. a lot."

hyunjin

oh, my precious hyunne

this man would only ever fall for someone who is really close to him

i'm talking best friends, joint at the hip, couldn't live without the type of closeness you share

you're his no. 1

and you know it

spending a lot of time with hyunjin on a regular basis and you know that, just by the way you catch him looking at you, there is something much more than friendship taking place

one time you were sitting on the living room floor with him, laughing your heads off

it was late and night and obviously, the perfect time for hyunjin to do your makeup

because why the heck not

he's making you look like a clown. why did he choose that shade of eyeshadow? and why is lipstick on your cheeks

"you look so much better like this" hyunjin teased in between hysterical laughs

"shut uppp hwang hyunjin!" you tried to push him away and prevent him from doing any more. "just you wait until i do your makeup."

after the laughter settled down he looked at you with a loving gaze. that was when you both realised how close you were together. there was such an immense fondness in his eyes that told you everything you need to know

and soon, his lips were connected to yours

his confession.

han

being close to han is your gateway to his mind

it's hard to imagine that someone like han, who can be quite hesitant and awkward with getting too close to people despite being loud and usually the first one to break the ice

that he could be so naturally himself with you

even as a friend, he's quite touchy. usually reaching out to hold your hand or pulling you in for a cuddle on the sofa

that's how you know that he likes you before he even confesses

he's not like this with anyone

it'd be when you are cuddling up together, pizza all eaten and anime playing on the tv

this was perfect.

han would let out a big, content sigh and nuzzle into you

the absent-minded phrase of "i love you" would slip out in this peaceful moment

and suddenly you both forget how to breathe. you raised your head off his shoulder.

"huh?"

"huh?"

...

the silence was unbearable

"i mean uh... i love this anime. yeah. it's my favourite. i've actually watched the whole thing so i don't know why i'm watching it again. anyways *fake yawns* it's getting late, i might go to bed."

you just chuckled at him, feeling so relieved of his feelings for you.

very smooth, han. very smooth.

felix

i'm so on the fence about him

like i can totally see him being hella romantic and thinking the whole thing through

he'll end up buying you flowers and a box of chocolates, you know, the cliche things that a cute af

and he will knock on your door and present you with these things with a beaming smile and some sweet words to serenade you off to the land of romance

OR

he will confess to you all at once

no warning, no coherent reasoning, no thought behind those eyes

just felix's enfp brain going absolutely haywire, we love to see it

i usually go with the latter for him. because, while he is super duper romantic and wants his feelings to come out in a perfectly curated way, the likelihood is that his intense feelings for you will get the better of him

he can't hold himself back before he even thinks about it

"you're so gorgeous"

he'd say as he looked at you from across the kitchen. the both of you had just finished making brownies together and felix couldn't help but find you the most attractive you have ever been right now

"oh?" you'd say, taken aback by his forwardness

felix's heart dropped for a second. but that feeling was momentary. he soon felt light and happy, and a smile breezed over his face

"yeah" he'd reply, warmly, "so gorgeous, i might even give you a little kiss"

seungmin

seungmin is so precious CAN WE TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THAT

he is just so ;-;

anyways he thinks long and hard about confessing to you

which, in other words, means he puts off confessing to you for like so many stupid-ass reasons

what's putting you off seungmin? the candles? the moonlight? the fact that your venus isn't in retrograde???

like JUST DO IT

he builds up to it though, bless him

it's just in his nature. he wants to pace himself STREAM MY PACE BTW

he might warm up to it. perhaps becoming more bolder with his compliments for you

"that colour really suits you"

"you should style your hair like that more often"

"i find it so easy to talk to you, which is a rare feeling for me, honestly"

and soon he's buying you cute little gifts

"i saw this and thought of you"

i mean that's code for 'i love you' anyways but whatever

he finally gives you a very personal gift for you, with a note attached to it: "to the person i love most. you deserve it"

why you gotta make us cry like that seungmin, gosh??

jeongin

jeongin found it harder talking to you in person

he can be a shy bean at times

an absolute cutie-pie

but he didn't want you to just know him for his shyer side. he didn't want his social hesitance to push you away from getting to know the real him

luckily, you had each other's numbers

and the texting was constant

staying up all night just talking to each other. you both got zero sleep but the rush, the joy, the familiarity of these texts were more tempting than any type of sleep was

you got to see his witty, intelligent personality. his sense of humour. you got used to the way he teased you, and boy did you like it

these interactions made it ten times easier to talk to each other in person

but one night, jeongin confessed to you

"i fucking love you btw"

he wasn't drunk. he supposed he was sort of... caught up in the moment. it came out of nowhere.

waiting for your response was torture

he waited, and waited

and waited some more

nothing.

until the next time you met face to face. he was dreading this interaction until you grabbed him swiftly. your lips connected in passionate bliss until you both pulled away

"i fucking love you too"

#stray kids #skz #kpop #skz headcanons #kpop headcanons #stray kids headcanons #bang chan #bangchan #chan #lee know #lee minho #seo changbin #changbin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #han #han jisung #lee felix #felix #seungmin #kim seungmin #jeongin #yang jeongin #i.n #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines

[deceitfuldevil]

Uncharacteristic

Matt Murdock X Reader

Summary: You grew up with Matt Murdock, always crushing hopelessly on him. But from the day you met Matt he never seemed to so much as tolerate you. Nearly 20 years later and your offices are across the hall from each other and it’s safe to say Matt considers the worst part of his day to be when he has to pass your office in the morning. He clearly hates you, so why does everyone think he has this uncharacteristic soft spot for you? 

Warnings: angst, enemies to lovers, allusions to smut at the end, swearing, kissing, consumption of alcohol, being drunk, allusions to depression, not proofread.

Word Count: 3K

—

Hopeless, that was a good way to describe your love life. It can’t get much worse than having a childhood crush that still finds you irksome well into your adulthood. This little crush of yours only got you teased as a kid, because really, who has a crush on the anti-social blind kid? 

But now you’d pay for the teasing over the current situation, where your childhood crush has grown into a very attractive grown man, and everyone constantly reminds you of that fact. 

“Matt looks so dreamy today.” Your coworker, Alyssa, said with a far-off look. 

“How can you even tell with that split second glimpse you got of him walking into his office?” You grumbled, flipping over the top sheet of the pile of paper in front of you. 

“I just know, okay? Anyways I could probably get a better look if you’d let me keep the door open more than a crack.” Alyssa snapped back, matching your grumpy energy. 

“Leaving the door open more than a crack is inviting, and inviting means Matt will come in, and Matt coming in means he will be insolent towards me.” You said simply, looking up from your paperwork to eye her. But Alyssa just gave you a confused look. 

“Insolent, meaning he’ll be rude, arrogant, and show his lack of respect towards me.” You elaborated, thinking she didn’t know the meaning of the word. 

“I know what insolent means, thank you very much. But Matt has never been insolent towards you in the slightest.” She said, raising her eyebrows towards you. 

“Please, he hasn’t been able to stand me since I met him at the orphanage in 7th grade.” You said fully setting down your work and dividing your full attention to this conversation now.

“Whatever lie helps you sleep at night.” Alyssa said, finally dropping the conversation after you had immersed yourself in it. You scoffed and went back to the task on hand, disregarding her thoughts.

The rest of your work day went on as per normal, calling and conversing with clients and filing paperwork until it was five o’clock. You were out the door sooner after the clock struck five, hailing a cab to a restaurant uptown where you were meeting a longtime friend of yours for dinner. 

Your friend Leila had just moved back to the city after going back to college to get her masters degree, so you just had to meet up. She arrived at the restaurant shortly after you, immediately running over to hug you. “It’s been too long. How have you been?” you asked eagerly. 

“Oh, we need to sit down for this.” she said with eyes that screamed ‘I have so much drama to tell you about’.  Excited, you both sat down and talked through your entire meal. Leila didn’t even realize how long she had been talking until the waiter brought out the check, and her eyes widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god I’ve totally talked your ear off, please tell me something going on with you so I don’t feel as bad when I’m going home.”

“It’s not a problem, besides not much has changed with me. I’m still in that same tiny apartment, I’m still hopelessly single, and I still work at Atlas Investments.” you said in a relaxed tone, just glad you got to catch up with your friend and not caring to go over the details of your mundane life. 

“Still admiring Matt from afar?” Leila asked, poking at your clasped hands in front of you, you pulled your hands apart and soothed them over your thighs at the topic. “It helps if I pretend I don’t have a crush on him like we’re still in 7th grade. Besides, he still hates me just as much as ever.” you said, pulling out your wallet to put your card down.

“Hates you?” Leila said in a questioning tone.

“Don’t take that tone with me, my coworker gave me that same tone with that same look you’re giving me when I told her why I don’t like interacting with Matt because he’s so insolent towards me.” you said, getting a little sick of no one else ever seeing how horrible Matt has always been towards you.

Leila just stared at you for a moment, as if trying to read your face for any sign that you might be joking. You just stared back at her, waiting for some reaction. Then she burst out laughing, a light and awkward laugh falling from your lips in response.

“I’m sorry, I don���t mean to laugh.” Leila said, pausing as one last breathless chuckle left her lips before she composed herself. “I just can’t believe after all this time you still don’t see it.”

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. “See what?” 

“Matt’s behavior towards you! As long as I’ve known you both, he’s always had this uncharacteristic soft spot for you.” You stared back at Leila with this incredulous look on your face. “...what?” 

“Jesus you’ve known each other nearly 20 years and you still haven't noticed? I guess that solves the answer to why you two haven’t fucked yet.” Leila said, also reaching in her wallet to put her card down as the waiter grabbed the bill; clearly trying to ignore your conversation. You shook your head, physically trying to erase the second part of her sentence from your head like an etch-a-sketch. 

“Matt. . . he’s always hated me. Never wanted to be around me. I remember how red and furious he looked the day I moved into my office at Atlas right across from him.”

“Uh uh uh, that is not how that day went.” Leila said, mouthing a small thank you to the waiter who returned with the check and handing you your card back. “Thank you, and please elaborate.”

“Gladly. Matt was bright red and frustrated because when moving some boxes left behind into the hallway, you backed up into him without realizing it.”

“Okay. . . and?”

“...and your skirt was short because you moved in the middle of July, did you not see the massive boner Matt popped after that?” 

“Boner? Please. That was the first time I saw him when moving in and realized we were work neighbors and upon realizing it was me is when he got all red, cut off the conversation super quick and locked himself inside his office. Probably because he was pissed to have to be around me constantly again.”

“So there’s not a chance in your head that your ass bumped his front, and once you made it clear that it was you, Matt was flustered because of his attraction towards you and shut himself off to hide that tent he was pitching?”

You rolled your eyes “Even if I did give Matt a boner, which I didn’t, guys get like 7 boners a day. So it was probably a fluke.”

“It’s actually 11, but besides the point. That’s not the only instance of Matt clearly having a thing for you.” Leila said informatively.

“Yeah sure, we could go on until this place closes going over the times where it was painfully obvious how much Matt can’t stand me and you could tell me how this is a textbook enemies to lovers story. But I’ll stick to my books, thank you very much.”

Leila let out a defeated sigh. “Let me just reiterate that if there’s one thing I’ve always noticed about Matt it’s his uncharacteristic soft spot for you. Just think about it for me, please?” she said with pleading eyes. “Yeah whatever, I’ll think about it when I’m getting drunk alone tonight at Josie’s.”

You and Leila both stood up and started to leave the restaurant after you made your promise to her, when hugging her goodbye she whispered in your ear “I’m so bringing up this conversation at your wedding during my maid of honor speech. You know, when you get married to Matt.”

“...and the moment is over. Taxi!” you said, pulling away from the hug and hailing a cab for Leila. “I’ll be manifesting it for you bestie.” she said with a smile, getting into the cab that pulled up. “Literally shut the fuck up.” she gave you a look as she closed the door and rolled down the window. “Love you too!” she said as she waved goodbye as the driver went on his way.

You took a sigh of relief, thankful that the conversation was over. But her words resonated in your head as you downed another shot hours later at Josie’s. 

‘He’s always had this uncharacteristic soft spot for you.’

There’s just no way you’ve known Matt for this long and everyone but you has seen him be soft and affectionate towards you when all you got from his behavior was raw unfiltered hate. The longer you sat on that thought, the more queasy you felt. Or maybe that was because of the rapid influx of alcohol you were putting into your system. You haven't been this shit faced in awhile.

Before you could gather your scattered thoughts enough to stand up and go home, you heard an all too familiar laugh enter the bar. You looked towards the door and saw Matt and his law partner Foggy entering the bar, mentally trying to sober up but only feeling more nauseous at the sight of your childhood crush.

Of course Matt and his blind luck, he appeared in the empty space right next to you, ordering a round of drinks without seeming to notice your presence. You were relieved until you felt a sneeze coming on, trying to suppress it but failing. A few slipping from your lips, not quietly either. Matt gazed over in your direction and you could see your very drunk reflection in his red lenses, thank god he was blind and couldn’t see how horrible you looked right now. “Bless you.” Matt said politely.

“T-thank you” you said with a slight stutter.” Matt was still looking at you, his brows now downturned as he parted his lips before speaking up again. “Y/n?” 

“Yes?” you said, a nervous feeling settling over the nausea in your gut.

“Oh, just seeing if it was you.” Matt said with a short tone. A silence falling between you two until Josie served him his drinks. 

“Soft spot my ass. . .” you trailed off as Matt grabbed his drinks, assuming he wouldn/t hear you or just disregard your words. But he stopped and turned to you. “What?” You stared at yourself again in his red glasses and let out a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t get you Murdock.”

“You don’t get me?” Matt asked, setting the drinks he had back down. 

“How-” you let out a high pitched hiccup “How do you fool everyone?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that sweetheart.”

“Oh drop the act, no one is around.”

Matt chuckled and stepped closer to you. “What act?”

“Acting like you don’t fucking hate me!” You said, raising your voice at him. Turning a few heads who were within earshot.

“Hate you?” Y/n I-”

“Oh please don’t stand there and try to deny it. Don't stand there and pretend you don’t get a sour taste in your mouth at the mention of my name, it’s always written across your stupid face. All my friends have this idea that you have this uncharacteristic soft spot for me but they must be drunker than me to think that you’ve ever even so much as tolerated me!” a few stray tears spilling from your eyes as emotion overcame you. Matt stood there speechless, you gave him less than a moment to speak up before grabbing your bag and getting down from the barstool you were seated at.

“You want to know what the worst part about falling in love with you was? Knowing that no matter what I did, you would never even like me. I am never going to be better to you than the dirt that you track in on the bottom of your shoes.” you spat bitterly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder as another hiccup slipped past your lips. “Let’s forget my drunken rant when we pass each other going to the office on Monday, yeah?”

You started to walk away, not able to hold back the tears any longer as you quicken your pace leaving the bar without even paying. “Y/n!” Matt called after you. “Goodnight Matthew.” you said, walking out the door and wobbling home. Looking at the time on your watch, disappointed with your state of being at only 9pm. 

You were so embarrassed by your drunken outrage at Matt that you stayed in all weekend, no calls or texts from him or anyone else. Come Monday morning you felt like no one would care if you dropped off the face of the earth, so you stayed home and didn’t even bother to call off work. Sleeping in until noon and moping around all day after that. At least before Friday you and Matt had some semblance of a fucked-up friendship, you did grow up together after all.

It was now 6:30 at night and you sat in front of the TV watching friends while having a brownie and ice cream for dinner. The healthy voice in your head said you should call your therapist, and the toxic one said you should call Matt. Before you could listen to either voice, there was a knock at your door.

You initially intended to ignore it until the knock came again and a voice called out to you “Y/n? It’s Matt.” you immediately froze, standing up and tip-toeing to the door. “I really think we need to talk.” still not responding, you placed your hand on the door knob and began to turn it. Only as you started to open the door did you remember you’d been walking around in a hoodie and underwear all day. No bra, no pants. Thank god Matt was blind.

“Hi.” you said quietly as you fully opened the door, Matt letting himself right in. “Matt, now is not really a good time.”

“How long?” Matt turned to you and asked as you closed your front door behind him. 

“What?” you asked as you turned to face him, little space left for you to distance yourself in the foyer of your apartment.

“”How long have you thought I hated you?” Matt asked in a demanding tone. You pressed your legs together anxiously, not in the mood for the conversation at hand. Opening the door again you spoke with an exhausted tone. “I am not having this conversation with you right now Matt, please leave.” but Matt startled you instead, bringing his hand up to the door and slamming it shut. Your brain didn't even have time to process how he could’ve done that, because now Matt was walking towards you until your back hit the wall.

“I asked you a question.” Matt said slowly.

“I. . . forever. I’ve thought you hated me since. . . forever.” you said softly, praying Matt wouldn’t get any closer and notice your missing garments.

“If I’ve hated you since forever, then why have I always wanted to do this?” Matt said in a tone barely above a whisper, leaning down as his breath fanned over your lips. But he stopped there, his lips mere centimeters from yours as if he was waiting for you to make the next move. You lost all resolve built up over the years as all you’ve ever wanted was right in front of you, a high pitched whine falling from your lips as you said “please” so quietly it was a miracle Matt heard you. Your eyes fell shut as a mere moment passed until Matt pressed his lips to yours.

Words can’t describe all the emotion that kiss conveyed, and yet that very kiss was a conversation you and Matt have been avoiding for decades. A conversation that said ‘I hate myself for ever letting you think for a second that I hated you.’ and ‘You have no idea how many times I’ve had this exact dream’. Apologies moved through your mouths, not even a word mumbled but all of it being understood. Both of you trying not to think about all the years lost by avoiding this kiss. A tear slipping down your cheek, Matt shifting his lips from your to your cheek, kissing it away. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I never hated you.” A soft smile grew on your face, that smile getting larger as you could feel something quite large growing against your bare hip.

“Then why don’t we start tonight?” You asked eagerly, hiking your leg up to allow Matt to press his growing bulge to your core. Matt chuckled in a primal way, leaning back down for a much more intense and passionate kiss.

It seemed Leila would be making that maid of honor speech after all.

—

A/N

Whew! Hello everyone! I have a personal goal this year to post at least one story a month so thank god I got to go home from work early today to finish this and get it posted! I have been incredibly busy with my new job lately but I absolutely love it. I now work for MAC cosmetics, my dream cosmetic company. I’ve been there for about three months and it’s a dream come true, really. I am also only 30 followers away from one-fucking-thousand! That's absolutely insane and also terrifying. I will try to do a big sleepover when I hit that milestone and I have the time! In the meantime, thank you all for reading and hope everyone's new year is going well!

Much Love,

—Skyler

#marvel #mcu #fan fic #fan fiction #cute #fluff #love #au #matt murdock smut #matt murdock reader insert #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil angst #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x you #daredevil #angst #marvels daredevil #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #happy new year #mcu x reader #marvel imagine #she hulk #she hulk attorney at law #I can write I swear

[niyabiblioteca]

shut up and watch

PAIRING: softdom!jaemin x fem!reader

warnings: exhibitionism, voyeurism, swearing, praise kink, slapping, VERY slight cnc

jaemin usually has a lot of patience for you showing out for his friends. but now he figures, why doesn’t he just help you out?

—————————————————————————————————————

your boyfriend jaemin is the best boyfriend ever.

he’s so patient, ever so soft and loving, never wants to put you in a situation that you’re uncomfortable with and you couldn’t have asked for anyone else.

no one else has ever made you feel so loved and safe and you could go on about it all day.

however , there are some days where you just have want to see how far his patience can go.

how much can you push his buttons until whatever restraint he has in that pretty head of his collapses?

these days are coincidentally always when his friends are over. the very attractive trio that you consider very close friends of your own. jaemin loves so much that you’re as accepting of them as he is. but then there are days, particularly days like these, where he wants to really test that.

he’s well aware what you’re doing. he’s even more aware that you find his friends attractive. he’s not insecure enough to care because he knows the damn men are good looking. its not surprising in the slightest and you’ve been very honest about it at the early stages of your relationship with him.

but today, oh today, he’s feeling a bit less generous.

the boys were currently in you guys’ shared house, all dressed down to have a day at your pool thats right outside the sliding glass door in the living room.

renjun, jeno, and haechan all in their swim trunks sitting and chatting with jaemin who was in the kitchen making drinks and waiting for you.

speaking of the devil, here you come from the hallway wearing a see-through sundress, which showed the swimsuit underneath in a color that worked wonders against your skin.

greetings were exchanged between you and the boys who didn’t not even try to hide their ogling. jaemin didn’t care about them though, he wanted others to look at what they couldn’t have.

what he did care about though, was your immediate actions once you sat down.

he figured you already wanted to stir trouble just by wearing that because you know jaemin loves that sundress, but he didn’t expect you to be this blatant right in front of him.

you sat in between the chinese boy who could barely contain his drool and the other two natives who had maybe the slightest bit more manners with their eyes. well, tried to anyway.

instantly, conversation had began between them and you, jaemin not joining in due to his current task at hand. he did however, listen very closely to what was said.

“jeno, have you been working out? holy shit you’re not even flexing?”

jeno let out a slight giggle and thanked her for her clear and a bit theatrical appreciation for his body.

jaemin looked up just for a second to see your hands running up and down the poor boys arm as you locked eyes with him for a split second before turning to renjun and starting on him.

at this point jaemin, was more invested on your movements towards the boys.

the giggles, the hands resting on their thighs, the getting so close to their face they must feel your damn breath on them. the winks at renjun, the continuous caressing of jeno, the lip biting at haechan.

and between each and every movement, you made sure to give jaemin a glance.

oh, he knew exactly what you were doing.

all jaemin could do was smirk as he wrapped up the drink with a new mission once he put the last glass down.

“alright all done! guys, why don’t you head outside and y/n and i will bring out the drinks.”

the boys gave an agreement in unison and headed out the sliding glass door.

you remained seated as you watched them leave, and when you turned your head back, jaemin was stood right in front of you.

“baby, baby, baby. please tell me the truth. do you think i’m stupid?”

you didn’t respond. just stared up at him and gave him a giggle that you must have thought was cute. he, however, considered it mockery.

next thing you knew his hand was around your neck and forcing you to lay flat on the couch as he crawled on top of you.

“do you think i’m fucking stupid? i asked you a question?” he said while pushing his leg between yours.

you gulped as you shook your head no.

“then why, oh why, are you acting like this in front of my friends, hm? if you wanted to get fucked all you had to do was say so.” his hand slid down into your bikini bottoms. when his cold fingertips were met with nothing but wetness, he chuckled.

you whined at the feeling and began to grind your hips onto his fingers while your hand found its way to the bulge in his swimsuit.

“ohhh i see. that wouldn’t really satisfy you would it?” he said as he slowly got lower and pressed his lips to yours.

he pulled away and began to speak again. “you want all of them to be a part don’t you?”

your eyes slightly widened as he yanked you up and pressed your face against the glass.

you saw the boys in the pool, not paying attention at all, literally splashing around like a group of kids.

you continued to whine as you felt jaemins bulge pressed against your core, to which you pushed back to encourage him to do something. anything.

“ah, i guess that answers my question.”

not a second after that, your sundress was lifted up, and your bikini bottoms were pulled to the side.

you felt jaemin teasing your entrance over and over. you suppose you deserve this as your behavior was not worthy of a reward but fuck it you’re still gonna protest.

jaemin simply giggled at your pleads and finally decided to end your misery as he finally pushed into you causing you to gasp.

your eyes immediately shut as you pressed both your hands against the glass when you felt him begin to thrust at a steady pace.

“look at you. just love to act like a slut in front of my friends. you want them sooo bad huh? i don’t expect anything less from you.”

with each passing sentence his pace became more and more unforgiving, almost as if his anger was building up inside of him as he continued to speak.

your boyfriend was not the type to get angry so angry sex was not common at all. but with the way he was absolutely railing you right now, you make a mental note to piss him off more often.

you couldn’t help your volume as you moaned his name and begged for more. harder, harder, harder. your constant chants in your sexy deep tone made jaemin want to break you more.

after a while you stopped hearing splashing. in fact it became completely silent.

“open your eyes, baby.”

as you complied, you were met with 3 pairs of wide yet lustful eyes staring back at you.

all 3 men watching you with such want as your body jolted towards the glass at the speed of jaemin’s thrust made you clench around him.

his hand reached around your hips to toy with your clit which made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

the boys are secretly happy you broke eye contact, because now you couldn’t see them reach to provide their hard-ons with some relief.

jaemin however did see and laughed quietly as he started to feel you get close to your orgasm.

your moans got louder and louder, the boys could hear very well through the glass you screaming your boyfriend’s name as you finally came all over him. this caused jaemin to finish as well as he swore and painted your walls with his seed.

you tiredly slumped against the glass as your cheek pressed against it so you could catch your breath. jaemin pulled out and kept his hands on your hips as he did the same.

when he looked up, he noticed the boys still staring with their jaws slack as they witnessed maybe the hottest thing ever. maybe wishing it was them too.

their silent wishing had stopped as they looked at jaemin who was beckoning them back inside.

now they’re not sure what jaemin could want from them, so they don’t immediately move.

that is until jaemin lifts your sundress completely over your head and unties your bikini top to free your breasts for the boys to see.

he beckons them in a second time, this time with an almost welcoming smile on his face.

took them way too long to put two and two together, but one by one they finally made their way to the door.

you watched all three walk towards the door to pull it open.

you just thought to yourself two things.

one: good fucking job y/n.

two: renjun probably has the biggest dick.

————————————————————————

aaaaaaa this is my longest one aaaaa my forearms are killing me aaaaaa hope you enjoy <3

#nct smut #nct scenarios #jaemin smut #renjun #jeno #haechan

[isa-ghost]

Would go crazy over any q!phil hc's, but may I request some about phil's harem I mean qsmp server polycule?

OHOHOHOHO YOU'RE INDULGING MY STUPID SILLY HAREM. YESSS.

Previous qPhil Headcanons

SO ANYWAY. QPHIL AND HIS INNATE TALENT FOR PULLING BAD BITCHES ON ACCIDENT.

Reiterating initial mentions of this for context:

--He's married to the Goddess of Death (Kristin) and Missa (a reaper). He's also fuckbuddies with Fit (no one can look at their interactions & tell me there's no homo there) and Etoiles. Strictly fuckbuddies; Fit has something blooming with Pac, and Etoiles is aromantic. --Everyone who Knows(tm) about the polycule has turned calling it a harem into an inside joke they only reference when Phil either isn't around or isn't paying attention enough to be like WHAT. --In fact, it's unfolded into a sort of joke folklore around Phil made up by the islanders closest to him that he has this inexplicable charm to him that makes any man-attracted person weak in the knees. (Baghera totally started it. Cellbit, Foolish, & Fit perpetuated it & it spread from there) --All this fruity silliness in mind, I have no fucking clue what queer label I'd slap on Phil, if one at all. Part of me wants to claim him as pansexual bc I'm Pansexual So Therefore So Is My Cubito + the way he'd explain how he experiences romantic & sexual attraction is exactly what I described *my* exp as in high school and my friend was like "yeah that's pansexual." But I also feel like Phil's the kind of guy to purposely not define his sexuality & remain an enigma both as a "mind your business" & a "It's Funny To Not Elaborate" thing. (As of rn I'm rolling with "he's pansexual but in a font you've never seen before")

S O

Obv Mrs. Goddess of Death Kristin came first, she's been with him since long before Quesadilla Island. Strangely enough, she can't recall too much prior to the island just like Phil, but there's no way the Feds know she exists let alone know how to fuck up the memory of a deity. But yeah, she was his first & is his ONLY romantic dynamic within his weird polycule

She's an avid fan of Phil being his best unintentional whore self with them nice ass shoulders on display all the time and that accidental man magnet charm. Loves watching him pull bitches nonstop without even realizing. And loves watching him be a total fruity dork with his besties. She knows if Phil was forced to choose ONE person out of the polycule to be monogamous with forever, he'd pick her. She's not worried at all about his yaoi island adventures

Next came Fit. Hough, what a man. They WERE, until recently, strictly fwb. They fucked nasty behind that gym and I'll die on that hill. The way they talk to each other sometimes? Big boy?? FitMC people are watching?? They fucked behind that gym. Their fwb was called off as soon as Fit got serious with Pac though. Phil was totally chill with it & actively encouraged it. He loves seeing Fit so invested in the romance he's got blooming. They're still more than friends, not lovers, but a secret third thing, the sexual aspect was just removed from the equation. Truly the most QPR of the polycule

Then came Missa. Oh Missa. Their dynamic IS platonic like Phil has stated & restated countless times, but Missa has a (not yet brought to Phil's attention) massive romantic crush on him. He hasn't spoken up yet to keep their relationship from getting rocky at all. But tbh that prob won't happen. They're platonic in the Kiss The Homies way. So what if they make out sometimes and are husbands? So what if they go on adventures that could be considered dates by some? They aren't a romantic relationship, even if Missa secretly kinda wants to be.

And finally, aromantic king Etoiles joined the fray. He and Phil started out as friends and that has Barely changed if at all, but sparring matches get a little too homoerotic sometimes and neither of them can resist the other when they're popping off extra hard. Things have. Escalated a few times. If yknow what I mean. Of all Phil's harem members polycule partners, he & Etoiles have absolutely ZERO emotional investment in the Spicy(tm) things they do together. It's simply a very intimate way of showing each other their respect & admiration for the other. What they have going on is a "*spanks you* good game, let's hit the showers team" kinda deal. They're the type of mfs to finish in bed then shake hands like "gg." Casual sex is >>>> to these two, but it happens waaay less between them than it did Phil & Fit, Fitza was habitual. Codebreakers is a once in a while thing

Btw once Fitpac gets more stable together and whatnot, Fitza could potentially reignite with Pac's consent. That's the key to healthy poly, all parties are informed & consenting. Pac would be like. An honorary harem member. He & Phil would have absolutely 0 intimate relations, they're strictly friends in the most basic sense of the word. They just also fuck the same guy (& would totally talk about it together if alone)

Phil sometimes tries to gauge if Missa only likes men or if he likes women too. If he does, he's going to ask if he'd like to hear about his lord & savior, Big Woman(tm).

Etoiles has 100% asked Phil who fucks the best out of the polycule bc like everything else, it's a competition & he Must win, he Must have the best dick game. This amuses Phil very much

*incoherent but clearly passionate noises about how Phil hasn't done anything spicy with any of the polycule in a hot second because of Ender King Situation stress*

GOD he wants to open up to them about it so bad. Like yeah he did w Fit that one time but he didn't go into detail and hasn't said anything since and bc Phil is an idiot that feels guilty easily, he doesn't want to tell Fit more atm bc he doesn't want to dampen Fit's high spirits or take away his time with Pac

OK BUT CONSIDER: POLYCULE GROUP EFFORT TO GET THROUGH TO ENDER KING POSSESSED PHIL AND HELP HIM FIGHT OFF EK'S INFLUENCE. OUGH.

Phil attracted all four partners with his raw skill and talent btw. If you even care. Literally was just going about his business being himself and it bagged him three dudes in addition to the literal goddess he already had

Although his feelings are platonic, Phil is attracted to Missa because Missa is a) the other father of his children and b) such a genuine and sweet person. And funny, even if a lot of the times the reason he's funny is bc he's like 2 seconds from having a stroke over whatever shit he missed hitting the fan this time

Phil is attracted to Fit bc. Well. That's FitMC of 2b2t, baby. Raw skill and talent sees raw skill and talent. Fellow anarchist. Also muscles. And that razor sharp stare. Fit's just dreamy as hell ok, let a man drool a little

Phil is attracted to Etoiles the same way he's attracted to Fit, HOWEVER, the reasoning is different. Etoiles has raw skill and talent, but it's the way he wields it and demonstrates it that makes Phil wanna act up. Also Etoiles is fucking hilarious. Who can resist a good sense of humor? Those dramatics make Phil swoon

#qsmp #qsmp philza #q!philza #cw suggestive #qphil headcanons

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (2)

Summary: Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: It's 2014. Tilly fills up the position temporarily as Red Bull's Communication Liaison and meets the man she spoke to all those years ago in Dubai... only for her to realize that he's her best friend's Team Principal. Lewis Hamilton is more than amused with her situation, if anything.

Content warning: Age gap, mentions of an absence of a father figure, brief use of explicit language, mentions of nepotism, discussion of mental health and burnouts. Platonic!Lewis Hamilton content, Platonic!Daniel Ricciardo content. Fictional family and business involved (Hearth family and Hearth Automotives Group). One character is fictional but came from a family (Ford family). NO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS INVOLVED SORRY

Note: This is actually my demon time. I took a break from posting too much Danny Ric even if I love him sm (this fic needs attention a little bit). Should I make him go feral and chaotic again? I dunno. But anyways, here's for the Toto stans. Please tell me what you think in many ways - reblog and reply even! Enjoy xx

ii. tilly marie wants to go to hell

Tilly Marie. 

That is the name that hides everything that relates to my life and purpose. Truthfully, everyone knows who I am, but I act like a stranger to everyone who works in the location during the races. Everyone has heard of my name but never really knew what I look like. Of course, they would know who I am. I’m sharing my surname with the man who partially owned three teams— all through his shares. 

Julius Hearth is a billionaire who invested much more in motorsport than he should have in his racing career. Instead of becoming a professional driver, he remains a billionaire, relatively close to creating a monopoly in the racing industry. 

A greedy man, they call him. He dislikes the idea of being unable to control his businesses. He could have sold his shares before, yet he keeps a tight grip over each of his holdings and keeps his position in each team as an executive. He’s not even the one at the race right now. He has his daughter act on his behalf and play his part in keeping his teams popular. 

The surname Hearth is practically engraved in each team’s zones. I hate it. Wherever I go, even if I hadn’t attended a grand prix for a while now, eyes would settle on me. Everyone knows my name. I hate it. It should have been Ford instead, maybe I would have allowed it.

And so I stuck with Tilly Marie. Tilly Hearth catches the eyes of everyone in the racing industry. Tilly Marie is just a woman with access to three zones and additional pit access from her friend. Tilly Hearth is for business— for handling problems and solutions in media outlets and communications.

Now that I think of it, I remember considering quitting my job before I was even told to attend the British GP. Have you ever been so exhausted from doing what you love? Or is that something not really something you desire?

I enjoy writing fashion and design articles for everyone’s entertainment. But to be told you’ll be given a better angle on the following magazine issues and still drooling after that promise? Now that’s just an embarrassment. 

Everyone I’m close to knows how badly I am treated at the company. Their sympathy came with advice to leave the company. Yet, despite the gratitude that I felt, I refuse to resign. I have faith in my career. They’ll give me a better angle soon enough. Or not.

One of the many people who told me to quit is here standing behind the gate. His tightly braided hair is covered with a branded cap. His chest is covered in a white polo. He stands there with a cheeky grin as he holds his arms out. Lewis Hamilton never failed to make me smile.

He engulfs me with a tight embrace and lifts me slightly in joy. We have not even exchanged words yet, but I am already smiling widely. 

“Oh, Tilly, I thought you wouldn't come!” Lewis exclaims once that he puts me down. I straighten my slightly wrinkled skirt and look at him with a questioning frown. “You’re going to watch me win in person this time!” 

“You act like I don’t see you almost every month,” I scoff, shaking my head at his pout.

“You haven’t attended any of my races for almost six years,” he points out, referring to his championship when he was in McLaren. That’s how we met. My father was bored and had decided to buy a part of McLaren, Lewis’ first team. I hung around him more often during the past few seasons while I consulted with my father’s other teams - Scuderia Ferrari and Red Bull. Lewis values our friendship more than his team, as we remained friends after he departed from McLaren. 

I was going to protest and defend myself, but he cut me off before I could even talk. “You were working hard at Vogue, I know,” he rolls his eyes before he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer as we walk down the Mercedes zone. He still has an assistant with him, and she’s nice enough to ensure that Lewis isn’t doing something stupid like getting our photos taken by paps while his arm is around me. I can see the headlines we’ll make if they see me.

Tilly Hearth’s Comeback Spiced Up by Forbidden Romance as She Snuggles with Mercedes Driver

The Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous: Lewis Hamilton Seen Cozying Up with the Hearth Group Heiress

He continues, “I love you. You know that, right?” 

I nod as he playfully scolds me, “Then why aren’t you listening to me? To your three sisters, even? You’re writing a smaller piece in a magazine for how long? Six years? Why don’t you quit and find a better opportunity?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I frown, slightly shoving him away while his arm remains wrapped around me. I try kicking him in the leg, but he quickly avoids my attack as he laughs. People that walked past scowl at us. “I knew I should’ve stayed on the Red Bull pit.” 

“In my year of winning? At the British GP?” He scoffs haughtily. “You wound me, Tilly Marie.”

“And while I’m against the idea of staying in your paddock, I’m glad we can agree on calling me by that name so I'm staying because I love you that much,” I grin, kissing him on the cheek as we arrive at the Mercedes hospitality. 

Indeed, I haven’t attended a race for a while now. Putting more time into my job would give me a way to a promotion or an opportunity to publish a meaningful piece in the magazine. But as years go on, I’m slowly backing away from that optimism. So being in this event… yeah, I think I’ll choose this lifestyle once more over that god-awful thing I call a career. 

Still, why haven’t I quit yet? I have little faith in them. I might as well resign. But this advice came from other people. It didn’t come from me. They cannot change my mind, and I wish I’m not this stubborn and stupid. I wish Lewis would bang my head against the wall to get me to quit. 

I know that I have more options if I quit. But even then, I know my options will come straight from my surname and father. Nepotism follows me wherever I go; even if it’s inevitable, I try to control the fire before it spreads. I know that using my name will not help me learn more. 

Even Lewis knows how much it’ll affect my career in a different industry. One that isn’t racing. It’s bad enough that everyone knows me by name, but to use it proudly? Yeah no. Lewis keeps me humbled by calling me Tilly Marie. I love him because of that. 

All of those thoughts have left me alone when I hear a voice ring out behind the two of us. One that calls for Lewis, which has my friend turning around. Out of curiosity and instinct, I immediately turned around to see who called for him. 

Would it be a shame to admit that the man you met eight years ago looked as handsome as before? No. Maybe not. 

My eyes respectfully move from his attractive face down to the polo that he’s wearing. Slight chest hair peeking out from the unbuttoned collars as my eyes finally look at the title on his chest. 

Team Principal

Mercedes AMG Petronas

While it’s not something to be ashamed of, admitting that the older man is attractive will cause bloodshed. One that would begin with Lewis. 

I must admit the man in front of me makes me nervous now that I have grown older. My legs will turn jelly if I hear his accent again. 

“Ah, you have a guest,” the older man smiles at me almost charmingly. 

My legs didn’t turn into jelly. But I wish I had gone to hell earlier than expected because of the heat I can feel on my face. All because of this man. 

Lewis doesn’t catch the reddening of my cheeks. Instead, he nudges me with a grin, saying, “Of course I have. You know how I want people to watch me win.”

“I like that confidence,” the man chuckles, probably still staring at me while my eyes remain on the floor. 

Lewis nudges me again, leaving me to clutch the strap of the bag that nearly fell off my shoulder. I glare at him, and he doesn’t see it as he introduces me, “Tils! This is Toto Wolff. He’s the Mercedes team principal. Toto, this is Tilly Marie. She’s a friend.” 

I can’t longer avoid his eyes as I look up at his dark eyes. I have forgotten how to speak briefly before I clear my throat and greet the man, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wolff.” 

His stare isn’t intimidating. That’s what I think, but my body says otherwise. Suddenly, the hospitality feels 30 degrees celsius hotter because of his look. 

But he doesn’t say anything about my obvious situation, and with Lewis not saying anything, I assume he doesn’t notice. The team principal then extends his hand in my direction as his accent leaves a tingling sensation in my ears with the words, “It’s lovely to meet you. Miss…?” 

Oh um. Shit. 

Suddenly the roller coaster in my stomach fades as I stammer, “Hearth. Tilly. Tilly Marie.” I immediately reach for his hand to shake as I shudder slightly. God, those hands are cold. I still shake his hand like a fan excited to meet her idol. Lewis, god loves him, has immediately put a stop to it by putting an arm on my side. 

Not realizing I'm still holding his hand, I immediately pull away and offer Toto a sheepish smile and apology. I’m 28, turning 29. I’m not 18. I’m still acting like a child. 

But my internal dialogue is interrupted by a hum coming out from Toto. He watches me move in one place, assumingely unable to reply for a moment. He's thinking of something and it's unnerving.

The silence doesn’t last long as he finally asks, “Are you Julius Hearth’s relative, by any chance? You look a bit like him.” 

I immediately answer, my voice slightly cracking, saying, “Yes. Yes. I’m the eldest daughter.” 

Knowing my family history, Lewis winces at the title I used to describe myself. Even he knows that this is a sore spot for me.

“Ah,” Toto hums in understanding, nodding at the response while he looks around. It seems our surroundings don't interest him, all while people around us are beginning to whisper at the drop of my name and relationship with a prominent figure in the racing business. 

Nevertheless, he ignores the whispering and instead tells me, “It’s surprising to see you here, Miss Hearth—“ 

“Just call me Tilly,” I immediately interrupted him with the insistence of a worried person. “Tilly works just fine.” 

He doesn’t blink at it, even if I can tell he has a question or so at my insistence. He continues regardless, “Well, Tilly, it’s surprising to see you here, in a rival team’s hospitality.” 

I only laugh at that. I laugh at him like he’s an idiot. Or the other way around. He’s calling me an imbecile in his head now, I tell myself as I watch his brows wrinkle slightly.

I tell him, “I’m here as a friend of your driver, Mr. Wolff. And I can hardly be biased about teams seeing as Julius purchased some shares from almost each. There are no playing favourites in my book.” 

“Is that right?” He asks with amusement in his voice. 

“I like to play fair,” I shrug and offer him a grin, “besides, I’m not as good at interpreting races as he is. I’m only here to keep their head checked before they can lash out in front of the cameras.” 

He likes that response even though I mentioned I have limited motorsport knowledge. He chuckles again, nodding in my direction and at Lewis, who I have almost forgotten is with me. 

He doesn’t say anything to me anymore and tells Lewis, “Remember your interview.” 

“Yes, sir,” Lewis nods at him. 

Toto looks at me again and suggests, “Miss Tilly, you should be in our zone more often.” 

For once, my face hasn’t flushed. I offer him a grateful smile and joke, “It’s a bad idea to give me such a privilege. I suppose you’ll see more of me then, Mr. Wolff.” 

“Call me Toto, liebling,” Toto tells me with a wink, “besides, I won’t complain if I see you here— I might as well snatch you up from Red Bull and McLaren, hm? Or is Ferrari also a competition I have to fight for?” 

He turns around and leaves the premise, walking away from us with a big smile while Lewis and I remain silent. 

There’s a scoff that leaves Lewis’ mouth. I watch him shake his head and ask, “What? Did I do something?” 

“No, no, love,” Lewis answers, chuckling in disbelief as he says, “I can’t believe I just watched my boss hit on my best friend.” 

“Who says you’re my best friend? Sylv, Steve and Aims are my best friends,” I scoff. 

“Stevie, Sylvie and Aimee are your sisters, love. There’s a big difference–whatever, you were just flirting with my boss!” He exclaims, making other people look at us at the abrupt loudness.

I wish I had gone to hell earlier.

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