#that i have despite having seen all of them. I MIGHT HAVE TO REPLAY IT AGAIN. I HATE THIS FUCKING GAME. I WANT TO BE FREE.

[quietwingsinthesky]

if i ever have to play beyond two souls again im going to kill someone someone’s life ends with me

#the thing about achivement hunting is that it will either prove to you how much you love a game. or make you hate it forever. #like. assassin’s creed origins? i have a platinum in that and i never want to touch it again it was so boring and bad and by the end i was #in pain trying to finish it #mass effect trilogy? i had to beat all three games on insanity and it made me feel cool as fuck when i did. the little bit of grinding in #me1 at the end for power trophies was worth that sense of accomplishment. they’re damn good games. #beyond two souls? i have had to replay black sun. 11 times. at least. trying to see all the fucking endings. because my game wont register #that i have despite having seen all of them. I MIGHT HAVE TO REPLAY IT AGAIN. I HATE THIS FUCKING GAME. I WANT TO BE FREE. #no one is makingnme do this i just like number go up #but if i ever met david cage ill kill him with chainsaws #im so sorry elliot page but i dont want to see your face again for like a year im so tired #like this experience Has let me appreciate some parts of the story that i think were genuinely good ans critique other bits in new ways. #but then i had to experience both of those things like 4 more times in a row. and i want to scream

[fridaypls]

Grove Guardian's Revenge: A Gif Analysis

Pissing him off so you don't have to.

Obligatory slowed version of The Walk to get us started. If you haven't seen it before, you're welcome.

He's so angry and so right to be angry. For a hundred years, he has defended the Grove at great personal cost. Before it was established, he saw the deaths of his friends, peers, mentor; his support circle crumbled in a single day.

Not only did his mentor fall, he had to slay his mentor's shade in the aftermath in order to lay him to rest. This is the final release canon origin for the Sorrow glaive, but the early-access version is even more heart-wrenching. Either version, the mantle of first druid / arch-druid is thrust upon his unprepared shoulders; alone and without confidantes or peers, he shouldered the load and kept going.

In his diary, we see that he thought he'd found hope of a cure for the Shadow Curse, which was what he was pursuing when the goblins captured him. "The first hope in a century" if I'm remembering correctly.

From there, he meets you - a second hope of salvation. And then... this. The ultimate betrayal and the end of the Grove, of everything he's protected for so long.

We rarely see Halsin using his size to intimidate; even when he rips Kagha a new one in the conversation about the Rite of Thorns, regardless of whether or not he throws her out.

He uses his size as threat now... as he should. He's here to kill you.

And if it's not active intimidation, then what we might be seeing here is him reining in his temper - choosing to have a conversation before acting.

He's facing Tav when he storms up; as he starts to talk, he angles himself a little away from them. We'll see that more in a second.

"I thought you'd help me. I thought we'd help eachother - instead you chose this."

Controlled calm slipping into justified anger. Again, that blink-and-you'll miss it detail of an emotion, just amazing work by Larian.

"The grove stood for generations. It was our link to Silvanus. Not, it’s nothing but blood and ashes - thanks to you."

Let's slow it down and get closer, really soak in the tiny details embedded in this scene.

Watch the first part below at half speed, watch his face twist into disgust and pain. Watch him physically turn away from you in anger and loathing. He's not looking at Tav anymore, he's seeing something else instead. Some memory of the Grove, whether a happy one or a more recent, bloodstained one, we're left to guess.

Anger turns into sorrow - he lifts his eyes in a silent prayer as he speaks, then hangs his head in heavy, tired despair. It doesn't drag his features down yet; he's still too angry under all that pain.

A tiny, miserable moment of memory and suffering....

...before sorrow turns back into anger, when he comes back to the present. That second blink of anger when he comes back to himself, out of whatever memory he was replaying in that moment. He turns back to you and rage crowds back into his face.

He's already made his choice... but he's about to give Tav a chance to speak for their actions anyway. While the role of arch-druid might have been thrust onto his unprepared shoulders unexpectedly a hundred years before, he has grown immensely since then. Despite his justified rage, he reacts wisely, seeking to understand before seeking vengeance.

Tell me… was it worth it? 

He's furious, rightfully so, but there's still a genuine question under that rage. The split-second look of curiousity before the rage takes over his features once more.

Was there a meaning to this sacrifice? Was it done for a purpose or was it all just as cruel and wanton of a betrayal as it seemed?

Even as anger and hatred take over his face once more, he gives you a chance to speak for yourself.

There are four options.

Option 1: Of course - I did what I had to do. Your grove was in the way. 

"You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? Or perhaps you simply don’t care?"

First, the genuine sadness and disbelief as he says "You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?"

Then, the anger of "Or perhaps you simply don’t care?"

Sadness and sorrow into fucking rage. Both are so poignant and beautifully done. Round of applause for Larian, god(s)damn.

The first three options all end the same way, so we'll cut right to Option 2 and save that glorious closing gif for the end.

Option 2: "I’m sorry. I had no choice." 

"There’s always a choice - but you have made yours. Now I make mine."

Look at the disgust... the way he squeezes his eyes shut as he says "There’s always a choice". He knows. He's made hard choices, at great personal cost.

The way he says it with his head down, his nostrils flared in disgust and anger, and doesn't open his eyes as he turns his head to face Tav. He doesn't open his eyes until the last instant, both saddened and repulsed by Tav and their actions.

Then, when he's looking into Tav's eyes, the anger and hatred set in again.

Let's cut to Option 3.

Option 3: "Calm down. Come sit by the fire and we can talk this over."

"There’s nothing left to be said. My mercy died when I saw the grove."

Pretty much directly into the rage with this one.

And honestly, I don't think anyone could blame him? The balls to aid in the massacre of everyone he cares about, then to hit him with "Calm down. Come sit by the fire and we can talk this over" once he confronts you and gives you a chance to explain yourself?

Nope. Game over, buddy. (Well...)

The four option is simply to attack; all four options lead to a fight to the death. The first three options all end the same way;

"You have upended nature’s balance. Only your death can restore it!"

Slower? Okay.

#the heavy crown of leaves #from hope to heartbreak #ancient anger ageless anguish #guardianship at great cost #shades of sorrow glaive #halsin hot under the collar #the weight of the mantle #bear mood bear mode #spell sling and heart sting #anger is the new black #slow walk slower burn #halsin bg3 #halsin silverbough #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate halsin #daddy halsin #halsin #echoes of the fallen grove #legacy of the emerald guardian #solitude of command #silent prayers in shadow #a century of solitude #nature mourns its protector #lost groves lost loves

[cloudzoro]

Toy | Portgas D. Ace ♡

(ft Vinsmoke Sanji)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

pairings: ace x fem!reader x sanji

genre: smut (minors dni)

wc: 1.7k words (it's a short one today!)

cw: soft!dom ace, jealous ace, big!dick ace, bisexual sanji, sub!sanji, mmf threesome (focused on reader), hella dirty talk from ace, voyeurism, cunnilingus, cum eating, semi-public sex, sanji is super into you but also has a tiny crush on ace, pathetic loser sanji <3

masterlist here

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and your boyfriend, Ace, are staying aboard his little brothers ship and the cook takes a liking to you. Ace is initially jealous but when he catches Sanji eavesdropping on the two of you, he issues a punishment that has him realising how much fun he can have with the cook.

this is so self indulgent i'm sorry 😭

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You and Ace have been staying aboard the Merry for a few days. The two of you have been welcomed by your boyfriend's brother and his crew. Sanji, in Ace's opinion, has been hanging around you too much. Sanji has been following you around like a lost puppy. It doesn't bother Ace that all the attention is on you. He is always more than ready to show you off. His problem is that he hasn't gotten to have any alone time with you since boarding the sunny.

On a quiet morning, he has you cornered out on the deck. It's so early that everyone's still in bed. Ace offered to do the night watch, and you were happy to accompany him.

“Missed this pretty pussy”, he says, fingers slipping below the waistband of your underwear and pressing against your clit.

“You're so dramatic; it's only been a few days”, you laugh, pulling him into a kiss.

“Baby, you know you're just as desperate for my cock”, he says, biting your bottom lip. You don't respond, instead grabbing his belt and undoing it. He laughs as you fuss with the button on his shorts. Sex with Ace is always lighthearted, and he makes you feel so comfortable. Once you get his shorts unbuttoned, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into a kiss. He kisses back roughly. “let me make you cum with my fingers, and then when the cook comes out to take over, I'll take you to our room and fuck you properly.”

You hear a footstep behind Ace but get distracted by his fingers, so you don't mention it. His fingers tease your whole, and you whine.

“Just put them in, please, Ace. Don't tease me.”

“I'm sorry, baby”, he apologises, pushing two fingers inside you. “You're just so cute I can't help it”, he coos, speeding up his fingers. Your hips instinctively rock against his hand as you get closer to your orgasm. His lips trail down your neck, and your hand threads through his hair, making him moan. Your orgasm hits you, and your legs shake slightly as you struggle to stay on your feet. Ace holds you up as you whine in his ear. He pulls his fingers from your cunt and brings them up to his lips. You watch, dazed, as he sucks his fingers clean. You hear another noise that sounds like footsteps, and this time, it catches Ace's attention, too. Ace walks over to the door to the deck and swings it open, revealing Sanji looking as guilty as you've ever seen him. Sanji's face flushes red at having been caught listening to you with his hand shoved down his trousers. Ace looks back at you with a smile, knowing both of your sexual tastes. This is a perfect chance to explore something you've been thinking about. Despite his jealousy over Sanji's crush on you, Ace thinks the cook is kind of cute.

“How do you think we should punish him, baby?” asks Ace. Sanji is entirely unfocused, close to tears, as your moans replay in his head.

“We could always show him what he wants but can't have,” you say. You enjoy having an audience. Ace nods and tells Sanji to enter the dining room, the closest room to the deck. He obliges, realising he might like being bossed around by his captain's big brother.

He sits down on the bench seats as Ace takes a seat opposite him in a chair. Ace beckons you over with a smile on his face.

“Strip for us, Baby”, he orders, and you get to work immediately. Sanji feels lightheaded as he watches you bare your skin. He reaches out to touch you as you bend over to pull your panties down your legs. Ace notices and immediately draws you towards him. The force of his pull has you straddling him. “You think that I'm gonna let you touch her after you were eavesdropping?” he asks, laughing at their desperate expressions. “You can watch me play with her pretty pussy, and if you behave, then maybe I'll let you touch her.” With a goal in sight, Sanji keeps his hands to himself.

Ace manoeuvres you to face the other man, still sitting on his lap. He pulls your back against his chest and grips the underside of your legs, pulling them apart. The blonde man in front of you groans at the sight of your bare pussy. Ace's fingers find your clit, rubbing it in circles, making you whine. Your noises have Sanji rubbing himself over his trousers.

“Isn't she pretty?” Ace asks, pressing a kiss to your temple, and Sanji immediately nods, unable to take his eyes off Ace's skilled fingers and your pretty pussy. You start to get restless and squirm on Ace's lap. You want him to fill you up so badly. “What is it, baby?”

“Want your cock, please”, you beg, and the words sound so pretty coming from you that Sanji pulls his cock free from his trousers. He's slow in how he teases himself because he knows how fast he'll cum. Ace, never one to deny you of cock, pulls his hard cock out and guides you to sink on him. He holds you sill in his lap and fucks up into you. He stretches you out so well that he has to clamp his hand over your mouth to stop your moans from waking up the other crew members.

“You see this? This perfect pussy? This is mine. You can eavesdrop on us and watch me fill her up with cum, but you'll never have her.” Ace's possessive words have you clenching around him. Sanji strokes his cock in time with Ace's thrusts, and with his eyes laser-focused on where the two of you meet, he jumps when Ace speaks again, not expecting the voice. “If you're a good boy and hold off your orgasm until after I cum, I'll let you eat my cum out of her” Sanji, for a second, looks embarrassed that Ace has figured out that he may have a tiny crush on him too. Sanji nods, slowing his hand back down.

“Ace, Sanji. I'm close,” you whine. Sanji almost cums on the spot when you whimper out his name, and it sinks in how much power the two of you have over him. You can feel your orgasm building inside you, and with another pair of eyes on you, you feel it building quicker and quicker.

“You hear that, Sanji?” Sanji's cock twitches at how his name sounds coming from Ace's mouth. “She's gonna cum. Doesn't she look pretty, squeezing around my cock like this?” He makes eye contact with the cook, and Sanji's stomach twists. He finally, for the first time since you'd started, speaks up.

“She's so beautiful. You're both so hot,” he whimpers, stroking his cock. He looks kind of pathetic; Clothes still on, cock out, sweat dripping down his face, eyes hazy from lust, desperately jerking himself off to you.

“Oh, are we now? You wanna watch us cum?” Sanji's frantic nods make Ace laugh, and he leans down to speak directly into your ear. “You feel so good around my cock. I'm gonna cum inside you and fill you up; just keep squeezing me like that, pretty girl,” he says. He tells you he loves you and bites down on your shoulder. Your orgasm comes crashing down in waves as you shake in Ace's lap. The way your walls pulse and grip his cock has him cumming along with you. Sanji watches in awe, unable to move his hand as he just takes in the scene before him. He feels like he's genuinely having some kind of spiritual awakening, watching the two of you in the throes of pleasure.

When you finally stop twitching in his lap, Ace pulls out of you and tucks his cock back into his boxers the best he can without knocking you off of him. When he sees Sanjis obeyed his orders, he smiles, beckoning Sanji over them with a finger. Sanji drops to his knees and crawls over to you. He stares at your cunt for a second, watching Ace's cum drip from your hole. He tentatively leans in and teases his tongue at the edge of your hole before gaining his confidence and shoving his tongue into your cunt, licking at your walls. The combination of Ace's cum and your juices has his mind reeling. He's passionate and messy as he eats you out the best he can. You can tell he's inexperienced, but he's a fast learner. He pays attention to areas that make you whimper so prettily. Ace's large hand dips between your legs to grab a handful of Sanji's hair, and Sanji moans into your cunt.

“Fuck, Sanji” Hearing you moan his name spurs him on to eat you out more vigorously. “You're doing so good” The praise has his hand wrapping around his cock. He brings his other hand to hold you still on Ace's lap as he tongue fucks you. He pumps his cock and focuses on pleasing you as Ace whispers encouragement in your ear. In minutes, you're brought to yet another orgasm, and your legs clamp around Sanji's head. Sanji continues to lick you through your high as Ace rubs relaxing circles into your skin, cooing at you to calm you down. Sanji cums into his fist as he takes care of you.

When you're done, Ace tells Sanji to take care of himself while he cleans you up and gets you redressed. You stumble on wobbly legs as he helps you back into your clothes. Sanji, ever the gentleman, comes back to check on you one last time before returning to his post on watch until the strawhats wake up. Too tired to speak, you kiss Sanji's cheek, and Ace grips your hip, ready to walk you back to your guest room.

“If you want to play with us again, come find us later tonight,” says Ace, winking at a very flustered Sanji. As you walk back to your room, Ace giggles in your ear about how you both have a shiny new toy to play with.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed :)

reblogs and comments are hugely appreciated!!

#heres my self indulgeng acesan x reader that no one asked for! #ace and sanji are my favourite bisexual whores #one piece smut #one piece x reader #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #ace smut #sanji x reader #sanji smut #portgas d ace #vinsmoke sanji #sanace #sanace x reader #acesan #☁️.smut #☁️.onepiece #☁️.ace #☁️.sanji

[quizzicalwriter]

Hi! Idk if you do headcanons but if you do can you do boyfriend headcanons for Dallas? It can be up to you to make it general things or just smut related things.

Dating Dallas HC’s

Despite what you may think, I don’t see Dallas being an overly possessive boyfriend. You two go about your business and that’s that, but the moment he catches someone flirting with you he’s bounding over and making sure everyone knows you’re his. Beyond that? He’s alright with PDA, but he’s not about to make out in front of his friends, that’s private stuff.

He’d let you wear his jacket, necklace, rings, everything. He loves seeing you in his clothing, and he’d certainly notice the moment you aren’t wearing one item that you usually do - and it’s not even for the reason you think, he’s just worried you’ll lose his stuff and he’ll have to find another one.

He has no problem remembering birthdays, anniversaries, all that jazz. He loves surprising you by remembering important dates for you. But the moment you ask him if he remembers someone you met last week he’s pulling a blank. He’ll remember eventually, but he sucks at remembering faces.

You ever need something but don’t have the money for it? Dallas does! Don’t ask where he got it, most of the time he doesn’t remember or doesn’t want you worrying about him - he doesn’t know which is worse and he ain’t about to find out.

On the topic of money, if you tried to pay him back he’d act personally offended and never accept the money. I’m talking full-on mouth dropping open, loud scoff, all of it. You’re his girl, why the hell are you trying to pay him back? Just give him a kiss or something.

Loves driving you places, and lets you control the music in reasonable amounts - meaning, you cannot play the same song over, and over. He’d let you get away with three replays max before he’s groaning and turning the radio off and tossing the mix out the window. He’d apologize afterward and buy you a new cassette.

I do not see him being a kind driver, the man has road rage and you’ve seen it. There have been multiple instances where you’ve ducked into the passenger seat and whisper-yelled at him to shut up - he never does.

The man is like a corpse when he sleeps. You want him to move over? Good luck. You’d have a better chance rolling over onto him to get sleep, he wouldn’t wake up either way unless you pushed him from the bed.

Speaking of sleep, if you’re ever cold and plaster your morgue-like hands against his back, he will shriek. His back will arch, his legs will shoot out, and he’ll throw every curse known to man your way as he moves away from your hands - your hands still end up warm.

His friends are his family and he takes their opinions seriously, I can see him genuinely fretting over their view of you if he cares enough for you. Hell, he’s got feelings for you, of course, he’s going to want his family to like you. They will, it’ll take a while to get used to their form of joking, but you’ll be at home with them and it’ll make Dallas smile.

On the subject of family, Dallas doesn’t mention his much. He might if you’re close enough, but you’re likely to get bits and pieces as time goes by until he’s sure you won’t leave either. When he finally tells you about his upbringing it hurts your heart, you’re both mentally spent by the end of it and you promise him to never mention it unless he does first. He appreciates you for it.

If you stay over at his place often enough he’ll try to make the place look more presentable. Mainly rearranging stuff that he hasn’t touched in months, maybe buying another set of bedsheets. You notice every time something changes in his room and whenever you mention it he’s happy to talk about it, even if he tries to play it off cool.

He watches you sleep, not so much in a creepy way, but it’s something he loves to do. If you talk or snore in your sleep he will imitate it in the morning. In the moment he finds it cute, but he’ll never admit it.

His version of helping you cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner is standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder, or leaning against the kitchen counter with a cigarette between his lips. The man can’t cook, maybe he could, but he likes watching you cook too much to try - that and the one time he tried to help he burnt the shit out of his hand.

If you smoke he’ll light your cigarettes or share his own, if you don’t he’ll appreciate you standing beside him while he smokes, but he ain’t gonna force you to be near him when he does - just don’t nag the man, he’s been smoking since he was a kid, I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.

Whenever he smokes he’ll blow the smoke to the side, always ensuring it doesn’t blow in your face. But, if the smoke follows you he’ll murmur some cliche line like “Smoke follows beauty.”

Any music he’s into he will show you in a heartbeat. He thrives on showing you things you haven’t seen yet, whether it’s movies at the drive-in he’s sneaking you into, or a cassette he snagged from a nearby store - either way, his eyes watch you for any reaction.

Definitely considers going on a walk or eating food in Buck’s T-Bird a date. You’ll have to specify what you want if you want anything different, otherwise he’s content with the routine. If you ask for something different he won’t take offense to it, but he might chide you for it.

Words aren’t his forte, actions are. He’ll try his best to be kind, but he’ll occasionally slip and might say something rude. If you can shoot back your own sarcastic quips it’ll make him swoon, he loves nothing more than someone who can fire back at him.

Likely won’t tell you that he loves you for YEARS. You can say it first, he’ll nod and likely kiss your cheek or forehead in return. You know what he means, but he’s not the type to say it until he feels absolutely certain about you. Dallas knows how he feels about someone rather quickly, but he’s wary when it comes to love. He wants to mean it, mean it in a way that scares him.

The first time he tells you he loves you will be when you’re asleep. He’ll continue doing that until one day when he randomly springs it on you. It’ll likely be around a cigarette, but you’ll be able to tell from his eyes how deeply he means it. Don’t expect him to say it often, but know that he always feels it.

A/N: This is so short, I’m so sorry. I’ve never done headcanons before, so I hope this was good! I think about Dallas’s character so much that I actually had a bit of fun with this! This is a late night post for me, but I finished it up and figured I’d post it for y’all anyways. Thank you all for the continued love and support you’ve shown me and my work!! I appreciate you all more than words could ever describe! <3

#the outsiders writing #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders dally #the outsiders dallas #the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #headcanon #dallas winston writing #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston drabble #dallas x reader #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston #dallas winston headcanons #dally winston x reader #dally imagine #dally winston #dally x reader #dally winston x y/n #dally winston headcanon #anon ask #my work #request

[lunalockley]

The Limo Driver (part one)

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Very NSFW which is funny cause reader is in her workplace. Fingers exactly where you want them.

Summary: Jake has issues, yet has the audacity to be possessive.

Words: 4700+

Notes: Hiii! I wasn't posting for a while because I wasn't satisfied with my writing, but now save yourselves I'm backkkk

Masterlist

gif credit

Truth is… you’ve missed him. All this time you’ve missed him.

You have realized he never told you how old he is, where he is from, or what he does. You don’t have any substantial information about his personality, about who he is as a person. All you know is he answers to the name of Jake and you think he drives a limo for a living.

That’s it. That’s all you have on him. And half of it it’s guessed.

Yet, you’ve missed him. A lot. Which is pretty stupid. And annoying.

Because if you already have to deal with mornings you suddenly wake up breathing hard and sweaty just by the infuriatingly vivid idea of his warm mouth making his way down on your neck, or the roughness of his hands grabbing your hips to pull you closer, deeper, harder… ugly, disgusting ideas you’re determined to call nightmares. At work, everything gets worse. 

There are days when the restaurant is full, no matter how late it is. So you move around on a nonstop cycle greeting, serving, and cleaning until your shift is over and you don’t have energy left to think about anything else than your soft, comfy bed. But there are also days when almost no one comes. Days when no one wants breakfast at 1 am, for some reason, so you don’t have anyone to reassure there’s still bacon and eggs available—even when the ‘24-hour breakfast’ slogan plagues pretty much every inch of the restaurant. Nothing to serve, nothing to clean, no repetition to follow. Nothing to concentrate on.

So all that are you left with it’s the constant hum of the ceiling fan, your thoughts and the fact that his usual seat pulls your attention like a gravitational force, taking over you against all your fucking will. Whether it’s being used by a stranger and you can’t escape how wrong it feels having someone else where it should be him, or when its emptiness seems to mock how you haven’t been able to forget him despite how long it’s been since the last time you saw him.

So of course it’s stupid and annoying… and stupid.

Because if he’s not sitting there frowning at his coffee and flirting with you whenever you got closer enough, as he did for weeks on end all these months ago, it’s because he doesn’t want to, right? It’s been nearly a half-year for fuck’s sake. Of course he doesn’t want to.

You know that. You do. Yet the kiss gets replayed on your mind all the fucking time. Because that’s the exact same spot where you felt his lips against yours for real, not like the not-good-enough vanished version of your drea—nightmares.

Even though you’d prefer those horrible nightmares than staying behind the counter with nothing to do but alternate your eyes between a smooching couple in one corner and an old melancholic man observing the night sky in the other, the only customers in the restaurant. No one else has entered the place in a torturously slow hour and a half. And there's still another hour left until your shift ends.

It’s embarrassing how all your life you had been proud of yourself for not letting anyone take over your mind as you’ve seen in cheesy movies and listened to in corny songs. You were fine, taking care of your well-being, working on as many jobs as physically possible, patiently increasing your savings, doing everything in your hands to follow your slightly unrealistic dreams. But this? This is straight-out dumb.

You think about him as soon as you wake up, you get distracted on your daily life, on your work. And the fact that any little silly thing has the power to make you think of him, to wonder what he might be doing, may have he eaten, might he be okay—it’s infuriating.

You just never had someone on your mind… all the fucking time. 

And now it’s getting to a point you’re just mad about it. About how silly you were to open up to him, to share your dreams and fears when he didn’t even tell you his last name. About how naive you were to let him be part of your life so easily. About the stupid kiss, too. About how you still care, how you’re still hoping he’s okay. About everything. Even the soft buzzing of the coffee machine is getting on your nerves. 

You just have to… forget him. Somehow.

While you channel all of your frustration into cleaning the bar table for the eighty-sixth time you go through it again. You need a plan, you have to get over him. You need to go out, have a social life, get some new air. You’ll fucking do fifty push-ups every time he comes to mind if you need to. You won’t spend not even one more second thinking of him or his stupid lips, nor the lopsided almost-smiles he would give you every time you—

“Always working so hard, preciosa.”

A beat, and then you feel how your heart starts to race in your chest as all the oxygen seems to leave your lungs, getting replaced with too many emotions and thoughts you can’t process all at once. Everything feels like too much for a second. Too alive, too fast, too hot. And as if your body had a mind of its own, while you’re still trying to regain control of it, your head lifts and you’re certain you’ll finally find out you have lost your fucking mind. 

But you haven't. Because he’s right there, in his usual chair. 

Jake.

His brown eyes are the first thing that catches your attention, his gaze always having the power to somehow make you feel safe and exposed at the same time. Just like the first time you saw him, you weren’t able to look away even when he was drenched, limping, and bleeding. Another thing he never explained. 

The memory makes you examine the rest of his body. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a shirt and his chest is moving hard underneath, almost like he had run here. At least he doesn’t seem hurt this time. You also notice he’s not wearing his usual hat and you think this might be the first time you’ve ever seen his hair in full glory. Even if it’s slightly combed you can see it’s curly and fluffy and you try to bury deep down the stupid desire to lose your fingers in it. 

And you realize his whole body seems to be vibrating with some sort of energy, some sort of excitement you’ve also never seen in him before. And your own body, too susceptible to his, can almost feel it emanating out of him.

You search back for his eyes just in time to catch his slowly lifting from your body and when they make contact with yours they shine with something you rather don’t think about right now.

“It’s been a while,” he says still a little out of breath. And your heart is still in your throat while you wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. Is he expecting you to say something back to that? After all this time? Oh, it’s been a while? I haven’t noticed. At all. It’s not like I’ve been worrying to death because of you. 

But even if you wanted to say anything at all out loud you don’t think you could, you’re still frozen in place working with way less oxygen than needed. So you keep taking each other in, staring in silence like two idiots waiting for the other to say something. And to your surprise, he gives in first.

“Did you miss me?” He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are bright and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, that flirty tone you know so well. The first thing about him that you can actually recognize because everything else feels out of place. The absence of his hat, the casual clothes, his whole weirdly happy demeanor. So you hold into it. 

Which is the worst thing you could do. Because your heart already struggling somewhere in your chest makes a mortal downfall to your stomach in response to it. And you feel it breaking a little bit more. Of the thousand if-he-ever-comes-back scenarios you had in your head you never picture him being almost… cheeky about it. He spends night after night for months bolted to that chair, talking to you, flirting with you, fighting any drunk who got too handsy, waiting for you on your late shifts to accompany your way home through dark streets, looking at you in that stupid bone-melting way he does… kissing you, just to disappear for six months and appear all of the sudden to ask if you missed him? The nerve of him.

“It’s good to see you, Jake,” you acknowledge, and you curse yourself for your slightly shaky voice. You’re still trying to gain your body back from the emotional overload. The adrenaline is still buzzing through your veins. And the way his gaze flick to your mouth once you pronounce his name doesn't make it any easier.

“Just black coffee?” You hear yourself ask, and you curse yourself once more for blurting out his usual order just like that. You shouldn’t remember those things after six months, should you? The thing is you’re not just trying to avoid answering his stupid question but you also need to have at least something to do with your hands. You can’t just stand there in front of him like an idiot, for god’s sake.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he answers dropping his gaze to the table and you take the opportunity to turn around away from his mesmerizing brown eyes and stupidly long eyelashes at least for a moment. “Always having fun playing with my heart, preciosa. You didn’t miss me, then?”

Again, the nerve of him.

“Clients come and go,” you toss carelessly back at him. Not facing him gives you a false sense of power. You have never been so ruthless around him, you never fully played along with his flirty comments but neither did you shut him down. Not being able to resist him. Stupid you. But no more of that.

“Mmm, just a client then,” he remarks in a meditative tone.

“Well, after all this time you’re not even that, are you?” You throwback a little too firmly, serving his cup of coffee a little too hard, almost spilling some on the counter bar. God, where is this passive aggressiveness coming from?

He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to. Instead he just looks at you. So you do the same, you can’t back down now.

As you observe him you notice part of his weirdly vibrating energy seems to have diminished along with his playful demeanor. He has realized you’re not playing around. And for a second you feel a stab of regret. Despite your annoyance, you enjoyed watching this new third expression his always serious face is capable of making, besides his usual grumpy, extra-grumpy murderous one you were already used to. Now all you have left are his rich brown eyes, which reveal more information than his words have ever done. Despite his will, you believe.

“How’s our cat?” Jake tries again, changing the subject. One you can’t resist.

“My cat. Just mine. And she’s fine. So big you wouldn’t recognize her.”

“Did you find her a name?”

“No. She’s still Viejita.”

Viejita. The way he called her when he brought her to you, tiny, malnourished, and full of fleas. He had found her alone in the streets. Said he had no heart to leave her, but he couldn’t take her home with him. Something about already having fish and cats not being discreet enough. So like the idiot you are you took her with you.

Not like you regretted though. You are pretty sure that tiny black-haired monster has become the love of your life.

“Viejita,” he chuckles softly. “That’s good. I approve it.”

You gasp, shocked. How dare he.

“You have no right.”

This time around he’s the one who seems shocked. After a brief moment, he says in perfect conviction: “Of course I do. I found her. I’m her father.”

“Yeah, you’ve missed half her life, that actually sounds like it.”

The silence rises again and his eyes, god, his eyes are looking at you with an intensity you’ve seen only once before: the night he kissed you. So instead of doing the grown-up thing and facing him once and for all, you do exactly the opposite. You turn around and pretend to be very busy doing literally nothing.

“And how have you been?” He asks a few moments later. Even when you can’t see him you feel his eyes pinned on you. You move things from one side to the other, pretending to organize them when you’re actually doing quite the contrary. You take a mental note to put everything back in its place before your co-worker arrives for her shift.

“I have work to do. Other customers to serve, Jake. Can’t spend the night chatting with you.”

“Yeah, sure, I see that. You’re drowning in orders,” you hear him grumble as you make your way to the table of the smooching couple that just left. They just had coffee and waffles, but you make the most of it taking as much time as you can carrying the mugs to the kitchen. Yet, it still takes too little. By the time you’re back at the counter top, there's still a half-hour of shift left. And Jake is right where you left him, his coffee untouched.

 “C’mon bonita, talk to me.”

You had forgotten the power his dark raspy voice has over you, breaking goosebumps all over your body. One more reason to hate your work dress too short everywhere, leaving your arms as exposed as your legs.

“Stop—Stop calling me… things in Spanish, please.”

“But you are bonita. Muy bonita. Preciosa.”

Fuck him, why does it sound so good? You’ll listen to Spanish ASMR tonight. Not having him in mind, of course.

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t fight it. I’ve gone that way, too. But is just denial.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’s doing that thing where the corner of his lips is slightly raised and his eyes shine with mischief. You can’t help yourself. You fall right in.

“What were you in denial of?”

“You.”

Ok, no. Abort. Don’t go that way. Change the subject. Fast.

You fill the air with meaningless sounds until you actually find something to say. “What’s with the new style? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so… so casual.”

He doesn’t smile but you see it in his eyes, your reaction pleased him. But then he crosses his arms and leans back in his seat a little bit, along with a subtle change in his demeanor. Almost defensive, but you’re not sure. “Borrowed.”

“Borrowed?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you need to borrow them?”

“Circumstances.” He answers with a shrug.

“Ok. And… what have you been up to?”

“Work.”

Single-word answers. A mimic of a response but not actually giving anything away. Keeping himself clean, not exposed, not involved.

“What are you doing, Jake?”

“I’m talking t—”

“No, you are not,” you interrupt him. You see a muscle appear on his cheek. “Why are you here? Why you came back?”

“I came back—came back to you. Didn’t want to leave.”

“But you did. So what does that mean?” You ask defenseless, tired of trying to figure him out. 

He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything at the end. All you get is a head shake and a shrug as an apology. He won’t say anything, he never does.

“Nice talk.”

There are still almost twenty minutes left but you don’t care. The old melancholic man, the only customer besides Jake, is still sipping his coffee. He doesn’t need you.

You go and take your backpack to the bathroom. You’ll change and kill the time in there until your shift ends. But as soon as you close the door it opens again. Jake storms inside, you didn’t even hear his footsteps.

“Jake, what the f—”

“What’s wrong? What changed?” He interrupts you, positioning himself against the door. Blocking any way to escape him, forcing you to face him.

What changed?!

“Please, this isn’t—just…” you pause to take a big breath, putting all your effort into channeling the remaining patience you’ve got left “just leave me alone.”

“Why?” He asks softer than you expected, taking a step closer. But despite the tone, despite the cautious way he's approaching you you can see he’s holding back. You can feel his body tense with restraint.

“Because I want to be alone. I don’t want to be near you right now.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

Is too fucking small here, this bathroom can barely fit two people. And he’s gotten closer. You can feel the heat emanating out of him. The audacity to come here and perform a little interrogatory when he never answers any of your questions.

“Jake, please—”

“Answer me. Why don’t you want me near you?”

“Please, stop being an—” an asshole, you want to say. A selfish idiot who just takes and doesn’t give anything back. But you don’t. “Just leave.”

“Tell me why.”

That’s it.

“I don’t wanna be near you because you’re being a fucking asshole and I hate assholes and I hate your stupid chair and I hate that you leave only when you want to and not when I ask you to, like when you kissed me and you just fucking left! I hate that you don’t answer any of my questions but you come here expecting me to answer all of yours, and I hate that you are so close to me,” you snap, trying to push him away full force but he doesn’t move an inch. “And I fucking hate you too so get the fuck off m—”

It’s so fast. His hand on the back of your neck is what silences you. He’s suddenly pulling you closer, caging you by taking over your waist with his whole fucking arm. And when you are millimeters from his face his eyes shine with something you can’t quite put your finger on but they immediately change into something primitive and dark, halfway to insane.

And then his mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you. Hard.

All you can feel is him. His scent. The low hum when his tongue invades your mouth. The hand holding the back of your head, the other moving over your back and pushing you towards his torso. All hard muscles and heat. His pulse jumping under your fingertips. His upper thigh between your legs. 

Is this how it feels when he loses control? Is this how it feels when you lose control?

It must be. Because for sure you’re not in control of your body right now. Not for the way is pushing back to fit every part of his. Nor for the way you moan when he bites your lower lip. Or for the way your fingers trail down and get into the waistband of his jeans, desperate to feel more of him. The contact makes him shudder and growl into your mouth. But you can’t go any further because he’s suddenly turning you around so fast you barely get to hold your hands into the mirror before completely losing balance. His hands grip your hips, pulling you into him, making you feel the heat of his hardness and punching another pathetic moan out of you.

In response a pleased hum rose in his throat, the sound deep and husky. He slowly raises one hand through your body and wraps it around your throat, bringing you even closer to him. The other hand travels down your thigh. The look in his eyes wild and sharp, almost black when they click back on yours through the mirror's reflection. “Not so desperate to get away from me now, are we muñequita?”

You can’t breathe. Not when his fingertips find the hem of your dress. Not when he lifts it so, so slowly up to your waist. Not when he starts playing with the elastic of your panties. Not when he leans his head over your shoulder to get a better look. Not when he briefly brushes your clit through the fabric. Fuck.

You gasp at the contact. Jake removes his hand as his eyes immediately search for yours over the reflection, the intensity of his gaze as if his life depends on your answer.

“Do you still want me to leave?”

He’s not just asking for confirmation, he’s giving you a way out. If you say yes he will leave just like you said you wanted him two minutes ago. Perhaps he won’t ever show up again and you’ll finally get a chance to get back to your normal life before him. That’s what you should do. But you know won’t. Because whatever your common sense is shouting at you gets pushed back to the background. Too caught up in the way his body feels against yours. Too absorbed in what his next move might be, what his next words might sound like right there next to your ear. But you can't get yourself to recognize any of that out loud, so all you do is shake your head, utterly defeated.

“Mmm, what you want me to do then?”

You take his hand and try to take it back to your pussy but he takes it away before you can’t get any relief. It’s not fair. Instead, he raises his hand to move your head to the side, exposing your throat.

“Too bad. I’m not giving you what you want until you act right,” he says lowly and the baritone goes straight into your core. It’s too hot. You feel too hot. Overheated. There’s a faint sheen on your neck and now he’s licking it and you feel like dying. He lets out a noise that’s halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Months waiting for a fucking chance to get here and once I do you can’t fucking behave yourself. Now how was that? You hate me you say?”

“No. Jake, please,” you whine. Unable to stop yourself.

“No?”

“No,” a mere whisper. You don’t even know what are you answering. Your body wants him so bad isn’t even processing thoughts.

“So you don’t?” 

“Jake.”

“You sound so sweet. But I need to hear more, preciosa.”

“Please, Jake, I’m so wet.”

That seems to push a bunch of air out of him. Almost like he couldn't help himself, he moves his head back over your shoulder to watch as pushes the panties to the side with his thumb. His index and middle finger beginning to collect your wetness, the touch so soft you can barely feel it. Torture. Not even close to enough.

“Just fucking touch me already please or I swea—”

The rest of the sentence is muffled as his two fingers fill your mouth, a pinch of something pungent and salty. Your own taste.

“Told you to behave yourself,” he slowly moves his fingers out to your lower lip just to get them back inside to the knuckle. The movement, the words, the tone coaxes a whimper out of you. You’re burning inside out. “Now tell me, does it taste like you hate me? Mmm?”

Before you can even try to answer he turns your head to the side and meets you halfway to kiss you. His hand on your jaw, his tongue dominating yours, his voice raspier when he speaks again. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

He keeps kissing you as he begins to trace the outside of your slit, up and down, up and down. And you feel yourself melting against him. His touch is so smooth and the effect that it has on you is so powerful. And he knows it. 

“You just can't get enough of me, can you?”

And then when he finally starts working on your clit you lose it. God, you had no idea. If two of his fucking fingers have made this trembling, needy, overheated mess of you, you better don’t even imagine what he could of you if—No. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell, you wish you could even talk but language has left your fucking brain. All you can do is whimper as he keeps talking you through it.

“Does it feel good?”

“You’ve needed this all this time? Needed me?”

“Say it then.”

“Say it. Say that you need me.”

“Say the words, baby.”

“Would you like it better if I fuck them off of you?”

Your body makes a sudden jerk when he stops the movement, demanding an answer. But no matter the state you are in there’s still a little corner of your fogged brain fighting. Fighting for not giving him what he wants, no matter how much you want to. No matter if he’s only asking you to admit what you know is true. His hand finds your jaw and positions your head straight into the mirror, forcing you to look into his eyes through the reflection.

And you give in a little. 

“No-o one gets under my skin the way—the way you do,” you manage to say, panting and trembling. Yet, you catch it. As soon as the words leave your mouth his gaze softens. His expression doesn’t seem to change, not anyone could see it. But you can. His eyes look pleased. The storm calms down a bit.

And while you're still spellbound, immobile under his gaze and unaware of anything else but his brown deep eyes he slides two fingers in. The stretch ignites fire from the inside. Your head rolls back into his shoulder as his head falls back into yours.

“Fuck.” The words sound muffled on your neck, low and delirious. “Fuck, baby. Those pretty little noises you’re making will haunt me till my last living night.”

You can already feel it. The way your muscles tense, the way your pussy is squeezing his fingers. So close, so close, so close, so fucking close. And then—

A knock on the door. Your co-worker is calling up your name.

Jake slips his fingers out and takes a step back. The movement sinks down into your stomach. Is he regretting it? Will he disappear again just like last time?

“I–I’ll be there in a minute,” you pronounce as clearly as you can, hoping she won’t notice the tremble in your voice. 

Slowly, you come back to your senses. Your legs barely hold you up. A minute goes by and he still doesn’t say anything. You take your jeans and put them on. Deep down you already knew it. This doesn’t changes anything. He won’t let you in. And you’ve got enough of it.

“I don’t unders—All these months I’ve been so worried, and confused, and angry at you. And on top of that, I missed you so much that I even got tired of it. Physically tired of it. But you know what the worst part was? The more time you spend in my head the more I realized I don’t know anything about you. I barely know your first name. And you, somehow, managed to get any stupid little detail of me out in the clear and that makes it even—”. You finish taking off your dress and you put on your shirt. He's looked at you through the mirror throughout the whole process, his eyes dark and stormy again. You close your backpack and turn to face him. “The point is even this ridiculous little 30-second monologue of me being honest about how I feel it’s more than anything you’ve told me about you. I don’t know you, Jake. I’m not the one who needs to act right. And whatever this is,” you say pointing between the two of you, “is over.”

He’s taking deep breaths, his body tense, restrained once more. Controlled. With a last look in his eyes, you recognize what you couldn’t get your finger on earlier on. It’s vulnerability. But after a few blinks it’s deep down hidden again.

You think he might stop you once you open the door and walk away, but he doesn’t.

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Sorry if I tagged you and you only wanted to be tagged in the I wanna be yours series! I'll be posting very soon there. Please let me know if you don't want to be tagged in part two of The Limo Driver so I can remove you! <3

Also I don't remember who started calling Jake fancanon cat Viejita but please all credit to them!

#jake lockely smut #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector x reader #marc spector #moon knight #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #moon knight imagines #steven grant smut #mcu moon knight #moon knight smut #jake lockley fluff

[genderfluid-insomniac]

Can I request Redson, Mk, Sun Wukong and Mei with a Raiden Ei reader/ s/o? (I can only imagine how they would react to reader pull the sword out of her chest 😭)

Thank you very much if you have time for my request!

Redson, Mk, Sun Wukong, and Mei with a Raiden Ei!reader (separately)

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MK

He’s seen a lot since the day he found the staff and it would be reasonable for him to think he’s seen every weird thing. But one day when he was out on a date with you, another villain of the week attacked right beside you both and you saw a large piece of debris coming towards you. You pulled out your sword from your chest and cleanly sliced the large piece of stone in half.

Meanwhile, MK has thousands of thoughts buzzing around, many of them wondering how he didn’t find out about this sooner. How are you able to do this without cutting your chest? Were you scared to show him your sword chest thing? Why don’t you use it more often? Why did you hide the cool boob sword from him?!

Be prepared for an abundance of questions being yelled at you as he’s fighting off the demon. He’ll deal with priorities later and get lectured about it by Wukong, Macaque, Pigsy, Sandy, Tang, Red Son, Mei, etc (pretty much everyone who cares about his wellbeing)

He will be asking to see it again whenever you’re okay with it and every time it’s like he’s seeing it for the first time. There are stars in his eyes as he admires the skill you have of not hurting yourself but also how gorgeous your blade is. This man is trying his best to hold back the wave of questions due to his confusion on how you actually do it since not one bit of it makes sense to him.

Mei

Genuinely loves it and tries to replicate it or somehow make it known how amazing and impressive she finds your ability.

She is genuinely more in love with you and wants to see you perform to your ability as much as you allow. Endlessly complimenting you about your skills and grace whilst also looking badass.

Despite accidentally injuring herself many times Mei continues to try and replicate it because of how much she wants to be able to do it with you. You and the others will have to stop her from injuring herself too much. Whenever a battle is going on you and her will match your styles, you summoning your glowing violet sword with your girlfriend in tow and mimicking you.

She will constantly ask to see your sword up close and admire the beautiful style of the metal, tracing the intricate designs carved into the hilt and end of the blade. Mei of course loves anything shiny so you might have to steal your sword back because she isn’t going to give it back easily.

Sun Wukong

He probably has the opposite reaction compared to the rest since he’s centuries old and he’s seen a lot of strange things. However, all of that goes out the window when a piece of debris nearly hits you causing you to take out your sword in front of the group and effectively slashing the debris into rubble behind you. You see a look of shock and a failed attempt to push down his excitement now that he knows you’ve unintentionally hidden this amazing and pretty attractive ability of yours.

He’s not going to ask that many questions and plead for you to do it again and again so he can fully see how it works and functions. Of course, the obvious next step is for you both to spar until both of you are exhausted or it comes to a draw and then he’s going to admire your sword while you both rest. The shiny glowy object is very pretty to look at even to you.

When you both are cuddling or relaxing he’ll sometimes ask to “play” with your sword and trace the details or carving in the high-quality steel, being careful it doesn’t cut him because he’d rather not get up from the warm cuddle pile you both have and not so subtly replaying the memory of how you summoned your sword in the first place.

This does mean that you’re going to join MK in training sometimes and momentarily distract Wukong because you are his lover but also he’s still drawn into your swordsmanship skills which causes either of you to get a hit in. He pouts angrily pouts at you while telling MK that he just got lucky and he let it happen to teach him another lesson but neither of you buy a word of that lie.

Redson

Despite everyone else’s reactions, he’s very confused about how this works or even how you don’t get cut every time you do it, and thinking about it makes him go into a spiral of curiosity.

Like MK be prepared for many questions about your ability and the permission for him to examine your sword for a couple of hours, you aren’t banished from his workshop but he’s going to hyperfixed the sword and its ability. So you may not get much attention unless it’s to get him to eat and drink or necessary things because he must find out.

Red Son does find it attractive and is very impressed with your skill as you wield the blade when you’re training or just fighting in general. He is a gentleman so he’s wary of staring at your chest for too long so you can definitely see a light blush on his cheeks if you look at him at just the right time.

Don’t get me wrong he is very impressed with your ability but also wonders if he could somehow improve your ability if you request it. If not then he’s still curious but he does eventually stop given this is a world where magic and demonic bullshit exist and sometimes stuff just doesn’t make sense.

#lmk x reader #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk sun wukong x reader #red son monkie kid #red son x reader #lmk mk x reader #mk x reader #mei x reader

[inbarfink]

Flowey is meant, I think, to be a sort of a representation of the Player. He has just slightly less Determination than we do and he was filling up that exact same role before Frisk fell into the Underground. He was the one with the power of RESETs and SAVEs before we came along, so he was basically playing his own ‘prequel’ to Undertale over and over

First aiming at getting a 'good ending' -

But since he was unable to see anyone else in the Underground as a real person (what seems to be some sort of combination of the lack of a SOUL, being unable to process his Massive Amount of Trauma and the repeated time-loops allowing him to notice the repetitiveness and limitations of everyone’s reactions) he started moving into choosing crueler and cruller options.

Despite his affinity toward sadistic gloating, it is important to note that Flowey’s main motivation is actually boredom. Although he will only open up about it to Chara, the real reason why he’s out to harness the power of the Human SOULs and destroy everyone - essentially his equivalent to a Murder Route - is because destroying the world is the one last thing he hasn't done yet. The one option he hadn't seen yet.

Which mirrors the mindset of many who start on the Murder Route, as Sans himself points out.

Important to note here is that despite Flowey talking about how he ‘killed everyone’, he never actually completed his ‘Murder Runs’. Like both in the sense that he never got to destroy the Entire Universe like the Player does at the end of a Murder Route and Flowey tries to in the Neutral Ending, and in the sense that the reason why he couldn’t is because he never got his vines on the Human SOULs before the events of the game. So there must’ve always been someone that stopped him before he got there. The implication is that it was usually either Asgore -

Or Sans, as usual playing the role of a Murder Route final boss -

The fact he could never beat them might have something to do with his plant body being weaker than the Player’s Human body or whatever - but I think it is probably mainly a matter of Determination. Again, he is slightly less Determined than the Player is - so he would logically be slightly more prone to quitting. Flowey is basically equivalent to a Player who has done everything in Undertale but never actually completed the Murder Route cause he rage-quitted at the Sans Battle.

His relationship to Papyrus can also be a mirror to the Player’s. Since Papyrus is the one character who is always willing to befriend the Player no matter the circumstance. In the more dusty Neutral Runs he is characterized as being in the dark (or in denial) about how terrible his ‘friend’ actually is…

And that is basically also the relationship he has with Flowey in the current timeline. Papyrus is the only one who thinks of Flowey as a friend (and, well, the only one to know he EXISTS in this timeline), but he is totally in the dark (or perhaps willfully ignorant) to this ‘friend’ and his true nature.

Meanwhile, Flowey's behavior once he regains his Asriel form in the Pacifist Route mirrors the behavior of a Player who is replaying the Pacifist Route. He became so attached to the Player that he refuses to let the ‘game’ end.

Instead resorting to a plan to reset time and the Player’s memories over and over again, with the Player doing the exact same things again and again -

Just so Flowey won’t have to say goodbye.

That is basically the mindset behind replaying the Pacifist Route after already achieving everyone’s Happy Ending. Within the fiction of the game, you’re ripping them all away from their happy ending, resetting all of their progress - just because you have a hard time moving on from the game, just because you want another chance to play with them.

And the Route ends with the suggestion of a possibility that Flowey might be able to redeem himself and start caring about others again.

Just as a Player might be able to prove a genuine care to the characters on an in-universe level by being able to resist the temptations of the True Reset.

But they also might not…

Flowey is a third-person-POV demonstration to the Player of how a Player-like entity would be like in a video game world. An immortal time god who knows everything about everyone even while no one really knows them. Someone who has experienced every single reaction anyone could have to anything until they have become unable to see others as anything but predictable lines of code. Someone who prioritizes their own sentimentalities for others over these others’ actual desires. Someone who will destroy the entire world just because it’s something they haven’t done yet.

And I think Asriel, as part of this metaphor, is a demonstration of how this concept of the Player as an Amoral Time God within the fiction of the game does not necessarily translate into a condemnation of the actual real-world morals of the actual person playing the game.

Because Asriel and Flowey are the same person. The difference is that Flowey had Consequences-Free Time God Powers and an (supposed?) inability to care about others in the Underground as real people. In other words, Asriel is the self that interacts with the world as the real world - and Flowey is the self that interacts with the world as a Player in a Game. So while Flowey might be a mirror of the Player, Asriel might be closer to who we are in the real world.

And also…

I wonder if the scene where you have a chance to forgive or not forgive Asriel for what he has done as Flowey is also meant as a chance for the Player to self-reflect and forgive or not forgive themselves for the things they did before that True Pacifist Run. You know, whatever characters you might have accidentally or not-so-accidently killed in previous runs, whatever decisions you regret, whatever previous True Resets you might have done… If you believe Asriel can be forgiven (and most players do) for his actions - because he feels genuine remorse and he’s trying to do better now, then the Player can also forgive themself.

Well, outside of one little thing… There is one bad deed the game won’t ‘forgive’ you for. And it is the one thing that the Player can do and Flowey never could…

Finish a Murder Route.

#undertale #undertale meta #ut #undertale analysis #flowey #flowey the flower #flowey undertale #asriel undertale #asriel dreemurr #asriel

[lostinwoso]

Loser (Alexia x Reader)

Song - 3.1k words

Oh, I'm such a loser, how'd I ever lose her? Oh, maybe I must have been out of my mind Now, I'm a loser, why'd I have to lose her? I'll never recover, I'll never be fine 'cause I

Alexia is lying in bed, the conversation between the both of you just a few hours ago keeps on replaying in her mind over and over again. This isn’t her first break-up, but for some reason this one with you cuts deeper than any other she had to go through. 

The way you brokenly whispered “I can’t do this anymore.”, while desperately trying to keep your tears at bay, brings tears to her own eyes. Just like you earlier, she tries to avoid them from running down her face, but as her mind repeats the scene of you pulling away when she tried to touch you and instead whispered a small, “Sorry.”, before turning around to leave her behind, is enough to make the tears fall.  

“¡Estúpida Alexia!”, the Spanish woman harshly whispers to herself while rather aggressively wiping the tears away, but no matter how often she does it, there always seem more and more tears to make their way down her face. 

Eventually the heart-broken woman gives up, just letting the tears run down her face since it’s not like they would stop anytime soon when the scene keeps on replaying over and over again, not even giving her the chance to calm down any time soon. Even as she falls asleep from exhaustion a few hours later, your face and words are still present in her mind.

I just might get a little too drunk, so I won't think about us (Uh) I don't think about what (Uh) we could have been And I stay up like three or four nights, so I won't dream about us (Uh) I wake up with no luck (No), I just can't win

No matter how much Alexia tries to keep you off her mind, it doesn’t work. If it isn’t you breaking up with her on her mind than its other moments shared between the two of you. All the times she made you laugh, the movies and shows you watched and the little trips you took together.

What was new though were the thoughts and dreams about the what if’s? What if you two didn’t break up? Would you two be together on one of the trips you two wanted to go on? Walking together through the streets of Athens together? Or maybe rather decided to go to Paris together? Snapping the most usual tourist pictures ever with the Eiffel Tower? 

But it isn't just the short-term what if's that occupy her. What if it’s just a small up and down along the way? Weren’t you two meant to last forever, as she first thought you two would be? Weren’t you both meant to marry each other at some point in the future? Weren’t you supposed to wear her last name ‘Putellas’ proudly? Shouldn’t you have been the one she starts a family with? 

All those questions run through her mind at high speed. And if distracting herself doesn’t work, then a little alcohol should do the magic, right? So here she sits at home on her couch, second bottle of wine already halfway chugged down, watching some random show on the TV. And to be fair it did help a little, but only until she finally called it a night and went to bed, that’s when she is confronted with your face again, clearly visible in her mind. Sometimes it’s just you alone, but sometimes she can see herself next to you, doing all the what if’s her mind won’t shut up about.

And the only thing that can help prevent that from happening? Staying awake. So instead of drinking herself to sleep, she drinks just enough to make her mind a bit quieter but not too much for her to feel sleepy, so she can stay awake as long as possible. One night without sleep turns into two, then three, and eventually four. She even tried to push for a fifth night but there is only so much her body can take without sleep, so despite her wanting to fall asleep, she does. Once again dreaming of you two together just to wake up all alone, but still with you present in her mind.

I should've seen it all along (Ah-ah) She was one in a million (Ah-ah) It hurts whenever someone says her name

Alexia tried her hardest to not look at you during training, pretending as if you weren’t there. And that was honestly working out quite well so far for her, mostly thanks to the separated group drills you were in, but football in general has always been Alexia’s escape when things in life were difficult. 

She is completely focused on the drill at hand, until a loud shriek breaks her focus away from the ball.

“Y/N!”.

Pain. A small stab feeling like pain hits the woman’s chest, as her throat closes up a little. She raises her hand up to her chest to rub the spot where the stabbing-like pain comes from, but it refuses to leave. She knows she shouldn’t look over right now, if that is the reaction of simply hearing your name, she doesn’t want to know how worse the pain could get from seeing you. But it's as if she has no control over her own eyes anymore, and before she knows it, she is looking at you. 

There you are laughing at Jana who tries to wipe her face dry with her training top after you just splashed some of your water on her face. Alexia forgets to breathe for a moment, tears gathering in her eyes, the pain in her chest getting worse, but she couldn’t look away. Her eyes focus on your face, the face you make while laughing always managed to bring a smile to her face, but not now. All it does now is bring her another wave of pain while reminding the woman of what should have seen long before.

You are the only one for her. 

Oh, I'm such a loser, how'd I ever lose her? Oh, maybe I must have been out of my mind Now, I'm a loser, why'd I have to lose her? I'll never recover, I'll never be fine 'cause I

It’s been almost two weeks since you broke things off with a Catalonian woman, Alexia thought it would be better by now, that her heart wouldn’t ache anymore every time she sees or hears you in training but no. The pain is still there, every. single. time. 

The what ifs are still there. During the day in her thoughts or at night in her dreams. Her family noticed the change in the woman, usually she would call or text every day, but now it’s only every now and then, when her mind actually allows having another thought for a moment before you would take your place there again. 

Her mother and sister asked questions, they went through every possible thing that could lead to their loved one to be so distant and distracted all the time. But the answer was always the same, “No, it’s not that.”. That’s until they ask if something happened between the two of you, she doesn't answer immediately. Should she admit that you left her in the dust? Did you leave her for good? What would they say? Would they be disappointed, upset for losing you, when they love you almost as much as she loves you?

With those thoughts in mind, she softly shakes her head, whispering a weak, “No”, that she herself can’t even really buy sincerely off. Her mother and sister make eye contact for a moment, not believing the woman in front of them, but instead of questioning further, they just decide to hold her a little closer.

Uh, I just might been a little too gone When she needed somebody (Uh) Up against her body (Woah) at 2 AM

In the third week, Alexia tried to think about what the breaking point of your relationship could have been. The obviousness in the answer pains Alexia, she is an asked woman, so as one of the most popular women in the football industry she often has many events to attend. 

Those events often go until the early mornings, with alcohol flowing easily throughout the entire night. Chatting with strangers and investors that don’t even really care about her as a person, only caring about her as the brand and face she has become for women football all over the world. Is that why she lost you? Because she rather wasted her time away with people who don’t even care about her as a person? 

As Alexia tries to recount the amount of times she didn’t make it home until the early mornings, she lets out a sigh. Why didn’t she try harder to be there for you? Why did she stay there for so long when all the important stuff was always finished way earlier? 

She can’t imagine how you must have felt all the times where you had to go to bed alone and having to wake up alone at times, or having to spend mornings alone because the alcohol the woman consumed left her dead asleep until early noon. 

How much does she wish she would have done things different, wishing that time machines are real, and she could simply go back in time and do things the right way for you. Being there right next to you while going to sleep, holding you close to her all throughout the night until you both would have to get up together. Spending all the mornings together making breakfast or just staying in a little longer. 

But that’s not how things work in life. There is no time machine she can use to get back in time, no. She is here in the present, alone, without you by her side.

Yeah, and now I keep lying to myself When she's just joking probably (She's joking probably) She'll probably call me and we'll be us again

Denial. That was up next, after the first two weeks of only grief, which is still present, and questioning the possible reason of you calling quits on her is now the time for denial.

Every relationship has its ups and downs, so maybe this is yours? Maybe you didn’t mean a complete break-up but rather a small break apart from one another?  

Deep down Alexia knows that this isn’t the case, this wasn’t just a down in your relationship, after all there is no relationship to have ups and downs in anymore. You felt her, completely, with no intention of coming back. But lying to herself is much easier than accepting the truth. 

So she checks her phone almost every 30 minutes, has her ringtone on full volume, waiting for you to send her a text or call her to tell her you didn’t mean what you said. You were joking or just having a bad day when all this disaster happened.  So it’s just a matter of time until you reach out to her, it could happen any minute, or maybe you would rather have this walk in person and will approach her at the next training session?  

It will eventually happen, that’s what Alexia repeats in her head over and over again, if not in the next hour, then the day and if not the next day then the days after this one, but it will happen. You will reach out and tell her that everything is okay between the two of you, you still have a chance to experience all those scenarios her mind plays on the daily. This is not the end between the two of you, it can’t be. 

But the text or call never comes in, and you don’t even spend moments longer close to her in training than you have to. She knew from the beginning that the thought was ridiculous, she knows that you didn’t just joke about breaking up, but damn does she wish you did. So no matter how much she knew how stupid and unrealistic the thought was, she hoped there was at least some possibility of it becoming reality. 

Wanting nothing more than to have you back by her side.

I should've seen it all along (Ah-ah) She was one in a million (Ah-ah) Now she's in love, and I'm in second place (Damn)

The denial phase ended rather quickly, but the ultimate end to it was put when you posted a picture of Ana and you on Instagram. The both of you smiling brightly at one another with the Swiss woman having her arm thrown around your shoulder, pulling you into her, way closer than normal friends would be. 

That’s just a normal picture of two friends, right? There is no way you moved on from her while she is still hung up on you, right? 

But the simple heart you used as caption is enough to let her know that this is not just a simple picture between two friends, and the comment from Ana with a heart and the heart-eyes emoji doesn’t help her suspicion either. 

She did notice that the two of you spend more time together. You were always right next to each other in training, doing all the pair drills together or just chatting and joking away during drink breaks. At first, she didn’t think much of it, you two did all the partner drills together, so of course you would do them with someone else after your break-up, but this picture, the way you almost became inseparable during training and the conversations she overheard during training, which she purposely tried to ban out of her head, lets her know that whatever there is, isn’t just a friendship anymore. 

The conversations she tried to ban from her mind were mostly between the two of you making plans to hang out or talk about how much fun hanging out together the day prior was, how excited you both were to go and try out the new place around the corner or how great the movie was you watched the other night at Ana’s place. 

But the most important once she wished she never witnesses was one which you weren’t even part of. During one of the strength sessions, Aitana approached the Swiss woman, asking her how the ‘date’ you and her were on, the day prior, went. Alexia listened to any word Ana said, how amazing it went, how much fun you both had, how she can’t wait for the next one that will just be a few days later, how amazing you are and how much she likes you and hopes for it to go somewhere. 

So if Alexia was honest to herself, she knew long before you posted the picture that you were moving on. But it was simpler to deny it, much, much easier to ignore everything she heard and label the conversation between Ana and Aitana as a misunderstanding, that you two didn’t go on a romantically motivated date, no, it was a simple hang-out between friends accidentally labeled as a date. 

But she can’t deny it any longer, there was now proof, not just for her to see but for everyone in the world too. You moved on without her. You are in love with someone else while she is stuck here in second place, still having a hard time to get over the break-up.

Tell me God is real Do you think about me still Or am I livin' for nothin'? Don't know where it went Wrong but I'll just take the hint It's gonna take some adjusting

Alexia knows she has no chance but to move on. But she still struggles with adjusting to seeing you and Ana together all the time. She knows you try to keep it as low-key as possible when she is around, she can tell in the way you glimpse at her when Ana was standing a bit closer to you when she was around, trying to keep a certain distance to your new girlfriend in respect of her.

But this also made her wonder, is there still a chance you think of her like she thinks of you? Or are you simply trying not to make things awkward between you? Is that the only time you think of her? 

But she never asks you, because once again Alexia knows the answer to her own question,  because the way you look at Ana and Ana at you is the answer, there is no chance of you still harboring the same feelings towards her the way she does for you.

Having to accept this hurts, almost as much as the first day of the break-up itself, but she will move on, she will leave you alone. You are happy, you deserve happiness even if it's not with her, she has to accept it. And she will move on, but not because she wants to, no way does she want to give you up, no. She does it because she loves you, and you deserve the happiness Ana gives you, so she will let you go. 

Oh, I'm such a loser, how'd I ever lose her? Oh, maybe I must have been out of my mind Now, I'm a loser (Oh), why'd I have to lose her? (I'll never) I'll never recover, I'll never be fine (Oh, baby, I) 'Cause I'm a loser

Lying once more in bed, she stares at the ceiling, it’s been a good three months now since your break-up. You were thriving with Ana, everyone could tell how great you are together, how happy and healthy the relationship is. Alexia on the other hand can’t say the same. The woman tried so hard to move on, but every time she tries to get to know someone she compares them to you, and to her, no one could ever compare to you. You were the one in a million for her, and she lost you.

You are happily moving on with your life, while she is stuck in the same place you left her. Alexia feels lost, defeated. Even with all these trophies in her apartment, proving how successful the woman is, she can’t help but feel like a loser. How did she manage to win so many trophies but lost the person that was made for her? 

“¿Por qué soy un perdedor?”, Alexia asks herself, tears once again making their way down her face.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas imagines #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

[ohnococo]

Gratitude | Chapter 3 | Kiyotaka Ijichi x F!Reader

Ijichi puts on a little show for you after admitting he's especially sensitive in some areas.

Warnings: Light dom/sub dynamics, nipple stimulation, cumming untouched, mutual masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, cumshot, cum licking, praise kink

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

You always make sure to give Ijichi your undivided attention when he speaks: your eyes on his, nodding along, asking questions or giving feedback. When you’d started working with him the very first thing you’d noticed was how he came out of his shell when you were so focused on his words. It had surprised you at first, with his timid nature and tendency to let his nerves get to him you’d expected him to stammer his way through any conversations with you. You’d found that, barring instances where you were actively scrambling his brain with praise, he did generally seem at ease under your attentive gaze. It was nice to see, especially when he was talking about things he was passionate about.

Despite your efforts to let him know that he was always worth listening to, giving him your full attention had been exceedingly difficult ever since that night. Even now as you sat together after a meal he had so sweetly cooked for you, chatting away about a hike he was planning for once the snow cleared, you were struggling. You just couldn’t watch his lips move without thinking of him in the shower, whining and panting. You couldn’t watch his brows raise as he details the new boots he planned to treat himself to with this year’s annual bonus without thinking of how they knit together when he was so, so close. You certainly couldn’t take in that you were agreeing to go with him despite having no clue if you would even get a break from Yaga after the new year. Not when you kept looking at Ijichi and replaying the memory of him cumming without even the slightest touch to his cock.

It was incredibly hot, and it had ruled your thoughts almost every waking moment since then. His cum coating your leg, those desperate whiny breaths like his body was completely out of his control, the look on his face as his eyes rolled back and his cock pushed out spurt after spurt of cum, throbbing as it did.

“Ijichi, have you ever cum without touching your cock like that before?” You aren’t even sure the conversation had lulled enough for you to switch directions like this, but you supposed there was no real appropriate segue into it.

“Oh God…” You notice the slight tremble in his hands immediately. He definitely didn’t want you to bring it up, in fact he wanted you to forget about it entirely, but you simply can’t let him go on thinking it was anything other than the hottest thing you’d seen him do yet.

“No no,” you’d told him how much you liked it afterwards, but you were going to reiterate it again and again until he understood just how crazy it made you, “I loved it, Ijichi, I really did. It was so sexy.”

“Thank you, but…” you could tell at the time he didn’t fully believe you, but the post orgasm haze had obviously taken precedence in his mind enough to keep his body from closing in on itself like it was at this moment as you brought it back to his attention, “I know it’s silly.”

“Silly? You came just from touching me. All for me. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He thinks on your words, turning them over in his mind, unsure of how you could feel that way about something that had made him feel so embarrassed. “Really? You mean that?”

You take his hands in yours, “Yes, it was incredible.” His shy little smile lets you know that he might be starting to believe you, so you ask your previous question again.

“Have you cum untouched like that before?” That apprehension returns, so you give him a small taste of the stern tone you were learning was so effective with him. “Be honest.”

“Well, actually, I…” He looks down, then to the side, then basically everywhere in the room but at you before continuing, “I have very sensitive nipples, so… I can cum from just touching them. Sometimes.”

And here he was, blowing your mind all over again, and doing it so casually as if he weren’t giving you information that had your panties absolutely soaked.

“Can I watch?”

His eyes look back to yours, wide with shock, “You want to see me do that?”

“There’s nothing I’d want more, Kiyotaka.”

-

Ijichi is so enamoured with the sight of you lying back comfortably on your pile of pillows, naked atop your bed, that he seems to completely forget the task at hand. It isn’t inherently uncomfortable, the way he was equally undressed, kneeling on the bed in front of you, but he was going to put on a show for you, so to speak, once he manages to finish staring at your body dreamily. You’re ready to begin though, so you start first to show him just how much even the thought of what he was about to do got you excited. You spread your legs, resting them on either side of him. You part your lips and slide a finger through your folds, gathering enough wetness to show him how you were glistening all for him in the dim lighting of your room. His cock jumps with interest as he swallows hard at the way you present yourself to him.

“Look how wet I am already, you’ve been driving me crazy for days.”

“I have?”

“Yes, you’re so cute, I can’t stop touching myself whenever I think about it…” you drive the point home, sliding your fingers through your wetness, teasing yourself until Ijichi found the courage to show you what he could do.

“And when your cock throbbed like that while you came?” You finally brush past your clit, hissing out a long sigh at finally giving some attention to the swollen bud after he’d been on your mind all day. “I could see it much better without my hand in the way. Will you show me again? Please?”

“If it makes you happy, of course.” He looks so earnest saying it that it has your pussy clenching, so you slide a finger in and watch his cock throb as he watches you slowly finger fuck yourself.

He takes it slow, and you’re happy to see how lovingly Ijichi touches himself as he runs his hands over his abdomen and hips, sliding them around but not too near his cock. He settles one hand on his stomach as the other moves up and across his chest, and when he moves nearer to his nipples the bead of precum forming at his tip threatens to spill. He circles his hand closer and closer to his nipples, giving equal attention to each pec, letting out little gasps and hums as he does.

By the time he’s nearly finally touching his nipples he’s red from the chest up, the new hue somehow making the beauty marks across his shoulders more pronounced, and you pull your fingers out of yourself, spreading your pussy wide so he can watch your hole clench in anticipation. It has him letting out a soft whine, punctuated by a much much louder one when his fingers finally brush past his nipple. His hips buck and his patience is spent as he brings his other hand up to attend to the other nipple as well.

You’re fast on your clit, desperately trying to catch up with him as he goes from nothing to everything all at once. He flicks his fingers over his nipples, moaning, whining, thrusting up and into nothing as he twitches and pants harder and harder with each passing second. Taking his appearance in, you’re right there along with him, he’s just too perfectly pathetic for you not to be with his mouth hanging open, drool trickling down his chin, glassy eyes focused on your pussy, and hips moving of their own accord with absolutely no discernible rhythm.

“You’re gorgeous, Kiyotaka,” he moans in response to your words and his cock throbs so hard it bounces, “you’re perfect.”

He’s trying to say your name, trying to thank you, trying to ask for more praise, but is completely unable to do anything but whine and swipe furiously against his aching nipples, chasing a high that threatens to undo him at any moment.

“My perfect sweet boy with your pretty moans and even prettier cock.”

His eyes roll back and he tries his hardest to snap out of it to stay focused on the sight of you sprawled out and working your pussy over to the sight of him, and to more importantly stay focused on your every word. You see him struggling, you’ve been able to see how he’s been struggling from soon after his hands were on his chest, but he’s trying his hardest to be good for you. To wait for your word since he hadn't that night before. You want to reward him for even taking the initiative to wait for your permission, but you’re not quite there yet and need him to wait just that little bit longer.

You can see his thighs and stomach flexing, followed by his panicked groans as it takes everything in him to hold out from the blinding feel of his sensitive nipples being abused just for you, and it’s that desperate frustrated incoherent whimper that finally sends you over the edge and allows you to pull him along with you.

“Cum with me-” The words are barely out before he’s whining and spilling, and as the pressure releases within you you try to keep your eyes on his throbbing cock, even as it shoots rope after rope of thick cum down and onto your stomach and pussy, even as your tight circles on your clit rub it right in while you cum at the sight of him.

He collapses forward, just catching himself as he throws his arms out on either side of you, on all fours as he trembles and pants through the last of his cum spurting lazily out. His head dips low as he catches his breath, the ends of his hair tickling at your chest, and you run your fingers through his hair.

“That was amazing. You did so, so good.”

He lifts his head and looks as though he could cry, and you pull him in for a kiss.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything, that was all you, Kiyotaka.”

He takes your hand, kissing at your knuckles, before pulling back and licking his lips as he recognizes the saltiness upon them. He sits up, looking down at you and taking in the results of what he’d done. “I just keep making a mess, don’t I?”

“I love it.”

He smiles warmly, “Well, now I just have to clean you up again.” He brings your fingers to his mouth, averting his gaze as he slides his tongue over them. When he sucks two fingers in deep, cleaning himself off of you, you have to praise his initiative.

“Good boy.”

He moans around your fingers and you push them further into his mouth, smiling as he takes them happily even as you wiggle your fingertips at the back of his tongue til he’s threatening to gag.

You don’t let it get that far though, pulling your hand away and he whimpers as you interrupt his self-imposed task. Instead you run your hand over your pussy, calling his attention to the cum glistening along it, nearly indiscernible from your own mess now. “Go on, clean me up.”

Within a second, he’s in position on his stomach, propped up on his elbows and dipping his face between your thighs. He seems so confident, desperate even, and it makes your heart swell as he laps at your stomach, then your thighs, before finally turning his attention to your pussy. He’s moaning all the while, licking and sucking his cum off of you and when he takes his thumbs and gingerly spreads you he can’t stop himself from humping the bed beneath him as he finally tastes you properly. He licks fat stripes from your entrance and all the way up, smacking his lips and savouring you for just a moment before diving back in. With the attention coming so soon after your orgasm, you twitch lightly each time, but are sure to pet his hair gingerly and let out sated little coos and sighs until you push past the intensity of his work and right back into pleasure.

Once the heat begins to build in your stomach you praise him properly, moaning and giving him a single request. “Make me cum, okay? I know you can.”

Uncertainty had flashed through his eyes for just a moment, but once you said those four words, ’I know you can,’ his resolve is strengthened. He buries his face between your legs, knocking his glasses into your mound, and quickly pulls them off, tossing them haphazardly aside on your bed before he’s back to work. He’s sucking, licking, kissing your pussy and it’s all so desperate and sloppy as his drooling mouth really only makes you much messier than you’d started out, but his enthusiasm alone has you arching into him. When he sucks your clit between his puckered lips, lapping at it as he does, it hurls you close to the edge in an instant.

“Yes, so good…”

He repeats the action with a steady pace, and when he brings two fingers up to press inside of you the moan he lets out at feeling your silky warmth sends vibrations through your swollen clit. Each time you sigh and groan and clench he moans again and only gets more frenzied with his movements, desperate to make you cum just as you’d requested. He’s mapped out what you want from his fingers perfectly, studious as he is, and with the addition of his tongue you’re ready to cum in no time. You let him know you’re close, running your fingers through his hair and rocking your hips into the movements of his fingers. The last straw is the vibrations from his long whine, and as you’re cumming you know he is as well, just from the feel of your sheets and the taste of your creaming pussy as you clench around his fingers through your orgasm.

Your comedown is assisted by his slow, soft licks, first to your pussy, then your thighs when you twitch in sensitive discomfort. He tastes every bit of you he can while the opportunity is there until he’s satisfied with knowing he’d done his job. Sighing happily, he rests his head against your thigh, and the way he looks up at you is just a pure love drunk haze.

It leaves you even more breathless than your orgasm, but you find the words he’s earned. “Good boy…”

His blush can’t get any deeper, but he presses his warm face to your thigh and sighs happily again. He’s just too cute, and you have to kiss him so you open your arms, gesturing for him to come up to you. He does and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy.”

Then a kiss to both cheeks.

“Good boy.”

Then a kiss, tenderly, to his still smiling lips.

“Good boy.”

He can only drink in all of your loving praise.

-

CHAPTER 4

#my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #ijichi #ijichi kiyotaka #kiyotaka ijichi #ijichi x reader #kiyotaka ijichi x reader #minors blocked on sight

[lightparty-fullparty]

Can't possibly be me Zenosposting again - what is this a day ending in Y?

Anyway, I've been thinking about the murder boy again. This has mostly spawned from my replaying of the Stormblood patches and seeing Amnesiac Yotsuyu, which sparked a bit of a Nature vs Nuture debate between me and my friends.

Basically, my question for this post is "How much of Zenos' whole deal is Nature (aka He was just born like that) and how much of it is Nuture (aka the enviornment he grew up). Some of you might content to say Nature and leave it at that, which is a completely valid outlook to have. But for me there's just one... teeny... tiny... little detail that has sent me on a wild consipriacy theory of a ride that's resulted in this post. Emet-FUCKING-Selch.

Listen to me, listen okay? I cannot, CANNOT ignore the fact that this absoulete motherfucker (affectionate) is Zenos's cannonical Great Grandfather. Who was very much alive and kicking during his childhood. Emet-Selch or Solus zos Galvus whatever moniker you wanna give the man, is an Ascian. One of THE Ascians. Not only that, he's 'The Architect" the guy who's job it is to design and engineer the calamities meant to rejoin the Shards of the World back together again. What does he do to achieve this? He builds empires, he starts wars, manipulates people and situations to result in untold elemental chaos. Iirc correctly he's responsible for causing all eight calamities that have occured so far in FFXIV. (Eight got undone but I'm still counting it).

Now for this post I'm going to be focusing mainly on the Seventh, Eighth, and Fourth Umbral Calamities. (Which are the ones coincidentally we're told the most about in game). This Calamities all involved Empires. The Allagan and the Garlean, both of which Emet-Selch was responsible for creating. From the Allagans we have the creation of Dalamud, Cyrus Tower, and the Ultima Weapon. As well as an extensive history of biological research. Cloning, Gene Splicing, Mutation and so on. (A sundered mortal's attempts at creation magjicks perhaps?) The Garleans too, have a notible history of biological research, they draw a lot of their modern technology from Allagan design. No coincidence there given Emet-Selch's involvement. But we've seen them use genetic mutation, cyber augmentation, and cloning (Emet-Selch's shadow the hedgehog ass clone bodies because he refuses to look like anyone other than his unsundered self). The also so a lot of research into the Echo. Hydalyn's mark for her champions, and soul maipulation. (Ala Mihgo Dungeon and In From the Cold Duty both points of note for examples of the Soul being manipulated here - physically torn out of the body).

"Now Gengar " - I hear you ask - "What does this have to do with Nature vs Nuture or Zenos?" Well, I tell you, everything really. Hear me out. Emet-Selch designed the Garlean Empire to be the perfect chaos causing conquest force. They have no ability to use either, making them initially vulnerable as a people to the rest of the races. Building up a tasty, tasty resentment and need to feel superior. He sent them marching to 'reclaim their home' and then to 'unify the three contents under their superior peaceful, organised leadership'. The 'Savage Races' summon evil primals and weild evil distructive magjiks. He gave them a perfect cause and reason to hate everyone else. He gave them magitech to level the field and make them supieror at combat. Garlemald as a nation is the perfect war machine. Allagan 2.0 if you would. And Zenos is the perfect 'Champion' to lead that nation into battle. To spark that next Calamity. Look at the guy. Garleans might be on the taller side (depending on the character. Cid is a shorty), but Varis and Zenos are HUGE. Emet-Selch isn't nearly as tall as either of them despite being a blood relation. Which makes me think there was some of that Allagan/Garlean/Ancient playing with genetics and form at work. Make them bigger, more durable, stronger, more intelligent.

It's like Captian America. You want the perfect solider. And a perfect solider for Emet-Selch would also need to be cold, ruthless, manipulative.

There was a post I saw a while again about Mecha Pilots. And OP pondered on the idea of physcially having your brain and body contiditoned to love battle. To love destruction and killing and fighting.

Do you see where I am going with this?

You want someone bloodthirsty enough to cause a Calamity for you, you need them to feel nothing for their fellow man. (Insects all of them. Disappointing. Found Wanting.) You need them to find such overwhelming joy in battle that no other earthely pleasure can compare to it. (Brilliant. Blinding. Trandsenant Moment.)

No attatchments. No emotions, Just violence. I offer to you dear readers, that Emet-Selch carefully modified Zenos' litterally brain chemistry. Making him predisposed to a lack of empathy and his brain releasing those pesky joyous chemicals during battle. Inflicitng and feeling pain. I offer the theory that Zenos has literally been built for combat. If you cut him open, his bones and muscles and organs would be so alienly perfect. Denser, perfectly optimised. Exceedingly perfect. His brain remapped for pattern recognistion and quick skill building, Easy to train in the art of slaughter and tactics. Unable to forge the emotional connections that would only serve to hinder him. (To isolate him from family).

What evidence to I have? Outside of Emet-Selch's known history of building Empires? Easy. I already know he's done this kind of thing before.

Vauthry. The baby Emet-Selch mutated into half a Lightwarden. Able to command the Sin Eaters and ensured would be raised into a tyranically, childish, king. To keep the First from Uniting. To ensure the Eighth Umbral Calamity would continue along it's march to completion.

Why wouldn't Emet-Selch have done as much to Zenos too?

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #zenos yae galvus #emet selch #solus zos galvus #DO YOU SEE IT? #DO YOU SEE MY VISION? #MY REVELATION? #IT'S HIS SPECIAL BOY BONE STRUCTURE GODDAMIT #It's the Frankenstien Allagory #You were *made* monsterous and alien #Body Bone and Mind #Designed to be PERFECT #but Perfect for what? #ghostly rambles

[svnoofy]

10. alas, we meet again.

warnings/disclaimers: profanity, slight puke talk | | wc: 947

YOU COULDN’T BELIEVE YOUR EYES.

you did not imagine having to face ANOTHER predicament on your already horrible day. you squint your eyes – rubbing them even – praying that the little speck moving along the sidewalk was just a fragment of your imagination.

oh hell naur, you thought to yourself, feeling the contents of your stomach bubbling up, ready to splatter out any moment. you weren’t sure if this was because you were anxious or utterly disgusted.

suddenly, your mind began replaying moments from your childhood which was triggered by the sight of the individual you had seen.

unfond memories of arguments over legos, barbies and colored pencils and even memories of consistently being in the school’s academic spotlight together as rivals washed over you like an unforgivable tidal wave.

yang jungwon, that was the very name you despised saying and hearing– and there he might be, about to board your bus, as you squirm and wince in full disgust and disbelief.

when the bus made its stop at the station, you froze. you were unable to register the situation that was about to happen to you. as a lazy attempt to avoid any contact with him, you occupied the vacant seat next to you with your bag, plugging in your earphones and putting on your sunglasses to come off as unidentifiable (and unapproachable)

as passengers poured into the bus, one by one, you thank yourself for your ingenious tactic of going unrecognised. you observed the passengers one by one, carefully spotting your target.

this was when you realized– your eyes may have played a little trick on you (and you may need glasses). turns out: the person you so dreaded to see was not the person you thought after all! you felt a massive weight being taken off your shoulder– knowing you can continue your bus ride in peace.

however, what baffles you is why his identity was the first you associated with the innocent passenger? could that have been some sort of omen?

-

when you reached your stop, you descended the bus and enthusiastically marched towards your cafe. despite the fact that you almost burned your hair off to a crisp, missed the bus twice and maybe almost encountered your worst nightmare– you were thankful because luck seemed to be on your side.

your enthusiastically trotted to your cafe, your arrival being greeted by the sound of the wind-chimes on the door handle, earning weird glances from customers.

you continued your enthusiastic trot behind the counter, where you found sunoo, slouched over a box of oat milk, check board in hand– it was restocking day.

“that bastard has the money to buy 18 cartons of japanese oat milk but not a single cent to raise our pay–dear god please make the world make sense”, sunoo remarked.

“good morning to you too, sun”, you giggle and roll your eyes playfully, hand landing on his back for a friendly pat.

“girl, fuck you mean MORNING, it’s 12:30 PM”, niki sassed, with an eyebrow cocked in apparent protest.

you gave him a quick “shut up” with a sarcastic smile in response, as you put your hair up into a practical ponytail.

“oh yeah– the new staff dude is here today, he’s on toilet duty today though”, sunoo points out, a mischievous smirk creeping onto his face.

“i don’t think he’ll be on toilet duty for long though! mr park seems to really like him and he really knows his way around coffee machines despite being new–”, niki commented, earning an interested “ooh” from sunoo while you just listened, your mind half focused on sorting out transaction receipts at the register.

“oh ya REAL, his latte art just now was so good– how the hell did he manage to make a swan in 30 seconds–”, sunoo added.

“right! like he even did it WHILE talking and chatting with mr jinyoung like what–”, niki gasped, almost as if he had just seen an out of touch celebrity.

ok, now you were intrigued. who is this seemingly OVER PERFECT barista?

“what’s his name?”, you butt in on niki and sunoo’s gossip.

as if on cue, a tall figure appears in your line of vision, rubber-gloved hands occupied with two buckets of cleaning supplies.

suddenly, you felt your world shatter right before you. it was an omen after all, a bad one at that.

“EYOO JUNGWON!”, niki greets the figure standing across you.

nah, you have GOT to be kidding me, you thought to yourself.

you avoided his eyes while the two guys who were previously around you made their way to surround the boy.

“jungwon, this is our FUTURE manager and ace: l/n y/n”, sunoo enthusiastically introduces you to him, dragging him by the arm.

“l/n y/n?”, he asks– suddenly that familiar sick feeling you had on the bus was returning.

you look at him, instinctively at the call of your name, and as if suddenly: a cloud of gloom settled over you two, and you were certain– the storm is just about to arrive.

“nice to meet you, jungwon”, you attempt a civil welcome, only to earn a scoff from the boy.

“alas, we meet again– l/n y/n”, he replies with a smug look on his face.

gasps erupt from your spectators: niki and sunoo, who watch intently at the interaction before them.

your stomach ties itself into knots, your eyebrows furrow and your smile flattens into a line. “great to see you too, yang jungwon”, you retaliate with nothing but pure sarcasm and utter disgust.

yep, the storm has DEFINITELY arrived and sights of sunshine are far, far, from near

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[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire (Chapter 2)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, cheating, daddy issues, a little bit of angst

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie

You're staring at the kitchen sink, a full glass of water on the counter to your left. Alone again. It's been days since you've seen your dad.

You let your head rest in your hands as you prop your elbows up on the counter. Aaron had left his number in your phone when he dropped you back home after your late night drive. You were using every ounce of strength not to call him.

It had been a week or so since that night, or morning, you supposed, since you'd watched the sun rise together, when you teased him for his Spartan taste in coffee and breakfast food. You hadn't heard anything, and you were starting to think it must have meant nothing to him. You were nothing but his friend's daughter. Another thing to take care of, like the unmown grass, or filing taxes.

Despite how little you seemed to mean to him, you couldn't stop replaying your conversations in your mind. Although you'd been sleeping for much of the time, when you were awake, you'd talked about everything. He'd opened up about Haley, the way that their marriage was slowly disintegrating because of their different goals, his difficult work schedule. He'd hesitated before telling you another piece, unsure if it was even appropriate to mention it to you.

"She's started..." He sighed. "She's started trying to tamper with the birth control we use. She hasn't refilled her prescription for the pill in a while and..."

He turned away from you as much as he could, fixing his gaze on something on the left of the horizon. His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"The other night when we were... You know what I mean. She tried to pull off the condom. A week ago I was looking in my bedside table for one of my watches, and the condoms were all over the place. The drawer was sticky, so I picked up one of them," He paused again. "It had a hole in it. I thought okay, leak, I'll just throw this one out. But I looked at one of the others, just in case, and..."

"Oh my god," You said softly. "Aaron, that's not okay. If someone I was dating did something like that..."

You felt your jaw clench. How fucking awful was that? Trying to trap him with a baby? It was one thing to try and convince him, to try and save their marriage, to talk about why he was hesitant, but it was a different thing entirely to start taking matters into her own hands. It would obliterate the last of the trust between them. It was sick.

He'd talked a little about his college years, but his playful smile told you there was a lot he was holding back.

"C'mon, Seattle in the 90s? You must have gotten up to no good," You said, trying to eke out some information. "Concerts, weed, girls?"

"I focused on studying," He said, and pressed his lips together.

"You're lying again. That's one of your tells," You pointed at his lips. "You go like this."

You mimicked his expression, the physical manifestation of withholding information or some emotion.

He looked over at you and laughed. "You'd make a good profiler."

"Profiling," You said dreamily. "And you get to travel all over the place. What's it like?"

"It's hard work," He said slowly. "A lot of the time it's unpleasant. But I like to think we make a difference."

"Could you profile me?"

He looked over at you, his expression serious.

"It's not like astrology, or palm-reading" He said. "You might not like what I have to say."

"I won't hold it against you," You replied. "I'm sure none of it will really be new to me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who I am and how I got here."

"You're independent, probably more than you should be, but that says more about your father than it does about you." He paused, taking a breath, and looked over at you again, sadness in his eyes this time. "You're constantly reading the people around you, or at least me, trying to figure out what they're thinking."

You nodded. "It's not just you."

He pulled into the drive through, joining the long line of cars queuing for their morning coffee. For a moment, you thought about how the two of you must look to anyone who took a second to look through the windscreen or one of the windows. You, in a salt-starched button up shirt. Aaron, in a faded blue t-shirt and the joggers you'd been wearing a few hours before. A strange pair of lovers, or maybe just a strange pair.

"The reason you read everyone is because you use it as a pre-emptive defense mechanism. If you know how everyone is feeling, you can adjust your behaviour to avoid making anyone upset."

"Oh," You said. "So that makes me... a psychopath, or something?"

Aaron chuckled and shook his head, looking at you properly now that the car was safely stopped. "No. It makes you like a lot of other women."

"Oh," You said again, somehow feeling even more dejected. "Just ordinary."

He shook his head, reaching across the centre console to wipe some salt from your cheek. "You're far from ordinary."

"Next in line," Came the staticky voice from the speaker. "How can I help you?"

"What do you want?" He whispered.

"Something sweet," You replied. "And a bagel."

He relayed the information to the disembodied voice.

"Is that all?"

"No, could I also get a black coffee? No cream, no sugar, and do you have a bacon and egg sandwich?"

"Sure. Drive up to the next window."

"Thank you," Aaron replied, shooting you a conspiratorial smile. Why did you feel like you were getting away with something?

"Mr. Bacon and Egg," You teased.

"What?" He replied, reaching for his wallet. "Nothing wrong with the classics."

There was a knock at your door, and you jumped. Your dad?

You took a big sip of water before making your way to the door, then peered through one of the little glass windows to see who it was. With a sigh of relief, you undid the deadbolt. Aaron.

"Is your dad home?" He looked you up and down, but there was no hunger in it.

Your brow furrowed. "No."

"We need to talk," He said, letting himself in, locking the door.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. Here it comes. He's going to tell me that I've been coming onto him and it needs to stop. Head heavy with shame, you let your body fall to the couch and looked down at the rug. He's married, how did you think this was going to end?

"Haley's leaving me."

You looked at him, waiting for the next sentence. None came.

"Aaron," You breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"I went for a drive," He said. "To the beach. In Delaware."

There was a long silence, and he walked to the kitchen and back, bringing you the glass of water you'd abandoned.

You took another sip, looking down at the floor again.

"I..." He took a seat beside you.

You looked at him, searching his face.

"I can't read you," You said softly. "You need to tell me."

He looked deep into your eyes, no doubt seeing the feelings you had for him. You couldn't put words to them yet, but you had a feeling your eyes were telling a story your heart hadn't yet been able to commit to. "I didn't like the beach."

Agony tearing through you, you broke the eye contact, rubbing your face with one of your hands. What had you expected?

He took your hand in his, pulling it from your face. His grip was rough, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and pain radiating through your body.

"No," He said insistently. "I didn't like the beach because... It wasn't the beach. It was you."

You looked at him hopefully, praying to every god whose name you'd ever learned that your heart was right to start beating wildly, full of anticipation.

He whispered your name, his hand coming to the side of your face as the space between you seemed to shrink.

"Haley wouldn't mind," You whispered.

"She wouldn't," He replied, his face close enough to yours that certain syllables sent his lips brushing against yours. He rubbed his nose against yours, waiting to be seized by a sudden rush of morality. It didn't come.

You closed the gap between you, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, sealing your lips to his. For a moment you stayed like that, just pressing your lips together, not moving, hardly breathing.

Then it was like lightning- his lips moving against yours, his weight starting to shift on top of your body as you slipped beneath him, your hands moving to cup his back, hips dropping open to accommodate his body in this new position. The harsh noises of your breathing between frantic kisses, the wet sound as your tongue just barely left your mouth, tracing over his lips. A thud as his hand met the arm of the couch, supporting his weight. And if that all was lightning, the electric lick of light across a bright sky, the rest was apocalypse, the hounds of hell breaking loose as your bodies settled against each other, his tongue snaking across your lips, testing the seam of them, whether you'd let him in. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, running your tongue across the slightly swollen skin as you released his lip.

You settled into a rhythmic tempo, swaying against each other like the waves on the shore, the push and the pull like something divinely inspired, driven by the moon, something of a greater magnitude than mere magnetism. Something like gravity.

When you broke away, it was all changed. Even from this distance, hardly an inch away from him, you knew the world had tilted on its axis. You became aware of the sound of children playing outside, the ring of a bicycle's bell. You were certain that if you walked outside, you'd see them riding their bicycles straight into the sky, or the birds would be flying upside down. The warmth of the sun would radiate from the ground, and the tickle of the grass would rain down on you.

Your eyelashes seemed like monuments as you blinked slowly, attempting to clear your vision. When you opened your eyes, nothing had changed. There he was. There you were.

The sun warmed your bare skin as you curled into Aaron's chest. Something about the kiss had been draining, as beautiful as it was, and you'd led him upstairs to rest. He traced shapes on your back.

"That was intense," He said, finally.

"I'm tired," You said, suddenly feeling like you might cry.

"I shouldn't stay."

You tilted your head to look up at him, taking a moment to appreciate the way that he looked in your bed, his short dark hair contrasting with your cream-coloured pillow.

"You could," You said.

He shook his head.

"I thought you said Haley left?"

He nodded. "She did. But your dad could come back any minute."

It was your turn to shake your head. "He won't be here until Tuesday. He stays at her place from Thursday night until Tuesday morning so they can have weekends."

"Generous definition of weekend," He scoffed. "He should take better care of you."

"He makes sure there's food when he comes. And besides, I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to," He said softly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. His voice was filled with fondness, and you broke his gaze so you could rest your head against his chest again.

"You take care of me," You whispered.

"I could," He whispered. "You deserve to know what it feels like."

There were butterflies in your stomach. You lay like that for another hour, waiting to decide what to do. There was no clear path forward, you knew that much.

"I should go," He murmured. "I have some errands to run before everything closes for the night, and work in the morning."

"What are we going to do?" You said softly, sitting upright.

He sat up too, swinging his legs out of the bed.

"What if this is it?" He replied. "The simplest thing to do would be to leave it here."

"Aaron," You said, your voice breaking. "I couldn't live."

You reached for your phone.

"Can I take a photo of us? So at least I know it wasn't a dream?"

His mind flicked to Penelope, and her incredible capacity for unearthing files from anywhere. Your phone was far from secure, and he just couldn't risk a photo like that ending up somewhere it shouldn't.

He shook his head. "It's too risky. No one should find out about this."

You sighed, looking over at the wall, the last of the day's light filling the room with light, although it was limited to a square in the shape of the window.

You took him by the chin, pulling him gently into the light.

He laughed.

"What?"

"Hell of a metaphor," He said, shaking his head with a small smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head. You dropped the subject and gestured at his shadow on the wall, the silhouette of his head.

"How about this?"

You leaned into the light, leaving your silhouettes facing each other.

He nodded. "That works."

Careful not to let your phone cast a shadow, you framed the shot and looked at him while he looked at you, both of you fighting back wide smiles. Your phone clicked softly, and you checked to make sure the picture was okay. You nodded and showed it to him. He smiled and kissed your forehead, wrapping an arm around you.

"This isn't going to be easy," He said.

You took one of his hands in both of yours, and looked at him seriously. "I don't need easy. I do need you."

You both sat there for a moment, letting your words hang in the air and permeate your skin.

"God," You breathed. "I can't believe you said what if this is it? I couldn't leave things here. I'd die."

"How about this?" He said, echoing your words from earlier. You followed his gaze as he looked down at his hands. He slipped off his gold wedding ring and placed it on your bedside table.

"My promise this isn't it."

You looked at him, tears forming in your eyes, and nodded.

He took your hands in his, and pressed a kiss to them before enclosing them completely in his.

#aaron hotchner/reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds #my writing #i'm on fire #dbf!hotch

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part IX/9

GAS!! Anyway, Part 9 Enemies to Lovers Gale POV

The memory of Tav falling replayed endlessly in his mind. Gale was unable to shake it - granted, it had only been a few days and even so it haunted him. Why did his brain insist on exhuming things he could not change?  He was overcome with guilt that he should have done more, could have done more. That he should have insisted in a back up plan or come up with one himself. How reckless it was, how he let his pride get in the way of sense. He thought of how he tended to her before she came to, only succumbing to sleep once his weary eyes could no longer be forced open out of sheer will. 

What a fool he was. 

Gale was reenacting the first moments when they arrived in the Underdark, seething over how blind he had been. He would never be anything more than a rival to Tav, an insufferable ego-manic, and Gale saw that clearly. Astarion wasn’t exactly being subtle. Yet Gale was unconvinced, his gut nagging him. Why had she looked to me though? Why would she bother to look for my reaction at all? 

He felt ashamed, embarrassed even for feeling the fingers of envy. He had no right to. And besides, Tav had yet to apologize. Gale still wanted an apology from her and thus, he squirreled himself away until it was time to move from their last camp. While they traveled, Wyll was busy talking Tav’s ear off so Gale was able to happily mosey behind, unworried about confrontation. Besides, talking to her with the rest of the companions present wouldn’t end well for anyone. The last thing this group needed was more drama. Between him and Tav, Lae’zel and Shadowheart, Astarion and, well, everyone else, he didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. 

Gale was preparing dinner, mid peel, when he heard her footsteps approaching him from behind. “Whatever it is you have to say to me can wait,” he said, his eyes not leaving the potato. “I’m not really interested in talking to you at the moment.” The air was cooler down there, like a crisp Autumnal air. 

He heard Tav’s footsteps stop. It made his chest tighten. Despite telling her he was not interested in talking with her, in fact not talking to her at all was driving him mad. Tav was all he could think about no matter how annoyed he was with her. 

“Fine. Goodnight.” He heard her say, her tone icy. 

He bit his tongue, still frozen in position and the silence piqued his curiosity. He didn’t hear her walk away. “You’re still here.” 

“I am.” 

“Hm. Curious, if you ask me, since you said ‘goodnight.’ If you’ve come here to grill me, I am not interested, and if you’re in need of grilling something might I suggest you start working on the fish.” He heard a soft laugh that sounded like she tried to catch it before it made a sound. His lips pulled up into a smile. Still, there was no sound of footsteps. “Have you come here to just lurk? Taking our trip to the Underdark a bit literally.” Another soft puff of air. His smile grew and he resumed peeling the potato. 

The foreign sounds of creatures cloaked the air, a sense of calm settling between the two of them. Gale continued to slowly and methodically peel the potatoes, inspecting each as he placed them in the pot, making commentary as he went. “Oh wow, I’ve never seen one with quite so many eyes!” and “You’re much mushier than I like, but it’ll be our secret.” And then, “My, you’re the smallest potato I’ve seen. I almost feel guilty cooking you. In you go, then.” 

“Are you still here?” Gale asked, although he knew the answer. The moment felt strangely comforting, more so even than the Weave. 

“I am.” 

“Have you got anything to say for yourself or shall I continue?” 

A grunt. More silence. And then finally a resigned and sincere, “Gale, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or grace, and I -“ he heard her swallow hard and pause. Her voice, though honest, was also tight as if she was unpracticed in the art of apology. 

“Difficult for you to apologize, is it?” 

He heard her sigh in annoyance, “I already apologized -“

“Ah,” Gale held up a finger but still did not turn around. “You apologized for saying a cruel thing, an apology does not equal forgiveness. I should know that better than anyone.” He sighed, grunting as he rose to his knees and finally turned to face her. Gale inhaled heavily when he looked at her, startled by how her skin glowed in the purple, unending night. “And then you proceeded to ignore me for close to a month. Without so much as an explanation. Hits a little too close to home for my taste. So, while you may have apologized for the first offense, you certainly did not for the second.” 

Gale’s eyes trailed from Tav’s eyes to her lips, to the way her body curved and then back to hers. Their breathing seemed to synch as they held their gaze. He watched Tav’s lips part before she looked away and pulled her hair back nervously. “It was childish, I know. I’m sorry, Gale. I really am. I just…” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way, it wasn’t fair of me.” Tav turned her eyes to his again and Gale felt heat prick at his ears. Silence filled them until she cut it, “I also wanted to thank you for saving my life.” 

Gale paused, shaken. She couldn’t remember, could she? “Karlach saved your life.” He said, turning away to put the potatoes over the fire. “But, Thank you for your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me - ” 

“That’s it?” Tav said, grabbing his arm. He felt a jolt shoot through him and cleared his throat, averting her gaze. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

Gale knew he would lose his resolve if he turned to look at her. He knew the next words were rile her up and still they came tumbling out, “What are you talking about?” 

She dropped his arm, her expression dark. “Unbelievable.” 

Gale sighed and caught her wrist as she went to turn. “You’re right - I’m sorry - I’m just feeling a little stung at the moment.” He saw Tav’s brow furrow and then her face floods with color. 

“That was nothing.” 

“It certainly didn’t look like nothing.” 

Tav glared at him. “What about you and Karlach?” 

Gale was unable to stop the instant laugh that bubbled out of him, “Karlach? Tav, surely you know her better than that -“ he paused and looked at her with a furrowed brow, “Don’t you? You know she likes-“

“SH!” Tav said, pressing her fingers against Gale’s lips. As soon as she did this Gale felt himself stop breathing. The feeling of her hand on hips lips ignited him, the spark licking through his blood like wildfire. He felt a rush of blood to his nether-region and tried to ignore the feeling. 

He took a deep breath and wrapped one of his hands around her wrist to bring her fingers away from his lips. He leaned down a bit towards her, his voice soft. “Ah, your point is moot. I may have locked myself away for a year, but I wasn’t born yesterday, I’m afriad. I’d rather you be honest with me instead of pretending as if you and he aren’t intimately spending time in one another’s company.” 

“Why would that be your business?” Tav asked and Gale’s eyes flicked down to see her lick her lips. He swallowed hard. 

“OOOO I knew I felt the fire cooking,” Karlach said and they both stepped back from each other quickly. Gale rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. She held up her hands and laughed, “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this meal won’t cook itself and I’m bloody tired. Please man, I’m famished.” Karlach rested on the ground by them, as if she meant to supervise Gale so he would stay true to his word. 

“Fair enough,” Gale chuckled and looked to Tav only to catch a soft, unreadable expression before returning to work. 

#bg3 brainrot #baldurs gate 3 #gale #god gale #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 art #gale x tav #gale romance #gale baulders gate 3 #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate tav #baulders gate gale

[6lostgirl6]

Hello:) so i don't know if your still doing request but if not thats alright.) So I was wondering if you could do, Van helsing 2004 Dracula's bride's *Aleera Verona and Mariska with a fem reader poly relationship*, and how would they comfort there mate when they accidentally make her upset about something they said. 💗💚💛

Poly!Wives Accidentally Upsetting Their Fem!Mate HCs

Poly!Wives x Fem!Reader

TW: slight angst, slight arguments and fighting, happy ending

When They Accidentally Upset You

The wives would be absolutely loving and extremely protective over their mate, they fret over you constantly. Despite that, misunderstandings tend to occur.

The only time they would ever be “mean” towards you would be if you happened to bother them at the wrong time when they were already upset about something else.

While your relationship with them is essentially perfect. Recently, however, you were starting to believe that you were the problem.

It started off with Aleera.

Aleera is the most affectionate of the wives, however, she has the most fiery temper.

This tends to happen whenever she's upset with the other wives, especially Verona.

Do not engage with her whenever she's like this, you might end up in the cross-fire. It is better to wait for her to calm down and come to you.

You happened to walk in when they were both arguing, hissing at each other with venomous words about a feeding that almost went haywire. 

Marishka was simply standing there, watching them argue with a distant look in her eyes. 

After a little while, Marishka was the first to leave the room, shaking her head as she did. You only continued to watch the argument and jump in to help resolve the issue. 

However, when Aleera had enough, she rushed away with teary-eyes and being the caring mate that you were you wanted to comfort her since she seemed the most affected. 

When you finally found her, she was pacing with tears streaming down her face with haunting sobs that seemed to echo throughout the castle. 

“Aleera...” You muttered, attempting to rush over and bring her into your arms. The action only resulting in her ripping herself away and hissing loudly. The action brought a slight twinge of fear within you. 

“Leave me be!” She practically hissed in your face, her eyes glowing a fluorescent lavender. “I do not wish to see the likes of you!”

Trying not to upset her more, you ran off to find Verona. The sting of her words seemed to replay on a loop in order to torment you. You have never seen her react like that towards you.

When you finally found Verona, you hesitated to even speak to her given how you were treated by Aleera

Verona is known to be the more mature one between the brides, hopefully speaking to her would be able to settle your nerves.

You were definitely wrong about that.

Verona has a tendency to vent about her troubles with the other wives and while you wanted to comfort her, it was difficult when she wouldn’t listen to what you had to say. 

Verona was tenacious, and whenever she firmly believed something, it was difficult to change her mind or see the other side.

She’s not afraid to speak out on something she disagrees with, but right now it seemed like everything you said in order to comfort her were entirely wrong and unhelpful. 

“I’m sure she meant nothing by it, Verona.” You uttered, watching her as she continued angrily muttering to herself. “

“She hardly listens to me!” She remarked in return. “She’s nothing more than a little brat.” 

“Just give it some time. She has done well by you, you should be happy that she’s even alright.” You replied.

She sighed, shaking her head. “I’ve given her all the time we could possibly have. Find Marishka, maybe you can be of use to her.” She rolled her eyes. 

The initial string from earlier only grew as you could only nod and leave the room, clutching your aching heart as you went to find Marishka.

Whenever there is conflict within the relationship, Marishka likes to keep to herself and allow the conflict to resolve itself, if she’s not already involved. 

This was a previous problem and you never had to chance to discuss that her seemingly lack of caring what happens in the relationship involving arguments, makes you feel wary. 

When you finally found her, she was in the courtyard of the castle, sitting on one of the stone benches and watching the night sky.

You felt a little relief, hoping that speaking with Marishka will bring some resolution in order for the conflict to settle. 

She turned towards you as you took your own spot next to her and gave her a small smile. However, she didn’t return it and only looked away. 

You sighed before beginning the conversation. “They’re still very upset with each other.”

“I noticed.” She replied, “They never learn and I grow tired of watching them spray venom at each other.”

“It shouldn’t be happening like this.” You remarked, gently. “I understand Aleera made a mistake but we should be grateful that she’s okay. Arguing won’t help.”

“I’ve spent centuries trying exactly what you’re doing. Let them continue acting this way, my dear.” 

“If I try harder, maybe they will!” You said, turning towards her and grabbing her hand, trying to make her at least look at you. “Marishka, please.”

She sighed, snatching her hand away and giving you a small glare. “Why must you try so hard? Clearly it doesn’t work and it isn’t helping anyone!” 

After that, the sting you were feeling in your heart started to feel more like a burning sensation. After spending hours trying to bring everyone together, it seemed like you did nothing but make things worse for everyone. 

You sniffled, which made Marishka turn towards you with slightly widened eyes. “I’m going to retire early, goodnight.” You quickly stood, feeling the tears falling as you rushed inside the castle. 

When They Comfort You

It has been a few nights since the incident and you did everything you could to avoid your mates. It was extremely hard given the intense bond you had with them but you needed time to yourself.

Since Marishka was the last person you have spoken with and witnessed you being close to tears, she was the first one to mention this to the others. 

Verona and Aleera’s worriedness from not seeing you for a while only escalated and they needed to figure out what they should do. 

Verona and Aleera’s argument from nights before were on the last of their minds as they worked together with Marishka to find you and understand what made you so upset that you refused to see them.

You sniffled, trying to brush away the tears that continued streaming down your face as you sat in front of your vanity. 

It has been a few nights since you have seen your mates and you were extremely upset that your absence wasn’t even remotely noticed by them. It felt like a slap in the face and confirming your inner thoughts that you truly weren’t needed in the relationship. 

Suddenly, the slightest creaking noise broke you out from your inner turmoil as the temperature of your room decreased significantly. You turned towards the sound, only seeing your three mates standing there, faces contorted in concern and worriedness. Taking a slight glance towards the window confirmed that they broke in through the window in order to see you. 

“Darling..." Verona muttered softly, taking a few steps towards you while Marishka grasped her arm, following along.

Aleera could only stare, having the distinct feeling that she may have been the one to cause this mess.

"What are you doing here?" You whispered, brushing away your remaining tears as you stood a little straighter in your chair.

"We were so worried for you, my love." Marisha replied, "What's the matter?"

You shook your head and turned away. "It's of no importance."

Aleera took this moment to step up with her fellow brides. "Anything involving you is of importance, my love. Please, speak with us."

Taking a moment, you finally nodded before motioning towards the bed, bringing yourself to sit in the middle while your mates happily followed. They surrounded you and cuddled against you, stroking and touching your hair and arms in a sense of comfort.

"Tell us, darling." Verona requested, lighting tugging on a strand of your hair which brought a small smile on your face for a split second.

You have spent the time discussing with them everything that happened after the argument between Verona and Aleera.

The ways in which you felt that you were a useless asset to the relationship and how they made you feel like you were unhelpful and useless.

After finding out what was wrong and how they made you feel, they were extremely upset with themselves and apologized immediately.

The talk the four of you had lasted for hours but it brought a lot of rekindling within your relationship with them and each other.

After that moment, Aleera was more patient, Verona was more open to the others' opinions and Marishla was more involved with making sure the relationship went more smoothly.

Furthermore, the brides were extremely much more affectionate to make up for how they treated you that day and you were forever grateful that discussion brought about good changes within the relationship.

#van helsing 2004 #van helsing #van helsing fanfiction #van helsing 2004 fanfiction #dracula's brides #dracula's brides x reader #poly!wives #poly!wives x reader #poly!dracula/wives #van helsing headcanons #van helsing 2004 headcanons #fem!reader #van helsing fandom #ven helsing 2004 fandom #brides of dracula #verona #marishka #aleera #verona x reader #marishka x reader #aleera x reader

[putting-it-into-parc]

all this, just to say goodbye (soy lago - part 2)

masterlist

part 1 here! also readable standalone tho

lando x carlos (carlando)

summary: After Carlos breaks the news to Lando that he's leaving McLaren, things haven't been the same. On an Instagram livestream for McLaren, Carlos impulsively invites Lando to visit him, and when Lando shows up, it makes Carlos realize that he's been more than a little bit blind for a long, long time.

warning(s): bit of angst, okay maybe a lot of angst

all this, just to say goodbye

June 5, 2020

Carlos rolled the drawstring of his hoodie between his thumb and pointer finger, over and over, feeling the cord beginning to fray in his grasp. A bottle of Estrella Galicia—the non-alcoholic beer McLaren was having them promote—was sitting in front of him. Waiting for him and Lando to go live on Instagram.

It was the first time he would’ve seen Lando in weeks; or, more accurately, one month and four days. But who was counting?

Carlos. Carlos was counting. Ever since the first day of May, Carlos had replayed their walk at the MTC in his mind at least several times a day. When Carlos had told Lando about his contract, and impending move, to Ferrari. Meaning he was leaving McLaren, and leaving Lando.

For weeks, the British driver’s expression of shock, which quickly morphed into horror, haunted Carlos’ dreams. He’d expected some sadness and disappointment—of course. Even for teammates, they were close friends. But not this. Not “soy lago”, instead of a smile, not Lando turning tail and all but sprinting back to his car.

They’d texted since then, and Lando had both apologized for his reaction and told Carlos he was genuinely excited for him, and that he deserved to drive in the fastest car the grid had to offer. But Carlos was still nervous about the prospect of seeing him again, even if on video. In front of an online audience, no less. 

He slid the bottle of Estrella towards himself, angling his phone so that the label was in full view. And hit the button to go live.

“Hi everyone,” he said. He pressed the volume up button a few times. “I’m gonna wait a bit, until everyone joins...”

This truly never got easier. Carlos didn’t know how streamers—like Lando—or influencers did it. He was painfully aware of how clueless he looked as he walked around his kitchen in search of something to prop his phone up against. If Lando didn’t show up soon...

Right on cue, his screen split, the bottom half now almost entirely occupied by Lando’s face. He was wearing a baseball cap backwards, hands pressed against the sides of his head. 

“Oh no—” Carlos started.

“Oh!” squeaked Lando, laughing in embarrassment. Then he threw his hands up, indignantly. “Oh no? What was that?”

Despite the trepidation Carlos had felt about the call, seeing Lando’s face again somehow calmed him down. “Why were you so close to the camera, man?” he teased.

Carlos could tell Lando was panicking. “I was just, I dunno,” he fumbled. “I dunno.” Lando scooted back in his chair so that his head finally appeared an appropriate size. “How are you?” he asked, a little stiffly, fidgeting in his seat.

Carlos told him (and the several hundred people who had joined the livestream by this point) that he was back in the UK. He asked Lando whether he’d been running. Lando grimaced in response. 

“I went for a run yesterday,” Carlos couldn’t help but boast.

They exchanged more pleasantries, talked about the weather, their quarantine haircuts. Lando whipped off his cap, and Carlos saw that the curls had slowly begun to climb back over his forehead after he’d shaved his head back in April. Lando poured his Estrella into a stout little glass.

A little awkward, Carlos thought, but not as bad as I was afraid it might be.

Lando was smiling, fingering the stem of his glass. Carlos was so preoccupied with the way his eyes were crinkled at the corners that he said, almost without thinking, “When are you gonna come to see me? When are we gonna see each other?” 

Lando’s icy blue eyes flared wide open. Carlos immediately realized that he fucked up, big time.

“Uh,” Lando said, much quieter than his normal boisterous tone. Carlos watched him push his glass away from him, put his hands behind his head, which Carlos knew he did when he got an uncomfortable interview question from a reporter. Started looking down at his desk. Not at Carlos.

Carlos thought that now would be the perfect time to be smited by a meteor or something. He’d settle for a spontaneous alien abduction, too. 

“Are you allowed? Are we even allowed to meet in the UK?” he valiantly attempted to backtrack.

Lando’s gaze remained askew, hands still behind his head. “Um...” He ran his tongue across his top lip. 

“Maybe it’s a strange topic to have,” Carlos muttered. “Especially in front of 7,679 people.”

Lando finally looked up, giggling at the unnecessary figure. “I don’t know yet,” he said, suddenly serious. He started fiddling with the beer again. “I’d need to look at the rules.”

“For example, we could go for a run. Or not?” Carlos wasn’t sure when he’d stop shooting himself in the foot. Or through his brain at this point.

“I don’t think so...”

Mercifully, Lando changed the topic back to the sponsor. The rest of the livestream was uneventful, but Carlos couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking pathetic he must’ve sounded, practically begging Lando to visit him. And for what? To assuage his guilt about going to Ferrari?

What an ass. If anything, Lando probably resented him, and this—publicly pressuring him to travel during a global pandemic—just gave him another good reason to.

Carlos poured the now flat beer slowly down his sink drain, shedding his jacket and folding it neatly over a chair. He’d planned to hit the gym for a bit, if you could call the old bench and scattered dumbbells in his basement a gym, and he was halfway down the stairs when his phone buzzed against his leg.

Lando looked up the rules lockdown starts on the 8th so tbh i could swing by but it’s the 5th today so have to be soon

Whoa. Carlos didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He quickly typed up a response, cringed, and carefully formulated a less pitiful one.

Me Omg! If you’re okay with that please come I don’t have any plans. If it works with you and you actually want to visit, feel free

The three dots that indicated Lando was typing felt like they were boring into Carlos’ eyeballs.

Lando okk see u on the 6th then prob like 4ish can i stay the night?

Carlos felt his heart jump into his throat. He swallowed stubbornly against the lump.

Me Yes, of course

Well, that settled it. The next 24 hours would just have to be one big cleaning rampage.

~

The next day, Carlos surveyed his tidy flat with satisfaction. He thought to himself that had he been like some of the other guys who had a penchant for massive homes, he would’ve been screwed. Not that Carlos was a messy guy by any means—he’d heard plenty of horror stories from Lando about Charles’ disaster of a bedroom, with all manner of red polos and hoodies strewn over the floor, tangled bracelets and rings covering his nightstand visible on his stream. Not here. All the surfaces in the living room were dusted, the bathroom sink and tub shone, and Carlos had even tidied up his art corner. He’d picked up painting during quarantine and liked to think he was pretty decent at it, and he’d hung up some of his favorites around the house. A still life of his McLaren racing suit. His dog, Piñón, leaping to catch a tennis ball. A portrait of him and Lando, laughing together over a plate of sushi. More accurately—Carlos brandishing a pair of chopsticks with a cucumber roll in between them (“Lando, it has no fish this one, look!”) while Lando giggled in protest (“It’s NEAR a fish!”). 

It was perhaps one of their last truly carefree moments in the McLaren motorhome. Carlos frowned at the painting, carefully unhooked it from its spot on the wall, and leaned it against the shoe rack in his closet. Lando would probably be weirded out if he saw it, he told himself.

The doorbell rang right when Carlos expected it to. After all, he’d pressed his nose against the sliding glass door of his bedroom, watched the Rolls-Royce Wraith glide into his driveway, saw Lando climb out and sling an orange duffel over his shoulder and slowly make his way up to the house.

Carlos forced himself to wait the requisite three seconds before opening the front door.

For perhaps the longest moment of his life, the two drivers stood face to face, saying nothing. Carlos could practically hear the blood pounding in his ears. 

Then Lando’s face broke out into his usual, easy grin. “Carlito!”

“Ay, Lando,” Carlos said gruffly. They clapped each other on the back, and only then did Carlos notice that his palms were sweating.

“Come in.” He waved Lando through the door. “Welcome to mi casa.”

Carlos realized that Lando had only really seen his house once or twice, and even then, Lando had met him in the yard for a run, never stepping foot indoors. He made a mental note to host more often.

Piñón, having detected a foreign presence, raced up to Lando and pawed at him with his front legs, tail wagging furiously. Lando squealed in delight, scratching him behind his ears. The muppet laugh. Carlos hadn’t realized how—quiet—life was without it.

Carlos snapped his fingers. “Abajo, pup.” He loosened a treat from a jar on the counter and offered it to the enthusiastic dog, who quickly snapped it up.

Lando walked slowly around the living room. Carlos watched his eyes roam over the floating wooden shelves of trophies and helmets, the shaggy white beanbag that Carlos had bought for himself but had since become Piñón’s turf, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Carlos liked windows. He figured he was part plant, the way he absolutely needed natural light to flood every space he was in. 

Then Lando stopped short in front of a long canvas, the one Carlos had painted his race suit onto. “Whoa,” he said. “Where’d you get this? I want one!”

Carlos shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll make one for you, if you want.”

Lando gaped at the canvas, astonished. “You paint?”

“Lockdown hobby.”

“Mate,” Lando said, staring reverently at the suit, “that is not a hobby. That is the other job you could’ve had if you weren’t an F1 driver.”

Carlos blushed, pleased at Lando’s praise. “You think it’s good?”

Lando tore his gaze away from the painting and raised an eyebrow at Carlos. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were fishing for compliments. It’s absolutely bonkers. Some people, I swear,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re just good at everything.”

Carlos cuffed Lando gently on the shoulder. “Stop that right now.”

“Did you do this one too?” Lando pointed at the image of Piñón hanging beside the one of the fireproofs. 

Carlos nodded, and Lando let out a low whistle. “Do you have any more?” he asked eagerly.

“Um.” Carlos instantly thought of the portrait in the closet. “Ah, no, not any that I have out here.”

He avoided Lando’s disappointed look, clearing his throat. “Dinner. I can cook for us something?” He gestured for Lando to follow him to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.

Carlos pulled out a pink filet from the fridge. “How about a nice grilled salmon?” he smirked.

Lando rolled his eyes. “That’s just not even funny.” But Carlos saw a laugh threaten to escape the corners of his lips.

Carlos replaced the salmon with two dark red steaks, and Lando nodded approvingly.

“You can, ah...how do you call it...amuse yourself, while I’m cooking.” Carlos instantly knew he’d unknowingly made some kind of innuendo as Lando howled in laughter and walked out of the kitchen.

~

Carlos wiped his forehead as he triumphantly slid the perfectly seared steaks onto the cutting board to rest. Lando had been drifting in and out of the kitchen, playing around with various knickknacks Carlos had in the living room area, but he was gone now. Presumably snooping around in the bedroom. Carlos decided it might be fun to sneak up on him; he tiptoed down the hallway and saw only the dim light from the closet casting onto the bedroom floor. Huh. He crept into the bedroom, craned his neck so he could see into the closet.

Lando was kneeling on the floor, right in front of the painting of Carlos and Lando. The British driver’s face was an expressionless mask. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Carlos wanted to kill himself for not telling Lando to stay out of his closet. He waited in dread for Lando to cringe at the picture.

But Lando just reached out with one trembling finger, running it down Carlos’ painted cheek in a way that could only be described as tender.

Lando’s bottom lip quivered. A single tear slid down his cheek. And then he grasped the canvas ever so carefully, and hugged it to his chest.

Carlos suddenly felt like he was completely invading Lando’s privacy. As if he’d walked in on him having a serious conversation with Zak Brown, or kissing someone passionately, or getting broken up with. And for some reason, a little part of him wanted to cry, too.

He quickly retreated back to the kitchen, sliced up the steaks, pouring the pan sauce over them. Then he practically stomped back down the hallway, so that Lando would know he was coming.

“Landooo,” he called. “I am done with the dinner.”

~

Carlos couldn’t stop staring at Lando the entire time they ate, searching for any indication of Lando acknowledging the painting. But he was a much better actor than Carlos had given him credit for. As they cut up their steaks and speared their salad greens with their forks, Lando seemed nothing but chipper as he regaled Carlos with stories about the antics he’d gotten into with Charles, George, and Alex on Twitch.

“He was like, ‘Oh my goodness, zis is impressive! Now I’m—I’m coming on your cam-a-ra, mate.’ I almost died,” Lando snickered, mimicking Charles’ French accent. “He tried to blame it on his bad English. Oh, and Alex just screams George’s name every time the prat plows him from behind.”

Carlos felt like he was in a bit of a daze, only half-listening to Lando’s tales. He raised his glass to his lips, wincing as a bit of wine accidentally sloshed over his upper lip. At this point, him imagining the entire scene in the closet seemed to be a very real possibility.

“Earth to Carlos.” Lando’s voice suddenly broke his reverie.

“Huh? What?”

“I said,” Lando rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to go on a run. Tomorrow morning before I leave.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah. Let’s run.”

Blue eyes narrowed at Carlos. “Are you okay? You’re acting a little...spacey.”

His heart pounded. “Yeah. Just tired.” He gestured to the glass of red. “Maybe this wine is getting to me.”

Lando looked suspicious, but shrugged. And let out a massive yawn. “So am I. D’you have somewhere I can sleep?”

“Ah,” Carlos said. He must have been the only driver on the grid who didn’t have a guest room. “Yeah. In my room.”

“What?” Lando yelped. “Why? Don’t you have an extra bed?”

“I drive a Golf,” Carlos deadpanned. His frugality was well known, at least as far as their vehicles were concerned. “I don’t know what you would expect.”

Lando chuckled, although it sounded strained. “You have a couch at least, I can sleep there.”

“What? No. Just sleep on the bed. You are the guest. And honestly,” Carlos continued, “I don’t think it’s that weird if we just shared it, unless you do...”

There it was again—the wide open eyes, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, just as they were when Carlos first asked him to visit.

“No,” Lando said slowly. “I’m okay with that.”

~

Carlos was brushing his molars when Lando waltzed into the bathroom, naked to the waist. He almost choked on his toothpaste.

Lando stuck his own toothbrush in his mouth. Then he pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket, and a very, very familiar beat started to echo off the walls...

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Almost telepathically, they started to headbang perfectly in sync. Well, started to. Lando giggled through a mouthful of foam as Carlos immediately began to drift off the beat.

He spit into the sink, cackling with laughter. Lando clutched his stomach, shoulders shaking, trying and failing not to spray the mirror with toothpaste. 

Movin’ up and down, side to side, like a rollercoaster.

Carlos felt like he was back at Red Bull Ring, flying down the longest straightaway of the season. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so...light. Weightless. Happy. George had said, that one time—cloud nine. Carlos wasn’t sure why there specifically had to be nine clouds involved, but there, standing in his bathroom with Lando, dancing and laughing like idiots, he felt like he finally understood what the Brit had meant.

~

Stripes of silvery moonlight filtered through Carlos’ blinds. He tried hard not to fidget, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the closet, watching Lando weep at the painting of the two of them...

Carlos saw Lando’s eyelids flutter. He knew he was only pretending to sleep, as well. 

“Carlos,” Lando whispered, startling him.

“What?”

Lando opened his eyes, staring directly into Carlos’ soul for all he knew.

“Can you hold me?”

Carlos laughed in disbelief. “Hold you?”

But Lando’s expression was so serious, so...anguished, that Carlos felt his stomach drop.

So he inched closer, and extended one arm in the direction of Lando’s neck. Lando lifted his head to let Carlos slide his arm under him. The other, Carlos draped gingerly around Lando’s bare stomach. Lando felt so...small. Vulnerable. Even though he was hardly two centimeters shorter than Carlos, as that hilarious Grill The Grid episode had exposed.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

He felt Lando’s chin nod against his chest.

And Carlos was scared. Scared at how...right this felt. How comforting. Scared that he had laughed, joked around, bickered with Lando for how long...and had never once thought that they could be this way. Then he wondered, with a pang, how long Lando had waited for this.

A drop of moisture seeped through Carlos’ shirt. Lando’s shoulders shook, and Carlos knew he was crying and trying his very best to suppress it. His heart ached; he thought of something, anything, to say to make him feel better. 

But no words came.

He sighed, feeling tears prick dangerously at the corners of his own eyes, and pulled Lando a little bit closer. Eventually, both of their breathing slowed, as they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

~

Carlos stirred to sunlight scorching his eyelids. Sometime during the night, they’d separated, and Lando was now sleeping facedown, head buried between two pillows. As if nothing had ever happened at all.

He thought for sure that Lando would say something when he finally woke up. But Lando simply greeted him with a casual “good morning” and walked off to the bathroom. When he came back, he was wearing running shorts and a light t-shirt.

“A jog, as promised.”

Hopefully, Carlos thought, we can have a chat while we run.

But as they wound their way through sidewalks that turned into gravel that eventually turned into a dirt trail, they talked about the McLaren car, the remaining races, the goddamned weather. They didn’t talk about Ferrari. They didn’t talk about how they’d cried and cuddled and how Lando might love Carlos and Carlos might just love Lando, and not in the way he loved his other teammates. Carlos felt like he was going to explode from the frustration, the tension that was so palpable and yet, neither of them were doing anything about it.

“Alright, Lando,” Carlos finally said at the crest of a hill, unable to take it anymore. “Do you think maybe we need to have a talk?”

Lando stopped, hunched over as he caught his breath. He didn’t turn to face Carlos. “No,” he panted. “What is there to talk about?”

“I dunno, us? Last night?”

A few chirping birds were the only sounds that filled the silence.

Carlos took a deep breath, steeling himself. “And I saw you...with the painting,” he admitted at last.

Lando whirled around so abruptly that Carlos took an instinctive step back. Icy blue eyes blazed with...anger? Panic? Carlos wasn’t sure.

But then, as quickly as it came, the fervent expression melted off his face, only to be replaced by one of deep sadness.

“That...it...it was nothing. I’m sorry for touching the painting.”

“No, Lando,” Carlos pleaded. “That’s not what this is about. You know that.”

“What does it matter?” asked Lando woodenly. “At the end of the year, we’re both going to say our goodbyes, and move on. We’re both going to just—move on. So let’s just do that, okay?”

What could Carlos say? He was a fool not to have...known...Lando. Known Lando well enough to see his turmoil. Known himself well enough to acknowledge his own feelings.

And now, it was too late.

“Okay,” Carlos said quietly.

They turned around and ran back down the hill, back to the house, where all there would be left for them was to say goodbye.

~

Lando made quick work of stuffing his clothes, his towel, his toothbrush, into his duffel. He didn’t ignore Carlos, exactly, but was certainly not his joking self either. Carlos watched him warily as he donned the bag and slowly walked towards the front door. Lando turned around, looked steadily at him.

“Thanks for letting me visit.”

Suddenly, Carlos was hit by a deep sense of loss. As if Lando was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore. Carlos couldn’t help but think that by choosing the scarlet suit, he’d lost something precious in return. Something even a Ferrari contract couldn’t replace.

“Lando,” Carlos said, vaguely aware of how desperate he sounded. “Promise me you will still be my muppet friend. For the rest of the season, and even when I go...”

There was no trace of laughter on Lando’s normally cheerful face. “I will,” he replied, impassively.

He stepped up to Carlos and hugged him like he always did, but his arms felt stiffer, even colder, and no longer did he melt into Carlos like he used to.

Carlos felt his chest tighten. It was already happening.

“Safe drive,” he managed.

“Thanks, Carlit—Carlos.”

Lando unlocked his Wraith, hoisted his duffel into the trunk, and gave Carlos a breezy wave as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Carlos watched the papaya of his hoodie through the tinted window grow smaller and smaller, until Lando finally disappeared from view.

Epilogue

The drivers were sitting, mostly in teammate pairs even though it was technically free seating, chatting with each other for the first time in months. It was perhaps the first Media Day no one was complaining about, even though everyone’s faces were (supposed to be) hidden behind masks and all the chairs were stationed a meter apart from one another.

Carlos immediately spotted Lando’s papaya cap on the edge, one seat open next to him. Charles, always the social butterfly, stood one row in front, cuffing George on the shoulder, shaking Checo’s hand, as Lewis glided past them with dark sunglasses affixed to his face as usual.

As Charles approached Lando—and the vacant chair next to him—Carlos quickened his pace, reached out, and impulsively grabbed Charles’ arm. He steered the driver away, taking advantage of his momentary confusion to plant himself in the empty seat.

Lando turned his head to him, surprise written across his face. Carlos smiled shyly, nudged Lando’s knee with his.

“I couldn’t let Charles sit next to my teammate.”

He held his breath as he scanned Lando’s face. "Until the day I leave,” he continued. “You are my teammate, after all. My one and only teammate.”

Lando gave him a small, conciliatory smile in return, and Carlos exhaled in relief.

Maybe the goodbye was inevitable. Maybe they really would never be the same again. But until then...Carlos was going to savor every last moment that he and Lando had left together.

notes: more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fluff #lando norris #carlos sainz #carlando #ln4 x cs55 #cs55 #ln4 #ferrari #carlos sainz x lando norris

[sundrownsthehouse]

Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Part Four

Posted to AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.

Words: 4.2k

AN: Much love to my bestie (you know who you are), to @allylikethecat, and to @lookedlikethebins for all the moral support- you're all amazing.

The faded grey light of the city filtered in from the windows where they’d forgotten to draw the curtains closed, casting streaky shadows across the ceiling. There was a gentle hush over the hotel room broken only by the muted hum of the aircon. George gazed up into the darkness. Comfortably cocooned in cool, plush blankets, with a warm body at his side, it should have been easy for him to fall asleep; this was the exact kind of quiet stillness he craved whilst on tour. And yet.

His eyes flicked down to the top of Matty’s head where it lay heavily on his chest, dark curls spilling across his skin. He could tell that Matty was still awake by the cadence of his breathing. Despite himself, George was hyperaware of the fact that Matty must be able to hear his heart hammering out a steady rhythm against his ribs. That notion alone threatened to send it racing.

And that’s sort of strange, George thought as he stared at the ceiling, because they’d done this so many times. Matty’s presence at his side was so familiar, it really shouldn’t provoke much of a reaction at all. Then again, it was unusual to lie awake together, entangled like this, without feigning ignorance; the cuddling wasn’t something they’d ever acknowledged openly in the past. It had never bothered him before, the way they’d always danced around it— it hadn’t really mattered— but to think about it now made him inexplicably sad. He didn’t know why they tried to pretend that they didn’t want the same things.

Over and over the night replayed itself in George’s mind, the gravity of it all weighing on him. In the span of only forty-eight hours, everything he thought he knew and felt about his relationship with Matty had changed. It was confusing, overwhelming, and slightly terrifying. There was so much he still didn’t understand, and the unspoken questions permeated the air between them like a thick fog. What did it mean, exactly, that they both seemed to want something more? Did it have to mean anything at all?

And what if it did?

As much as George wanted to pretend that everything was fine, the degree of Matty’s distress had seriously shaken him; they needed to talk about this. In the morning, he told himself firmly. Now wasn’t the time, not when they were both utterly exhausted. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually read Matty’s mind; even seeing Matty’s expression would give him some idea of where they stood. Nevertheless, he was secretly grateful they weren’t face-to-face. He was a little afraid of what he might find, and somehow, more intimidated by what Matty might see.

The bed shifted slightly. Matty sighed. The puff of breath fell hot on George’s skin, already sensitized by the tiny brush of Matty’s lashes as he blinked, gazing out at a city still aglow despite the late hour. George shivered curiously at the feeling. An unexpected wave of shame that he couldn’t reconcile burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbled. He was compelled to break the silence, if only to distract from the noise inside his own head.

Matty exhaled softly through his nose. “No.”

His arm was draped across George’s waist, absentmindedly drawing small circles into his hip with his thumb. Whether it was an indication of contentment or anxiety, George couldn’t tell. “Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly.

Matty didn’t respond at first. George lightly stroked his shoulder, aching to comfort him in whatever way possible after having seen him in such a state earlier. Matty shrugged eventually, his voice a whisper as he admitted: “No. Not really.”

George’s heart sank— what was he supposed to do with that?

He tried to sit up, struggling to right himself as the mattress dipped. Suddenly, Matty surged toward him. The weight of his body knocked George off balance and sent him toppling backwards, landing hard on the bed. Fire seared through his shoulder, tearing the breath from his lungs. Matty’s voice rose in a panic, but only when the pain began to ebb could George make sense of what he was saying: “….fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry, Christ….”

Though his head was spinning, George reached for Matty, still fretting, and pulled him in. He gently thread his fingers through his hair, playing with the curls— something he knew Matty loved, but would never ask for. Placated, Matty trailed off with another low sigh.

“Fuck, I… just don’t go,” he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion.

George’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’m not—”

Matty pressed impossibly closer, burying his face into the side of George’s neck. It was sort of startling; he didn’t know what to make of the way Matty was clinging to him. “M’not going anywhere,” George vowed. His fingers traced the smooth expanse of Matty’s back in slow, soothing motions, as if to show him:

I’m right here. I’m not running away. I’ve got you.

Matty sagged with relief, letting some of the tension bleed from his body. He turned his head, his parted lips coming to rest softly at the base of George’s throat.

It felt a bit like a kiss.

It wasn’t.

Breathe.

Clutching one another in the dark, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. At some point, Matty went lax and began to snore quietly. Utterly captivated by the places where their skin met, George gazed up at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered why on earth that was.

Before he even opened his eyes he knew that Matty was gone.

George could feel the absence of him in the bed even on the barest edge of consciousness. Half awake, he raised himself up onto his good arm and squinted at the sunlit room, only to find it empty. The balcony was similarly vacant. George strained his ears, hoping to catch the sound of the shower running, footsteps, anything, but it was all for naught; Matty had vanished. The only evidence he’d been there at all was the crumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. It was cool to the touch.

Fuck. George curled up into the sheets, mentally berating himself. He should’ve expected this; it’s not like Matty ever stayed when they were at home, either. The thought was tinged with bitterness. If Matty were to disappear on him again, the way he did yesterday, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. They had to fix this. Whatever happened, whatever was still going on between them, they couldn’t keep avoiding it forever— if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of the band. So much was on the line, and George didn’t want to think about what could happen to them if they handled this poorly. A series of horrible scenarios flashed behind his eyes anyway, filling him with a sickening sense of dread.

Lost in a grim, imaginary reality where he’d been abandoned in Wilmslow to shovel Chinese takeout into styrofoam for the rest of his miserable life, George barely registered the subtle metallic snick of the door as it was unlocked.

Matty strode into the room humming softly to himself, fresh-faced and vibrant. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a gauzy black blouse (pilfered from the women’s section, surely), he balanced two paper cups precariously in one hand and carried a nondescript takeaway bag in the other. He caught George’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye. “Oh— you’re awake!” Kicking off his boots, he crossed the room to set one of the steaming cups down on the bedside table next to George, flashing a warm smile: “Rise and shine, love.”

George gazed up at Matty, a little stunned by his presence. He had so many thoughts racing through his head, he couldn’t actually grasp onto any of them in order to form a coherent sentence. He shook himself internally, feeling like an idiot; it’s only Matty.The same messy curls forever falling in his eyes, that familiar gangly frame (too thin these days…), the dark ink peeking out from under his shirt, hinting at tattoos George knew like the back of his hand… and yet something wasdifferent. The early morning sun pouring in through the open window cast Matty in a strange, golden light. Somehow, George felt like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

George felt the tips of his ears burn hot at the amused quirk of Matty’s brow. He quickly averted his eyes, training them on the takeaway bag instead.

“The buffet was closing for the morning,” Matty explained, unpacking fruit, yoghurt, and a couple of sugared pastries. “I mean, it’s only closing just now, but you were proper dead to the world when I left— there was no way you were gonna make it. So I searched ‘round online and figured I’d pop out to this little café down the street instead, cos there’s a Starbucks a few blocks over but I just couldn’t be arsed to go that far, and this place was really nice actually, had great reviews and…” He trailed off self-consciously. “I mean, it might be shit,” he warned, holding his hands up in surrender.

George sat back against the headboard, adjusting his sling with care. He took a small sip of the tea— definitely not shit, and just the way he liked it. He hummed happily.

“Alright?” Matty asked, plopping down on the loveseat by the balcony.

George shot him a grateful smile: “S’good— thanks.”

Pleased, Matty dug in whilst George sipped on his tea. It was remarkable how easily they slipped back into their usual routine of spending the morning together, as if nothing ever happened. Though George was more the cook between the two of them, at home, Matty took care of breakfast. He was almost always up first, usually on account of not sleeping very well, and more often than not had something burning by the time George dragged himself out of bed. Waking up to the smell of coffee and charred toast was, strangely, one of the things he missed most about being in London. The little gesture of familiar domesticity… well, it meant more to him than he really wanted to admit.

Seeming so much more like himself than the night prior, Matty rambled at length in a stream of consciousness: he talked about the show (“don’t get me wrong, it was wicked, but I hate that you weren’t there”), the redundant nature of interviews (“honestly George, they could’ve just Googled most of that shit”), Ross’s determination to hit up the pool (“don’t suppose you know what vitamin D’s for, d’you?”), and Adam’s blatant refusal to go out for drinks later in favour of an early night (“but I’ll bet you twenty quid— don’t laugh, you know I’m right!— I’ll bet you twenty quid he’s off his face by ten”).

George smiled into his tea, content. Matty always had a thousand thoughts racing around in his head, and he’d jump from one to the next so quickly that people who didn’t know him often found it overwhelming, if not abjectly infuriating. “Does he ever shut up?” was a question that had been leveled at George more than a few times, accompanied by long-suffering sighs and rolled eyes— but George had never been bothered. Matty’s mind fascinated him, and besides, he’d long since mastered the ability to interject here and there in the gaps.

Even so, when the topic inevitably turned to George’s shoulder, the conversation grew stilted.

“I’m fine,” George insisted, hating the concern painted all over Matty’s face. “Really. It’s not so bad. Just strange not being able to use my arm, is all.”

It wasn’t an outright lie; the pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been that first day. Instead, it had morphed into a persistent, dull ache that never really went away, and flared sharply with the slightest insult. Paracetamol didn’t touch it much, but George found himself leery of the narcotics. He’d left them behind on the bus.

Matty searched his face knowingly. George couldn’t help but feel exposed under his gaze. He forgot, sometimes, that their connection went both ways; Matty knew him better than anyone, and was as attuned to George as George was to him. The stretch of silence wasn’t awkward, exactly— it couldn’t be, after all these years— but there was an element of strain. Apprehension.

“Where were y—”

“I wanted to—”

They both paused.

“You first,” Matty conceded. His expression was carefully blank as he set his coffee down on the table. George took a breath to steady himself. Now or never.

“Where were you yesterday?”

He posed the question gently, but Matty fidgeted in discomfort, his hands fluttering in his lap. “Right, that’s what I… I wanna talk to you about that.” He seemed quite small all of the sudden. Shy, even. Shy was a rare look for Matty. “Honestly George, I was freaking the fuck out. I really thought I’d…” He turned away to gaze out at the balcony, the muscles in his jaw tense.

“Matty—”

“And I don’t know why I did that, the other night,” he confessed in a rush, as if he couldn’t stop the words from spilling forth. “I wasn’t planning on it, it just sort of… happened.” George opened his mouth again to speak, but Matty pressed on. “I think— I think I was a bit drunk, and I’d been worried about you, and I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

George shook his head. “You never had anything to be sorry for in the first place. I—”

“Good,” Matty interrupted. “Good, cos I really didn’t mean… I’d like to just forget that it ever happened, if that’s alright.” He offered a small, lopsided smile, but his eyes were hard. Pleading.

Oh. George found himself nodding automatically.

Visibly relieved, Matty leaned back into the cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table— the very picture of ease to anyone who didn’t know him better. “Though I am flattered,” he teased with a wink.

George snorted and rubbed a hand across his face, lips quirked feebly in an attempt to mask the profound sense of disappointment washing over him. He couldn’t seem to find the right words; the questions that had plagued him all night got caught and died in his throat.

Matty laughed. “I think you need to get laid,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair— another nervous tick that George would recognize anywhere. “Fuck man, I need to get laid.” George felt himself chuckle weakly at the joke, small huffs of breath that left his lungs against his conscious will, but he wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear.

This was a good thing; this is what you wanted, he would remind himself. Matty was fine. He wasn’t mad or upset. He wanted things to go back to normal. Best case scenario.

Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, it would eventually start to feel like it.

***

“WANKER!”

George peaked one eye open from behind his shades as an errant spray of cold water splashed his legs. Waughy surfaced roughly in the center of the pool, sputtering as he flipped off Ross, who was standing on the deck with a suspicious, shit-eating grin. The others howled and scrambled to swim out of the way as Ross landed a cannonball that drenched Waughy (and George’s legs) all over again. Scattered bursts of laughter rose and echoed across the deck.

To Ross’s credit, the pool was a massive hit. He’d gotten word out to the rest of their crew, and by the early afternoon, they had something of a party going. They were being a bit rowdy, but the hotel was evidently letting it slide— one of the perks of being minor celebrities, apparently. Touring was demanding work, and full days off were precious.

George stretched on the lounger where he’d been laying out for the better part of the afternoon, lazy and content. The weather was perfect; the sun was hot, but there was a cool spring breeze that kept the humidity blessedly at bay. Nervous that swimming would mess with his shoulder too much, and unwilling to take any risks, he’d set himself up poolside with earbuds and a book hours ago. A warm glow of deep relaxation had settled into his bones. He yawned, pleasantly drowsy.

Just as he began to nod off, a flash of skin caught his eye.

Matty was lifting himself out of the pool, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting with the effort of it. He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the deck, letting his legs dangle over the edge as beads of water dripped from his hair to stream in little rivulets down his skin. Hidden behind his sunglasses, George dragged his gaze away from Matty’s upturned mouth only to get caught on the slope of his neck. He traced the delicate dip of his collarbone, following it to the black and grey marking Matty’s sternum— the heart over his heart, the tattoo he knew Matty was proudest of. He roamed over the hard plane of Matty’s stomach, lingering as it flexed with his laughter. From there, it was far too easy to drop down, down, down, following a small trail of hair to the top of his waistband, where a glimpse of blue ink peeked out near his hip like a suggestion.

George shut his eyes, swallowing thickly. Stop it.

He didn’t think he’d ever really noticed Matty’s body before. It had never mattered; like background noise, it was irrelevant. And yet as the afternoon trudged on, George found that it was slowly becoming all he could think about. Matty was surprisingly strong for being so slender, all lean muscle and sinew, but there was a softness about his waist… an almost feminine sort of grace in the way he moved. Now that he thought about it, Matty really was quite pretty for a man, wasn’t he? The recognition of it had George’s mind growing hazy. He found himself searching for the tattoos, moles, and scars that marked Matty’s skin, cataloging what he was familiar with and fighting a strange thrill whenever he noticed something new. He’d resisted the temptation at first, fully aware that it was wildly inappropriate to be ogling his best friend— not to mention the little voice inside telling him that he shouldn’t— but Matty had somehow become this new, exciting, mysterious thing that George couldn’t help but be captivated by.

It made no fucking sense.

Matty’s voice rang out across the pool. George couldn’t quite make out what he and Ross were giggling about over the music, but whatever it was, it made Matty grin, animating his features in a boyish sort of way. His stomach flipped. He shut his eyes in some desperate attempt to reason with himself; he was only watching Matty because he was still anxious about everything that had happened between them… he was just keeping an eye on his body language, seeking reassurance that everything was alright. Though that didn’t explain why his blood was humming with electricity, alive with something delicious and traitorous that he couldn’t quite name, elicited by— Christ, of all things— the sight of Matty nearly naked and dripping wet. Just like…

No. He shouldn’t think about it. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it. The way their bodies felt sliding against one another in the steam… the little ghosts of breath on his skin… the careful, feather-light fingertips tracing his hip… the gentle press of impossibly soft lips to his shoulder. To his throat.

“You’re gonna burn.”

A sharp spike of adrenaline sent George’s heart racing as cool, wet fingers prodded the warm skin of his tricep. “I’m fine,” he choked out, gazing up at Matty’s silhouette against the sun. He’d been so distracted by his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Matty walking right up to him until it was too late.

Matty snorted and shook his head, little droplets of water flying from his hair. “M’not gonna listen to you whine all night cos you’re burnt on top of everything else.” He jabbed at George’s arm pointedly, watching the tanned skin blanch and then turn pink.

“Won’t be. Haven’t got your delicate Northern complexion.”

“Yeah, that’d be clever if you weren’t blistering as we speak.” Matty reached for a bottle of sun lotion and flipped the cap. “Here, budge up.” He made to sit on the edge of the lounger. George didn’t move.

“You don’t have to do that— seriously mate, it’s fine.”

A hint of irritation crossed Matty’s face. “Don’t be stupid. C’mere,” he insisted, drawing closer.

Too close.

George shot up and took a careful step back, shaking his head. “I can do it myself,” he blurted, holding his hand out for the bottle. A nervous energy snaked up his spine, setting him on edge.

Matty stared in disbelief for a moment, eventually scoffing. “You literally can’t,” he said, squeezing lotion into his hand.

Panic bloomed in earnest, immediate and terrifying. George only knew that— no matter what— he couldn’t bear for Matty to touch him. He waved his hands dismissively and spun around, making a beeline for the changing room. He didn’t care how fucking bizarre it must seem; he had to get away. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He was vaguely aware of his name being called, of the exasperated tone in Matty’s voice, but it was all secondary to the buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second as his feet blindly carried him away.

The men’s room was empty. George huffed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning up against the wall to steady himself. A fresh wave of dizziness had his stomach rolling; for one horrible moment, he thought he might actually black out. He pressed his forehead into the faded blue tile, letting it leach the heat from his skin. It was all just too much. He couldn’t— he didn’t want to face it, whatever this was, whatever was happening to him. As his awareness slowly returned to his body, he noticed that his hands were trembling, among other things.

Please stop, he begged— as if contrition alone would change anything at all. Fear and hunger, shame and desire, it all tangled in his mind, fighting with the conflicting sensations of his body. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, and God, why was his cock throbbing? He shuddered violently at the feeling, enthralled by the heady rush of endorphins mixed with adrenaline and latent frustration. Slowly, mindlessly, he pressed his hips into the wall to abate the pressure in his groin, only to gasp at the sheer relief of it. Out of that hazy cloud of sensation, clarity struck like lightning— sudden, brilliant, and terrible.

It was difficult to know how long he’d been gone. It could have been minutes; it felt like hours. But when he emerged from the men’s room half-dazed, George glanced around to find the others staring at him strangely— as if they could tell that something fundamental within him had shifted.

***

In the evening they separated off the elevator, Ross and Adam heading to their respective rooms, George trailing behind Matty towards their own.

Matty chatted casually about something banal as he dug through his bag, preoccupied with putting together an outfit. Something about dinner… the restaurant, George recognized dimly. He was grateful, really, that Matty hadn’t brought up their strained encounter at the pool, but he couldn’t pretend to care about their reservation at the best sushi restaurant in Austin, George, it won a James Beard award last year, did you know?

Perched on the edge of the bed, George nodded and hummed in agreement here and there to fill the gaps, but he struggled to follow the one-sided conversation. He was hopelessly distracted, and growing ever more certain by the minute that he’d been ignoring what was right in front of him for years.

“Gonna rinse off,” Matty announced as he walked toward the bathroom, clutching fresh clothes and his toiletry kit to his chest.

“Can I come?”

Matty froze, whipping his head to stare at George with wide eyes.

Fuck.

“Erm— I mean, my hair… the chlorine… makes it dry odd…” he trailed off feebly.

A dozen different emotions flit across Matty’s face. It seemed to take him a moment to find the words— and Matty always had the right words. When he did speak, his voice was soft. Apologetic. “You didn’t swim, George,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I mean, I got splashed a bit by you lot, didn’t I.” George tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. He’d thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

Matty’s expression was inscrutable. He went to speak, then hesitated, swallowing hard. “There’s not a lot of time… m’gonna be quick,” he replied thickly.

George nodded. Shame burned through him. “Yeah, right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

He flinched when Matty shut the door behind him.

#matty healy #george daneil #the 1975 #take this pain and give it a name #matty x george #the 1975 fic #matty healy fic #george daniel fic #gatty