#the trees look much better irl I promise

[afaroffsong]

I’ve always loved these two trees. They look even more fab in the summer, when they’re surrounded by a huge field of tall, tall maize.

[enviedear]

can you pleaseeee do the reader’s first with billy??

i feel like that man would be a gentle giant 😞🩷

first time with billy bonney...

you asked so nicely i gave you a full fic <3 enjoy 2k words of first time cuteness with our favorite outlaw

tw— 18+ smut, minors dni, piv, unprotected sex, (do better irl) cumming inside

request

billy's charming in the way he helps you off his horse, eyes as bright as the stars above. you let yourself walk with him, hands interlocked and arms brushing together, as you escort him back to your small cabin.

up here, away from the fast-growing town, trees stand tall and animals call out—it's wild out here. so wild in fact, that no one in the gambling den batted an eye when the gunslinger offered to accompany you home. his citation of some recent bobcat attacks being enough to make his sinfully intended sentiment sound as if it were an honorable and gracious one.

of course, not that you gave it any mind. none at all. for as sure as the days are long, it's no question that you've fallen head first for the man on the run. in just a few weeks of his strolling into town, he's managed to endear himself so effortlessly to you.

you watch his slender fingers graze the doorknob of the wooden door, "i can find som'where else to stay tonight, darlin'. if you've changed your mind."

his voice is hushed and you furrow your brows at his admission, "why would i change my mind?" your resolve is unwavering as you look up at him, your stare wrought with permission.

he pushes the door open, letting you step inside first. for a second, you think he may back down, regret his decision at the den, and leave you here alone with only the idea of what could have been.

such thoughts are promptly absolved from your head when he wraps his strong, yet lean, arms around you. his chest becomes flush against you, and you note the prominent bulge pressing into your backside— how could you have ever thought of rejection? this is the furthest from it, this is obvious clearance, a promise.

"you look so pretty," billy whispers, cool breath hitting your shoulder, "i want you s'bad... just don't let me scare you."

another confused expression graces your face, "why would you scare me?"

the gunslinger breaths in your scent, nose brushing along the curve of your neck, "'cause i know how much i want you. m'crazy for you, sweetheart," he pauses to turn your head toward him, pointer finger at your chin, "just don't want to be too much and scare you away."

you ease into his touch, turning to face him, defenses down at his confession, "i won't run, billy. i like you too much."

your words seem to ignite the spark of passion within him as he pauses to let his eyes trail over your lips before finding your eyes again. the act is small but apparent enough that you feel comfortable enough to slide your hands up to his chest. his heartbeat thumps against your hands, rate accelerated.

with a shaky breath, you lean into him, lips brushing his. lingering, you feel as if you're on the edge of a cliff seconds away from jumping into the waters below. you feel him give the softest smile, bottom lip bumping into your own. the little sensation lights you aflame, and you have to fight back a moan when he finally presses his lips to yours.

his kiss is saccharine, loving, and careful. his hands keep you steady, at your hips, drawing you into him. you feel utterly lost in his being. the way he kisses you, slow and graceful, a welcome surprise. used to rowdy farmhands' awkward kisses and scorned by vicious schoolboys' unsolicited pecks, you've never had a kiss so sweet.

as his tongue tentatively brushes against your lips, you feel your body responding in a way you never thought possible. you feel animalistic, wanton and greedy. your hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer as you part your lips and let him deepen the kiss. the taste of him is intoxicating, and you can't get enough.

with a sudden urgency, billy pulls you towards him and lifts you onto the nearby table. you gasp as he breaks away from the kiss to trail kisses along your jawline before nipping at your neck. your head falls back, exposing more of your neck to him, and you hear him groan in approval.

his hands roam your body, tracing the curve of your waist before sliding under your shirt to cup your breasts. you arch into him, craving the touch of his rough hands on your bare skin. your own hands find their way to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them before pulling it off his body and revealing his toned stomach. you run your hands across his chest, feeling the stiff muscles under your fingertips.

you break away from him momentarily to catch your breath, gazing into his eyes as he looks back at you with such intensity that you feel like he's seeing straight into your spirit, "i want you," he whispers, voice husky with desire, have the minute i laid eyes on you."

billy eases you back onto the table, lips grazing your own, the feel of his skin against your own sending shivers down your spine. as your fingers fumble with his belt, you're reminded of your lack of experience.

you pause to look into his eyes, silently asking him for reassurance, "s'okay, darlin', trust me." his lips press against yours, reassuring and gentle, "you're doing s'good already."

you can't help but grow warm at his words, the bravery and candor in his voice giving away your own effect over him, "i trust you." you whisper against his lips, pulling him impossibly closer.

he hums, kissing you again before sliding your dress shirt off your body. you feel his hands roam your waist, following the curve of your stomach to rest on the swell of your hips, holding you steady.

you take a moment to appreciate the sight of billy's bare chest—the way the moonlight filters through the windows, casting an ethereal hue on his body. you catch yourself wondering if you'll be so lucky to have him in your bed again, and you decide then and there that if he leaves, you won't let him go alone.

focusing back into the ardor of his embrace, the kiss as passionate as it was before, if not more. your tongues dance against each other, neither of you keeping a single thing to yourselves. billy's hands slide around to your hips, gripping at your skirt.

a shiver runs up your spine as he pulls you into him, feeling the weight of him press against your thigh. the heat from his body feels almost as strong as your desire for him, and you shudder from the contact, "i need—" you break away from him, hands fumbling at your own clothes, "i need you, billy…"

you pull your skirts up, revealing yourself to the dark-haired man before you. billy's eyes are trapped on your hips, lingering on your underwear as his hands slide up your hips and hook themselves around your bloomers, "never had a lady tell me what she wants," he murmurs, "s'direct."

his words drive you to press your hips into his, wanting him to know that you mean it, "please, i need you."

his lips find your neck, teeth nipping at your collarbone, "i need you, too, darlin'."

you close your eyes, hands finding their way to the button of his pants, "take them off."

you hear him chuckle and he slides down off the table, unlacing his belt as he steps out of his pants. you turn your head from him, flustered as you slide your undergarments off your hips and legs, kicking them to the side to fully expose yourself to him.

the gunslinger glides your back onto the table, eyes grazing over every curve and plane of your body as you lie before him, "you're so beautiful, darlin'."

you smile at his words, reaching your hands out for him as he lowers himself over you. your breaths seem to come faster, riddled with nerves.

you can feel his breath on your cheek, and you lean into him, "billy..." his lips kiss yours once, stopping you from saying anything further. you can feel his erection press against your thigh.

his hands find your hips and slowly slide you towards him, "just relax." he whispers as his eyes find yours.

you feel him press against you, and you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain. you suddenly feel a heat wave course through you, leaving a trail of nerve endings burning at his every touch. the gunslinger groans in approval and kisses your neck, seemingly urging you to relax more.

you feel him nip at your collarbone before slowly easing into you. you feel a light burning sensation, but it seems to be more from his movement than from his dick. his hips are gentle as he thrusts into you, his breath catching in his throat as you move your hips. the gunslinger's hands move to your waist, gripping at you as he pulls you into him.

the need for oxygen breaks your kiss, and billy's lips slide up to your ear, nipping at it as he thrusts into you with more force. you gasp, your back arching as he pulls you into him. you hear him groan in approval, "darlin', you're s'tight, and warm…you feel so good. i could stay inside of you forever."

you shudder at his words, unaccustomed to such vulgar remarks. your mind is filled with thoughts that no lady would ever think, but you find that you don't care. the pleasure billy brings you is more than enough to excuse what others might consider improper.

his lips find your neck again, leaving gentle kisses across your skin. you shiver as you feel him pant against your skin, "more, darlin', let me hear."

you nod your head, not at all sure what to expect. as billy's thrusts become harder, your nails dig into the tops of his arms, leaving light trails of red on his skin. he groans, "good girl."

your mind begins to cloud, your body becoming light with pleasure, "billy…"

as he moves within you, your body instinctively tenses and your breaths become labored. billy's hands grip your hips tightly, urging you to move with him as he thrusts deeper and harder. you can feel the tension building inside of you, a primal heat that intensifies with each movement.

"god, darlin', you're so close. i feel it." he whispers huskily in your ear, his words fueling your desire even more. your nails dig into his arms, leaving marks on his skin as you cling to him desperately.

finally, the wave crashes over you and pure ecstasy washes over your entire being. billy's own release follows closely behind yours, his muttered words blending into the symphony of pleasure that surrounds you both. as you lay there, spent and gasping for air, billy wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. his weight is a comforting pressure against your body as he remains inside of you for a few moments longer.

eventually, he pulls out and lies next to you on the table, allowing both of your bodies to relax and catch their breath. you turn towards him, gazing into his deep blue eyes that are filled with adoration and passion. this intimate moment between the two of you feels like an eternity as you bask in each other's presence. you turn and face him, smiling as you lean to kiss him.

you know you've never been so satisfied, and you can't help but feel happy for the choice you made. the gunslinger is kind enough to take you to your bed, snuggling into both you and your covers.

you lay in his arms, exhausted from your previous activity. billy looks down at you and smiles, "you did real good, sweetheart. i didn't scare you, did i?"

you shake your head, stupid grin on your face, "no, billy. you were perfect."

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

billy taglist— @honey-bees-13 @poppyflower-22 @black-yn @siriuslybeloved @sherlollyliveson18 @cosmicspacewitch @aravenswritingdeskblog @sabrinasbd

[pool-floatie]

Tall Tales: part 7

lets goooo 💯💯🔥

Ok I love this cause its raining rn and I was writing a scene where its raining and its night and now IRL its r a i n i n g and its n i g h t it's like im a manifestation wizard you should all cower, oh by the way heres the rest of that fic i promised ya (I didnt promise you shit, this exists only because i am a merciful and kind God.)

Also lets play a little game of spot the metaphor/ hidden message!! Its pretty obvious if you know anything about literature !! Good luck!!

Avril woke to the surrounding warmth of the giants hand, giving them blissful comfort from the chill of their new surroundings. They wriggled around to get a better look. Kneeling, they peeked out of the large hand; A cave big enough to hold the giant at full height sheltered the pair from the slowing patter of rain outside, a shallow breeze blew through the large entrance, keeping the cave almost as cold as the outside. At least it was a bit less wet, they thought.

Avril felt a small twitch of Jaces' fingers; apparently, their stirring had awoken him.

They sunk down lower, making sure they wouldn't be knocked off if the giant made any sudden movements.

Big, drowsy, half lidded eyes blinked open, slowly landing on the little thing in Jaces palm.

Avril gave a tentative wave. Jace let out a small puff of air from his nose, smirking.

As cute as they were when asleep, he loved the humans shyness, though he was sure that eventally he would get them to come out of their shell, he had seen their spunk before, a real person behind the mask of fear.

"Mornin' " he sighed, stretching his free limbs out.

" .. Hi.." Av uttered quietly

Jace sat up slowly, minding the little being he held.

He sat up against the cave wall and admired his tiny companion. They were wonderful, short, blonde, ruffled hair framed their face and brown doe eyes looked up at him adorably.

" you sleep well, av ?" he asked, though he wanted to ask a more open question, it seemed the simple 'yes/no' questions were easier for them, baby steps.

" Mhmm" they replied

" Great " he sighed

Loking out of the cave jace saw that the rain had nearly stopped.

" hey, not sure if your too much of a morning person but, the suns about to rise... Did you wanna come watch?"

They thought for a moment, sure not being awake at the literal crack of dawn would be nice but...

" .. Yeah, sure"

Jace beamed

"Sweet. And, hey... I, I know I was, absolutely awful to you... Before.. I just, i guess I got carried away but I hurt you, I didnt even realise cause' ive never actually met a human" he rambled

" but I know that's not an excuse for hurting you and making you scared and being a complete dickbag, so, Avril, im Sorry. Im sorry for hurting you and im sorry that I teased you and-"

He was scilenced by a touch on his thumb.

" ... Jace, its - well its not ok, but, , well- thank you."

He hadnt even realised he was crying.

Jace smiled through teary eyes.

"No, thank /you/ for... Well for a second chance." he said

Av paused for a moment.

" yeah,,, a second chance" they said

Jaces smile grew and he wanted to hug the human through any means, but he reisisted knowing it would probably freak them out.

"Oh hey, it, uh, stopped raining..." avril said, breaking the scilence.

Stepping towards the entrance of the cave the two saw the sun begin its ascent into the new sky, lighting up the previously dreary dwelling to reveal a new side to it.

Outside the cave the rain left dewdrops on everything, turning the scene into a shimmering chandelier. It hilighted the mossy green rocks, cracked from age that sat just outside the cave, beyond lie a beautiful willow tree that framed the caves entrance. Rain dripped from its leaves and tapped a slow rythm on the ground

Pip, pip, pip.

A small breeze blew past, carrying the blooming scent of nature and rusting the willows leaves.

The birdsong slowly began to crescendo, announcing a new day to the rest of the forest and all who inhabited it.

Jace briefly looked away to see avrils reaction, they were enthralled, wide eyes taking in every gorgeous detail as they stood leaning off the side of Jaces' cupped hand trying to take in as much as they could.

" its beautiful..." they said, unable to look away lest they miss a single second of the mornings beauty.

"Amazing what nature does, you cant find this stuff anywhere else." Jace replied, equally enthralled.

" Thank you" avril said

" thank you? For what?"

Av thought for a moment.

" just.... This."

Jace smiled, he knew what they meant.

" yeah, of course."

The sun rose higher as the wind slowed and the pair continued admiring the stunning morning.

" hey, seems pretty clear now, you want to head back ?" jace asked

" yeah, sounds good" av said, plopping down into the massive plam and resting their arms on the cupped edges.

Jace began the trek back, following the river upstream.

"Hey, humans eat fish, right?" he questioned

"Uh yeah, what, you got a fishing pole my size?" av joked

"oh, much better" he hinted

Av turned and quirked a brow at the giant.

" what?" he said innocently

Av rolled their eyes, whatever awaited them would surely be an adventure.

[theplatypusblue]

COMPILING ALL LEGENDS OF CHIMA SEASON 1 THOUGHTS BELOW THE READ MORE (super long post, written as I was watching)

(I can be a little mean but I promise I’m having fun lol)

Episodes 1 + 2:

Man this shits super boring.

Idk if I can get behind craggers plot line tbh. He’s too much of a dumbass for me to really root for him.

The lore seems really cool so far. I like the settings and the stuff about the legend beasts.

Like?? Forest full of trees that just fall down all the time? Epic.

Legend beasts are especially cool cuz it means this is how Chima characters react when seeing a regular ass lion for the first time:

Episode 3:

Man Laval really fucked everything up.

I have a feeling all of cragger’s dumbass-ness, like, transferred over to laval and now we’re gonna be seeing him making all the dumbass decisions

The only thing I really care about here is the b-plot about Gorzan and his flower. More engaging than the main plot

Episode 4:

Prediction about Laval replacing Cragger as the resident dumbass seems to be coming true

Gorzan is quickly becoming my favorite.

Oh hey look it’s the beavers!! I remember they show up in that one episode of ninjago. I had zero context for what they were all about then but now I know!!

Episode 5:

The gorilla tribe seems like the most chill out of everyone. Gorillas 👍

Can I just say I hate the fucking skunk. He sucks.

Honestly kind of a nothing episode

Episode 6:

Eagle spire does that cool thing where all the buildings are built on super scary precipices. There’s literally a post going around about this exact thing but I can’t find it rn

Oh so the eagles are just a bunch of nerds. A little weird I guess(?) I feel like eagles are usually symbols of strength n stuff so that’s different. It’s giving cloud kingdom.

“Wing girl” tf kinda nickname??

Apparently the ravens are double crossing everyone but I have not been paying close enough attention to what’s going on to really process that

Ok so it was all an extremely convoluted way for the crocs to get everyone to fight each other. And the ravens tried to profit but they’re kinda stupid so nothing really worked out for anyone

Episode 7:

Purble moon??? Epic

Man the bears are so epic just like me fr

Nooo don’t mess w the gorillas they’re so chill :(

I am entirely uninterested in the 100 year full moon skunk fart lore. Sorry.

It’s a little strange and maybe I’m hallucinating but I feel like the animation has has somehow gotten better?? Like the lighting or smthn…. Or the facial expressions???

Oh….. skunk fart lore is plot relevant………

Now that I’m thinking… is that the only skunk in chima?? Cuz rn it looks like just the one guy

Episode 8:

Oh it’s a big boy chi

There’s a fucking peacock?? Don’t know how to spell his name. So wait if he wins who does the chi go to?? He gets it all to himself?

Oh wait nvm it’s probably a cragger thing. Mr. Peacock comes back after retirement or w/ever in order to do some evil shit with the crocs I get it I get it

Gorzan I love you

WHO THE FUCK IS THAT GUY?? Is it a pig? A warthog??? It’s giving Mr. E vibes.

Man idk this episode is structured rlly weirdly. Nothing really fit together very well. It’s alright tho.

Episode 9:

GORILLA EPISODE?? Let’s go dude

It funny cuz I feel like gorillas aren’t actually this mellow irl

STOP FUCKING WITH THE GORILLAS CRAGGER I’LL KILL YOU

Oh hey it’s our mystery mans. Oh nevermind he left again.

There are balloon plants?? Oh yeah those are the things they were using in the other episode. Sorry I wasn’t paying attention to anything else that happened.

Episode 10:

Uhh I forgot to take notes while watching uhhh

The fox guy was cute. I like a little fox guy

This episode managed to make me feel a little bad for cragger!! He wants to do a good job but he kinda sucks at everything :(

It also made me confused abt cruller!!! What are you doing w ur life girl!!!!

Kinda messed up how the wolves had to serve the crocodiles tho… probly for the best she threw away that pledge

If Laval’s dad is right when he says they’re not gonna race for chi for a long time, I’m guessing they’re not gonna do any more racing episodes for some time. That’s fine honestly.

WAIT THAT RHINO GUY’S DYING. Oh nvm. This whole situation is cringe I hope it’s a one-off thing….

Also I forgot everyone thinks craggers parents are dead but really they’re just chilling in that canyon. Kinda funny actually

Episode 11:

Oh man the wolves are fucking everything up

“We all gotta stay here till the walls are fixed” bruh just call the beavers or smthn

Man what is the deal with this shadow wind dude.

If there’s one similarity I could point out with ninjago, it’s all this talk abt ~the balance~. I guess it makes sense since they take place in the same universe, technically

These bears are so cute lol napping does solve everything so true

Episode 12:

Jets travel super fast in the air. If they’re going through a storm Laval should totally be dead by now

Cragger is setting boundaries!! We love to see it. Cruller is acting pretty cringe. In her ~~girlfailure era~~

Is Laval gonna fall in this gorge?? Oh yeah he’s gonna fall in this gorge

Noooo Gorzans underwear is gonna tear

It’s a little sweet how Laval still wants to help out cragger

Episode 13:

I guess I’m still not super into cragger but I pity him a little. He’s trying his best but he’s just a bit stupid. And also his sister sucks ass

Okay. So she may be cringe but cruller is living her best(-ish) life.

That wolf is wearing a really cute apron

Man they were bringing up Shadow wind earlier and I thought they were gonna reveal their identity but now I’m a bit disappointed…

Laval is being peak dumbass rn I kinda like it. “The warm milk of oppression” lol

Episode 14:

“You bears think you’re so clever” bro they are literally asleep I don’t think they give a shit

I think the thing with Cragger is that I absolutely hate him when he’s under the influence of the flower thingy. He’s unlikable in a not-so-fun way, but he seems much more cute/compelling when he’s normal lol.

Oh my god they’re getting back-alley chi lmao

Oh is everyone gonna think Cragger did this on purpose. That’s sad.

This Reagle(?) guy is really silly I like his design a lot

Ohhhhh the wolves are gonna plug the fake chi and become chickens. It’s not a Cragger-might-be-evil thing. Gotchaaaa that’s cute

Seeing Cragger and Leval act like buddies again is genuinely nice they’re friends :)

Episode 15:

Eagles are based communists that live in the sky got it 👍

Cruller stop fucking with the gorillas istg.

Okay what the hell did burning the flower do. Is that like taking an inhalant

The ravens attempted to use the eagles’ based communist values against them. However, they didn’t realize that the eagles are boring as shit, and don’t “own” anything cool in the first place. Based communist eagles for the win.

Okay wait is Eris liking the rhino like. A brand new development or was it hinted at before?? It’s been a hot second since I watched the last couple episodes

Also I recognize that animation from the Ninjago season 5 finale lol

Episode 16:

Man I just hate this stupid skunk

This fog of destiny stuff is really goofy looking from the outside lmao it’s hard to take serious

So it’s like. Making them entirely delusional or something? Some of them are acting the opposite of how they usually do, but others are having like, delusions of grandeur. Idk how it works exactly

Laval there has got to be a smarter way to wake them up. You keep getting thrown into the lake…. Oh my god is the skunk gonna fart again. If that’s literally how they wake them up I’m gonna be so mad.

Oh okay thank god I was wrong.

Oh wait it randomly made cragger evil again. Man come on.

Cruller you stupid dumb idiot lmao get wrecked honestly

I hope the skunk dies like actually for real

Episode 17:

Oh shit Lavals dad also had a best friend that did shitty things and eventually grew apart from?? Damn.

Also Laval in exile time!!! Hopefully this will be cool

Eh. It’s not so cool with the skunk around

OH SHIT is the shadow wind the guy that was exiled before??? Ohhhhh

Ahhh okay Cruller backstory time. Damn girl was getting compared to her sibling straight out the egg. Didn’t even have a moment to spare there huh

Noooo Laval you just enslaved the wolves again by giving him the treaty. That was like the one cool thing cruller manages to do

Oh. I guess the exile thing literally didn’t matter at all lmao kinda underwhelming

Episode 18:

Lol so Cragger is such a dickhead now it’s even causing his stupid ominous dream to take notice

Okay so the floating mountain that gives everyone the chi also makes you on fire when you touch it. Chima world building really is epic man I gotta include random cool shit in my stories once I get around to writing stuff

This definitely feels like part of a finale lol maybe we’ll finally learn what the deal is w shadow wind

Andddddd the chi’s all fucked up now

Episode 19:

Tbh I would also be kinda mad at the lions like. They had no idea what they were doing or if it would have any negative consequences.

Man the whole thing with the wolves just kinda. Fizzled out huh? Like a few episodes ago they had ~all the chi in chima~ and now they’re all like “idk man why don’t we all just get along” lol

I love the attitude of just asking the beavers to fix the mountain. Like let’s just chuck a couple of construction workers at this malfunctioning holy site that’ll probably work

Episode 20:

I’m guessing this is the finale?? Let’s see

Laval looks so weird without his little crown thingy lol hes so square

He’s definitely not dead tho

CROCODILE LETS GOOO!!!!! EPIC!!!

OH UM. Okay well that complicates things. And there’s like a million other questions we still haven’t answered but ok. I guess all of that other stuff can wait until later????

I thought the eagle guy said chima only had 2 moons left before everything fell apart?? So they really gotta get the ball rolling on that one uhm. Oh well.

**EDIT** Last time I posted this I thought it stopped at episode 13 for some reason?? Tubi is stupid; thanks to the person who pointed out the actual episode number. I’ll probably stop here for a while, sorry it took so long to update this lol. My initial thoughts and feelings haven’t really changed all that much, so I’ll keep them as they were:

I definitely feel like it’s a show that doesn’t have super strong characters. I think it would better if the show leaned more into the world it’s created instead, if that makes sense. Maybe later the character writing will improve a little bit, and I’ll changed my tune. But!! Who knows. I’m having fun with it.

Idk when I’ll get to season 2, cuz I get super busy sometimes (I started this one a couple months ago but couldn’t finish it till now ugh) but I do want to continue watching!! Eventually!!!

[acacia-may]

...am I right in feeling like "Chestnut Trees and Wishing Wells" miiight have something to do with a certain fighter and sage of the Warriors of Hope? Ehe.

(good lord i feel like i'm spamming you, i am so sorry lmao)

Oh my goodness, Wyndi!! Thank you so much for your ask! 💖 Please don't ever worry about spamming me. You are definitely not spamming me, ever, and I love all of your asks so much (seriously I do a little happy dance whenever I see them come in🥰) so please feel free to send in as many as you'd like! I'm really the one who should be apologizing for taking so long to respond to you. I feel like my mind is a little all over the place these days as I'm trying to get everything in order around the blog amidst irl chaos. I will get to them as soon as I can though, I promise. Thank you so much for being patient in the meantime! 💕

You are very close with your guess! 😊 "Chestnut Trees and Wishing Wells" is a Warriors of Hope friendship story about a certain fighter, but it's her friendship with the priest not the sage this time. 😅 I have written stories about Kotoko's friendship with Nagisa and Kotoko's friendship with Masaru, and though Kotoko's friendship with Jataro isn't explored nearly as much in the canon, I felt bad for leaving him out so this story will complete the set. That said, I've been trying to write this story since March (I think?), so it's definitely been a little bit of a struggle... 🙈 More ramblings about that below the cut. Thanks again for your ask, friend! 💕

The first draft (unfinished) was basically nothing but them doing laundry which I suppose was fun for Jataro since he loves washing machines so much, but I was worried it was going to be too boring for a story. 😅 So I started a second draft (also unfinished) which took place in an alternate universe (sort of?) from the others I had written, but I worried that that might be confusing so I scrapped that one for a while though I liked the idea of that story a lot better. The premise was that way, way in the future a grown up Kotoko invited a grown up Jataro to go with her when she was shopping for a wedding dress and even though he didn't really know anything about dress shopping, he tried his best to be really supportive by making a bunch of flashcards about the different kinds of dresses, styles, fabrics ect., and they ended up bonding because they both kind of struggle with the way that they look sometimes. There was no shipping in the story or anything, of course. It was never going to mention anything about Kotoko's relationship beyond just the fact that she had one & was engaged to be married. The wedding dress shop was just the setting/a plot device, but the idea of a grown up Kotoko not being perpetually single is kind of a squick for my sister so even though she reassured me she was fine with my story idea (even if it wasn’t her cup of tea) & even thought it was cute, I still felt kind of bad for writing it, so I ended up shelving that too. I might go back to it one day though...or think a third draft idea... Who knows what this story will actually end up being lol. 😅 I was very proud of the title though (borrowed from/a nod to a line in one of my favorite songs) so that has followed this Kotoko & Jataro friendship story through all its iterations. Eventually there will be a story about this friendship tilted this--I'm determined! 😊

Kotoko and Nagisa's friendship is definitely my favorite friendship of all of the Warriors of Hope though, and I would love to write about that again soon, especially if you wouldn't mind me taking some inspiration from some of your art again (particularly that piece with the flower crowns)? I've got lots of ideas, I just haven't actually started writing anything concrete story-wise yet so I didn't include it on the wip list.

Thank you so much again for your ask and for stopping by! It's always so wonderful to get to chat with you! Cheers & much love! 💕

[thegenderfluidace]

Whoops accidental vent below the line

Why is it now, when I’m about to go to sleep, that I feel the best I’ve probably felt all day

And not, I don’t know, before work where I had a mental breakdown and it was just very lucky that my mum was driving me to work because I had a migraine so she went in and told whoever was closing that I could not in fact work tonight because I was crying in the car

Like I’m pretty sure today, this week, was doomed to failure.

Like today we took my cat to the vet for her first ever check up(where she was in fact(surprisingly) a very good girl, no hissing, scratching, growling, biting, she was a very good kitty for them and we got new cat treats that hopefully she does actually really like and have her one as a good job you were good kitty) but I ended up having more anxiety there then her, she’s healthy and perfectly fine, got some shots, vaccines and stuff, and she didn’t even flinch when getting em and I physically could not look at the needles

And then after that had to go to my (ex) best friend’s farewell thingy(thing Mormons have before they go on there mission) she used to be my best friend for years and then she just kept not wanting to plan things and when we did she’d always flake and she’d never respond when I’d message her anymore and she just became a really sucky friend

We couldn’t even stay there long(not that I really wanted to) cause I had work, but cause neither me nor my mum are Mormon and my dad doesn’t even really remember much of what he did when he was, apparently we went there underdressed because everyone else was wearing like suits and dresses and there were so many people, it was stupid and stressful and I hated it. I didn’t want to be there, only fun part was when her friend was talking about 3d printing and showing us pics of his cats(they are so freaking cute, and he was genuinely an actually really nice person) but everything else? Awful, hated it. Didn’t even wanna go.

Day was just way too much for me, woke up with a migraine(which has been continuous for about a week+ish, and surprise gets worse with stress), and then it was cat vet appointment, and then friend thing, which made me stressed and it was making me nauseous so I couldn’t even really take anything for it, and since it was bad enough wasn’t really a great idea for me to drive so asked my mum to take me to work which on the way I did my not really effective coping skill of distract and it’ll maybe go away(which is where I realized the trees looked like they had a bunch of tiny cauliflowers and looked at the baby sheep/sheep that we drive by on my way there(which while saying that if you haven’t seen a baby sheep irl that is so very sad and I feel that needs to be fixed so go find a baby sheep and look at it, I promise it(momentarily) makes everything better) and then when we pulled into the work parking lot we saw that it was the manager that could throw me all off on a good day which it was so not smoking outside and that was when it alllll went downhill. Cause I was not feeling at all better and I knew if she said the wrong thing today I would have a mental breakdown at work and I was so not for that. So instead I had a mental breakdown and panic attack inside the car while my mum went inside to go tell her that I would not be able to work tonight but that I very much tried to actually work tonight(which I did, I genuinely tried so hard to be able to get through today and I just couldn’t) so yep crying in the car in my works parking lot, and proceed to apologize for literally everything and continue to cry and breakdown and then get home cuddle with cats for a bit and then went downstairs to my room to cry and breakdown some more and then take a nap

But now after literally everything I’m feeling okayish now? When I really don’t need to cause imma sleep???

Maybe it’s cause I actually ate and drank some water and took migraine meds which should hopefully help soonish but it’s still annoying

And the reason this week is fated for failure?

I still have so much to do this week and I feel so sucky

And as if life just wanted to laugh in my face I don’t have therapy this week because she’s currently out of state

We knew she was gonna be when we were scheduling therapy but then everything started coming up and it all just so happened to be the week she isn’t here

Lovely. Fantastic. Amazing.

Life was for real like ‘yknow that one week where the person in charge of helping to make sure they don’t absolutely lose it is out of state? Yeah let’s go put all the stressful bad stuff that week. Even better if most of it is literally right before the day they would have therapy just to help point out that they currently do not have it for this one week’

Absolutely great day(not)

Gonna sleep now and hope this week doesn’t suck too much but probably still will!

[leiakenobi]

Once In A Lifetime [1/1]

Fandom: Triple Frontier (2019) Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 12.2k Summary: After circling around your attraction for hours, Santi brings you back home to wait out the snowstorm that brought you into his bar. Once there, you learn more about the lonely man who's taken a liking to you and become increasingly aware of just what you'll be missing if you walk away from him in the morning. (Sequel to “This Must Be The Place”) Warnings: SMUT (18+ only): fingering (f receiving), protected piv, oral (m receiving)

A/N: What is that, you say? After swearing that I’d never write a sequel to my bartender Santi fic, I did and it is nearly twice the length of the original? It’s more likely than you think. I’ve known that this was where their story would go pretty much since I posted the first part, but I could never quite settle on an ~emotional core~ to the story. Well uh based on the fact that it turned into 12.2k I think I found it. Anyway much love to everyone who’s listened to me yell about this fic in the past few weeks and an extra special thanks to Tegan for quelling my pacing anxieties and to my irl pal Jaime for watching Triple Frontier and talking with me for literal hours about what the hell is going on in this weird man’s brain. I recommend that you read “This Must Be The Place” before reading this fic but I’m not your mom.

PREVIOUS PART | AO3

——

“This is your house? But it looks so normal.”

Santi lets out a laugh, simultaneously surprised and affronted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just with your whole…” You gesture vaguely up and down. He’s raising his eyebrows at you, you can see it faintly thanks to the dim light of his porch, but you try your best to maintain a neutral expression. “Amiable but solitary vibe, I’d’ve pegged you as more of an isolated little rundown cabin deep in the woods kind of guy. But this is…”

You hesitate, peering out through the windshield again. It is only one story, but it’s fairly large and well-maintained, with what seems to be a set of steps lit up by the headlights and leading down to the lake below. Undoubtedly it would feel pleasantly secluded in the summer, but the bare trees make you all too aware of your proximity to the highway, just back down the small driveway.

“Normal,” you conclude at last.

It takes Santi long enough to answer that you turn back to look at him, which means that you are now confronted by a very serious expression indeed as he says, “I don’t usually go for any sort of pegging on a first date.”

“I’d hardly call this a date.”

His lips curl up into a smirk. “Fair enough. Now let’s get inside my very normal house, it’s freezing out here.”

You navigate the snow in his driveway alright, but his house sits atop a slight incline and you find yourself hesitating at the stairs leading up to his front door. Admittedly, less snow has accumulated on the steps than on the ground surrounding you, but it still seems plenty treacherous.

“I promise I’m better about getting sand down before a storm when I’m actually expecting company,” Santi says, voice quiet beneath the whistling wind as he reaches you. And it’s a little tricky to see him clearly – his porch light casts only the faintest glow on the spot where you’re standing – but you think he might be genuinely nervous about the possibility that you’re judging him for the lack of courtesy.

So you reach out to take hold of his arm at the elbow. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me steady.”

He doesn’t look worried about your impression of him at all, then.

There’s the slightly awkward lull as he fusses with his keys, unlocks his door, and beckons you inside, but then you’re glancing around and even before he finds the light switch, you can’t help letting out a laugh.

“Okay, clearly I was wrong. This isn’t a normal house at all.” You turn back to look at Santi, grinning wide at the sight of his narrowed eyes. “This is a little old lady’s house.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

It’s not even that you’re trying to be funny. You just don’t know any other way to describe the furniture – undoubtedly well-maintained but certainly dated – or the trinkets and tchotchkes that sit scattered across his living room—some of it is sports memorabilia, a scuffed signed baseball and a few framed magazines and trading cards hung up on a far wall. But there’s also all manner of other things—a hanging shelf of miniature snow globes, a bookshelf with some sort of peculiar figurines instead of bookends.

Frankly, the only thing that makes it not feel like a little old lady’s house is that the whole thing doesn’t look remotely cohesive.

As you unzip your coat and set it into his outstretched hand, you say, “Next you’re gonna tell me that you have five cats.”

He gives you a stern look before turning away; you make note of the closet where he tucks your coat in amongst his own vast collection. (Because yes, clearly he’s been in the Midwest long enough to accumulate a coat for any weather.) “I’m not really a cat guy.”

“Really?”

Santi seems to detect genuine surprise in your voice, because he pauses in the middle of toeing his boots off to look at you. “Do I… seem like I should be?”

“Oh, maybe a little bit, but no, I was just…” You kick gently at the edge of his sofa, leaving a small clump of snow in your wake that quickly dissolves into a puddle on the hardwood floor. “Something scratched this up pretty good.”

A little smile spreads across his face as he returns his focus to his boots, like maybe he’s pleased that you’re bothering to pay such close attention. “I think Eddie had a cat or two. That’s the, uh, former owner of Pope’s. The bar wasn’t the only thing he needed to get rid of when he moved. And you’re welcome to stand here as long as you want, but you know you don’t have to just hang out in the doorway, right?”

It only strikes you when he says this that that’s what you’re doing, and you feel a little bashful as you go to remove your boots as well. “Sorry, you bring me back here and I just start picking apart your life.”

“Hey.” Santi crouches down and settles his elbows on his thighs so that he can meet your gaze while you’re stooped over. “Pick apart my life as much as you want. It’s refreshing. And besides.” He smiles wide enough to show teeth, which immediately softens his features and makes your heart pound. “I think it’d be more accurate to say that you started somewhere around the moment you said I bought my bar to become someone different.”

“I didn’t… quite say that,” you reply carefully.

“No, you were nicer about it.” When you return to your full height, Santi joins you. “But you’re probably thinking it now, too, aren’t you?”

You purse your lips to suppress a smile. “Only a little.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement, and he gives your arm a gentle but intentional nudge and gestures further into the house. “I’m gonna get some water, can I get you anything?”

“Water would be nice.”

You trail after him, taking a closer look at the rest of the room as you go. This side of the house has a fairly open layout, the living room bleeding into the kitchen and a wide doorway leading from the kitchen to the dark dining room beyond. Enough light is cast from the living room lamps that Santi doesn’t bother to turn the overhead light on as he peers into one of his cabinets and collects two water glasses. “He sold me the glasses, too, before you ask.”

Although your attention had been drawn to Santi’s back – to his shoulder blades shifting beneath his shirt while reaching up to the shelf – your gaze shifts and you take in the offending glasses.

Mickey Mouse is smiling back at you.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, but amusement saturates your voice and he looks at you with raised eyebrows.

Rather than contradicting you – as much as you think he might want to – Santi asks, “Ice?”

“Nah.” You glance over his shoulder at the window above his sink, through which you can still make out snowflakes flitting through the air. “I feel like I’ve had enough of snow and ice for a lifetime.”

He hums sympathetically. “I can turn up the thermostat too, if you’d like. I’ve been told I keep this place a little chilly.”

Frankly, you hadn’t even noticed; a pleasant warmth has been coursing through your veins ever since you kissed him back at the bar, a persistent reminder of the quiet anticipation hanging over you no matter how much you might be volleying back and forth about how Santi has constructed his entire life here around other people’s things.

Meeting his gaze with a soft smile, you tell him, “That’s okay,” and claim the offered drink before moving past Santi – maybe grazing against him – to take a peek in his dining room while he fills his own glass.

From a quick survey in the dark, you’d take a guess that this room is the most Santi you’ve seen so far, largely by virtue of the empty walls and the lack of clutter from the furniture—nothing but a table, six chairs, and a liquor cabinet. After a lengthy period of time during which he hedged around his own hobbies, Santi had finally admitted to you back at the bar that he picked up woodworking after extensive nagging from one of his friends and regulars. In the moment, he told you that he’d only made a table because his old one had given out on him (“I don’t do it for fun, it was just practical”), but from the look of things, you’d take a guess that he built everything else in the room to match.

It’s a nice piece of him, you think.

Even if he does hold it close to the chest.

“It’s nearly 1:30.”

You turn abruptly to look back at Santi where he’s leaning against the doorjamb, backlit by the warm glow from the living room.

“Already?” You take a sip of water, watching his silhouette over the rim of the glass. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Santi hums and takes a few steps closer, but he hesitates short of truly getting into your space. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t…” He hesitates, looking you up and down. “You’ve had a really long day. If you just wanna pass out… my bed’s pretty comfortable. As is the couch, despite the cat scratches.”

The offer nearly makes you laugh in its inelegance, but you suppress it, instead giving Santi an amused little smile as you reach behind you and set your water on the table. “As opposed to picking up where we left off.”

“Yes.”

You give it a moment’s pause before reaching out a hand and capturing his wrist, the leather of his bracelet pleasantly warm against your fingers. “Honestly, I don’t think I could sleep right now if I tried.”

Even with these words hanging in the air, Santi doesn’t move right away. It’s not until you gently tug him toward you that he closes the distance, so much slower than the hungry kiss he initiated back at the bar. Almost timid.

No, not timid—his eyes meet yours as he leans in and it almost makes you heart stall how firm and steadfast his gaze is before his lips settle against yours and your eyelids fall shut.

If anything, you think – as Santi presses his tongue past your lips to taste you again, as he presses in close to you and sets his drink down before resting his free hand against the table where his fingers just so happen to graze your ass – if anything, you think that he is remarkably sure of himself. And as you open your mouth to him, you feel it in the way he inhales sharply through his nose and leans in closer--

He’s decided to trust that you’re sure of yourself, too.

Good, you think, reaching up for the buttons of his shirt.

Time to pick up where you left off.

Santi smiles against your mouth and he lets you—he even puffs his chest out a little bit and leans into your touch, giving you better access. To your surprise, though, he doesn’t follow suit. He grins and nips at your bottom lip as you ease his sleeves down his arms, but when the flannel drops to the floor, he doesn’t tug at your shirt. Instead, he clutches your waist tight and presses you harder against the table as he leans in.

Distantly, you’re aware of the edge of the table digging into your thighs, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Santi is wonderfully close, he’s tasting you so eagerly and there’s his thigh, nudging between your legs.

You think back to your impression as you straddled him on the floor of his bar, that Santi might just kiss you forever, and it seems now like he’s of a mind to do precisely that.

His tongue traces languid and patient against yours, and you think you might let him.

But you certainly take the opportunity to touch him, too; a little sigh escapes your lips as you run your hands over his torso before settling one low on his back and the other up higher, where his muscles are pulled taut from holding you.

He groans, soft but eager, when you dig your nails into his skin and urge him closer, urge him to press flush against you.

The lingering hint of whiskey has mostly faded on Santi’s tongue, covered up by the earthy taste of what you think must be well water. It suits him—is intoxicating like him, overwhelming you as the still, late night hangs over the room and makes you all too aware of each shaky inhale through your nose and each time your chest falters tight against his.

It’s not until Santi shifts his weight that you become abruptly aware of his arousal as his groin settles against your hip—not that he seems to be making any efforts to do anything about it, seemingly still too preoccupied with learning each inch of your mouth and drawing soft whimpers and moans from the back of your throat by sucking at your tongue just right and tugging at your hair.

When you respond by opening your legs more, there’s no intentionality behind it, even though – in retrospect – you probably could’ve guessed that it would encourage Santi to nestle his own leg further between your thighs.

You don’t really intend to grind against his thigh, either, but you like the way Santi chuckles into your mouth when you do.

“Looking for something?” he murmurs.

You, too, giggle, shifting to lean your forehead against his and take the first full breath you’ve managed in you’re not sure how long. “Some place to wait out a snowstorm.”

But your breath falters when Santi inches his hand along your shirt’s hemline until he finds purchase at the button of your jeans. When he speaks again, his voice comes out husky and heart-wrenching. “Is that all?”

“I thought it was,” you concede, softly. Fuck, you’re all too aware of each of Santi’s shallow breaths across your cheek, his skin hot beneath your hands, his fingers trembling at your waist where your shirt has ridden up, and it’s frankly a wonder you can think right now. “What’re you looking for?”

When he deftly unfastens your pants with only his thumb, you expect a joke. You expect him to be flirty and perhaps a little crude.

“I have no fucking idea,” Santi says instead, in a moment of alarming honesty that makes you pull your head back to truly look into his eyes. Even in the dark, there seems to be a gleam to them. “And for once that doesn’t scare the shit outta me.”

You’re not sure if you could have said whether it’s this declaration or the ensuing kiss that sends goosebumps down your arms, but regardless—when his fingers trail into your jeans and over the thin fabric of your panties, you’re already shivering, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

Santi’s touches are fleeting at first—teasing touches paired with teasing kisses that have you rocking your hips forward to seek more friction and clutching at his neck to keep his lips firmly on yours. Even through your underwear, you’re hyper-aware of the calluses on his fingers, sending a jolt to your core and making you sigh into his mouth as he slowly caresses you. His knee nudges yours, urging you to open wider for him, and you oblige unthinkingly.

Anything to sink deeper into the feeling of him closing in around you.

It’s not until Santi swipes your panties aside that you become abruptly, overwhelmingly aware of how wet you are, the fabric pressing damp between his knuckles and your thigh. But then you feel it in earnest, the ease with which he swipes through your folds, and you let out a whimper and tug at Santi’s hair in the same moment that his breath catches and he ruts up against you, just once.

Oh.

So he likes knowing that you’re turned on.

Maybe he likes a little affirmation of precisely how aroused you are.

When he hesitates with a finger at your entrance before slowly, patiently tracing back up to your clit, you pull his hair a bit harder and draw out a low moan from the back of his throat, and yes.

You think that’s exactly what he likes.

By that assessment, Santi also likes it when you dig the nails of your other hand into his back, and when you make a noise of disapproval in the moment you chase his mouth after he pulls away but before he ducks his head down to kiss your neck. He groans and you clench around nothing, needing him more than anything.

You tell him as much, exhaling a fractured, “Santi,” but faltering for a moment when his teeth graze your skin at your pulse point. “I need--” His free hand, cradling your back so carefully, curls into your shirt and grips tight to pull you closer at the same moment that he increases the pressure on your clit. “Need more, Santi.”

He makes a pleased noise that goes straight to your core. “What do you need?”

From the way he’s hesitating just shy of pressing two fingers into your pussy, now, you daresay he knows precisely what you’re asking for.

But you like the vague, haphazard way he’s rocking his hips against your thigh and the heat of his breath, his tongue on your neck as his stubble burns your skin just so. So you humor him—albeit tugging his hair hard for good measure. “Fill me up, please.”

Santi follows through in an instant, wrenching a whimper from deep within you.

“Like that?” he whispers. As if on cue, the pads of his fingers swipe over a spot that makes you buck against his hand.

Nodding, you hum weakly. “Just like that.”

Just like that, Santi begins to ease his fingers out of your cunt before pressing in again, deeper. He takes on a slow, leisurely pace to fuck you on his fingers, a leisurely pace which he mirrors with a patient exploration of your neck and your jaw—finding each tender spot that will make you gasp or moan or dig your nails deeper into his skin.

Only his shallow breathing and the press of his arousal against your thigh can betray how worked up he truly is.

In a frantic moment, you try to reach between you – a near impossible feat with how desperately close Santi is, pressed flush against you – with a mind to stroke him over his pants. Perhaps try to reach inside and get him off in earnest.

(The very thought of getting your hand on his cock makes you thrust against his hand a little harder.)

But he nudges his nose against your jaw and says, “Lemme wait.” Maybe he anticipates that you’re going to ask why – after all, you know that you’re not the only one who’s been craving this for hours – because he elaborates, just a little, as he traces his thumb through your folds before circling it over your clit. “I want to see you come first.”

The thought makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you clench around his fingers automatically, and Santi lets out a sweet chuckle.

“Shut up and kiss me, then,” you instruct him, or beg him—you’re not sure which.

He obeys, or gives in—you’re still not sure which. But you relish in the feeling of Santi’s tongue slotting against yours again as he fucks you with his fingers over, and over, and over.

You feel your climax building steadily, filling your lungs and your veins, and it takes everything in you not to race toward it head-on. Instead, for an instant or for an age, you sink into a very particular feeling--

A feeling of a small hint of scar tissue at Santi’s neck where you’re gripping it--

A feeling of his knuckles, slick with your arousal as they drag across your thigh--

A feeling of the quiet, early morning hour almost ready to engulf you--

And it’s then, with your head swirling and Santi’s teeth on your lower lip, that you feel yourself unravel.

Santi coaxes you through it with tender kisses, continuing his ministrations with his fingers as you thrust, stuttering and clumsy, against his hand. It’s not until you falter and duck your head away that he wavers, his fingers still in your pussy to the knuckle.

The still, heady darkness hangs over you both for a moment until you let out a soft laugh and breathe, “Fuck.”

Santi seems to let out a breath he was holding as he chuckles. “Is that a good ‘fuck’?”

You lean back far enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Mostly.” Santi’s mouth falls open slightly, but you elaborate before he has any need to be generally affronted or ask a follow-up question. “But also a ‘fuck, I’m starving’ sort of ‘fuck.’”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs harder, and involuntarily, you clench around him again just once. “I think we can do something about that.”

Although you hum approvingly, you also clutch Santi tighter when he moves to pull away. “In a second.”

While you have him here, holding you so close, you might as well steal another kiss.

*-*

Evidently, Santi is a weekly meal prep type of guy—at least judging by the number of Tupperware containers full of some sort of rice and veggie dish that you get a glimpse of when he opens up his fridge. He grabs just one, at first, before hesitating and retrieving another and bringing them both to his microwave.

“I hope I’m not throwing a wrench into your meal plans with this.”

He turns around and leans against the counter with his arms crossed, which draws your focus for… just a moment. Because his shirt is still lying discarded on the floor in the other room, leaving Santi shirtless.

From the way his lips quirk up, he clocks your wandering gaze, but he says nothing about it. “Don’t worry about it. I always end up getting tired of this recipe before all of the servings are gone.”

You laugh, more than a little bewildered. “Why do you keep making it, then?”

“I don’t know, because it’s easy, I guess?” A thought seems to occur to him, then, and he points at you accusingly with a fork. “Don’t read into that.”

“What would I read into that?” You smile pleasantly before sipping at your water.

Santi glowers momentarily, but there’s no real bite to it; regardless, he seems unable to quite hold a stern expression while looking at you, and honestly, you can relate.

“You’re not throwing any wrenches into anything,” he reiterates once his expression softens.

When the microwave goes off shortly after, Santi hands you the first reheated bowl, and you find that you can’t quite bring yourself to sit down, either at the dining room table or at the smaller, more functional kitchen table which – judging by the used coffee mug and the overturned copy of a battered paperback – seems to get more day-to-day use.

Instead, you begin to meander through the space as you eat. You take a closer look at the snow globes you’d spotted on the way in, the framed sports magazines and trading cards and suddenly you realize you’re halfway down the hall that leads deeper into his house, looking over a number of photographs containing what you think must be Santi’s family and friends.

“That one’s my mom.”

His voice startles you, enough so that it’s a good thing you were holding your Tupperware tight or you might have been in serious danger of dropping it. You glance away from the picture in question to take Santi in, hesitating a few feet away and chewing a bite of his food with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“This one?” You point to the frame that you’d been examining, and when he nods, you turn back and look at it closer.

It’s clearly one of the older photos on the wall—black and white but a little brown and faded around the edges, and that’s even without taking into account that the woman in the photograph looks young, probably hovering around 20 years old at the latest as she poses on a beach towel with a large body of water in the background.

And though Santi hasn’t told you his age – though you have had no particular desire to ask – you see the years in his face, so you know that this day at the beach must have been a long time ago.

“You look like her,” you tell him, squinting at her face.

He hums. “Maybe a little.”

The reluctance in Santi’s voice is palpable. When you furrow your brow and meet his eyes, he shrugs. It feels almost apologetic. “She always said I look like my dad, but I don’t… I couldn’t tell you.”

You don’t remark upon that, precisely. You cast your gaze over his tired features, then over his mother, with her bright eyes and inviting smile. “Whatever you got from your dad…” You consider it for a moment before reaching out and touching his cheek gently, just beside his eye. “I think these are hers.”

It’s only belatedly that you think to drop your hand.

Santi’s Adam’s apple shifts visibly as he swallows. “The one next to it is her with her parents,” he says.

You take a bite of food and let the subject change go by.

It becomes apparent to you quite quickly that Santi is in almost none of these pictures, though you can’t say you’re surprised. The ones that do contain Santi are nearly all from his youth, and always with family—his mom or grandparents, mostly, but he also chuckles to himself as he points out his “tío Roberto,” who he explains was his favorite growing up purely by virtue of the fact that he would pick Santi up and flip him upside-down, as captured in one of the photos.

There’s exactly one picture of Santi from his days in the army, and it’s just a polaroid, but he framed it all the same. He’s not looking at the camera, and neither are the other two men in the shot, their focus instead on the card game that they’re playing around a table. One of the strangers seems to be affronted and arguing with the other, while Santi is captured mid-laugh.

“Tom was trying to break his own house rules,” Santi says, reaching out to point at the man who’s being thoroughly chastised. His finger shifts, then, to the one who’s yelling. “Will wasn’t very happy about it.”

“And you…”

“I knew I had the cards to win that hand either way. I think Fish could tell, that’s why he took the picture.”

He has a pleased little smile tugging at his mouth when you look at him, and a far-off look in his eyes that you can’t quite pinpoint.

“Do you see them much?” you ask softly. Because as much fondness as he’d radiated when telling you stories about them back at the bar, it hasn’t escaped your notice that they were all in the past. Years and years ago.

“They’ve each visited a few times, yeah.” Santi pauses to eat, and he seems to linger on chewing, slow and precise. “Frankie’s made it up for at least a week pretty much every summer I’ve been here, but he just had a kid a few months ago, so I’ll probably have to make the trek out to him for now.”

You feel yourself bursting with… a few sentiments, really. Bursting over how lonely it sounds, bursting over your longing to ask whether he misses them and whether it’s worth it to be so far removed if it makes it so difficult to see people he clearly cares about very much.

But you also feel Santi balancing on such a delicate edge of vulnerability and disclosure, and you’re honestly not quite sure you could handle where the conversation might go if you pushed, so you say nothing about it. Instead, you glance at your Tupperware, now empty save for a few scattered pieces of rice and vegetables not worth trying to get onto your fork.

“Show me your room?”

Santi glances further down the hall, maintaining an impressively neutral expression. “If you want.”

“You mentioned a comfortable bed.” You begin to walk in the direction of that comfortable bed, but you move backward so that you can hold his gaze. “Also, I think I owe you an orgasm.”

“Hey, let the record show that I don’t think you owe me anything,” he retorts, although he certainly is trailing after you.

You give him a stern look. “Santiago.”

And he earnestly, wordlessly falters a few steps away, which almost makes you giggle.

“Take me to bed, please.”

Santi sighs heavily, as though you’ve asked something remarkably difficult of him. “I guess if you’re going to say please.”

No sooner have you crossed the threshold to his bedroom than Santi liberates the empty Tupperware from your grasp, stacking it with his own and discarding them both on his dresser before promptly getting his hands on your waist. He gives you a satisfied little grin as he guides you backward across his floor, and you match it—smiling over him, and over the way that his fists are balling into your shirt to finally tug it off again.

You lean in to kiss him as soon as you can manage, before you’ve even quite pulled your forearms free of your top and discarded it. And he smiles against your lips, giving you sweet pecks even while he mumbles, “Gimme a second to turn the light on.”

Unable to help yourself, you let out a low huff that has Santi chuckling. But you acquiesce, though your hand trails along his side as he moves around you to reach the lamp on his bedside table.

Even briefly in the dark as you were, you have to blink away the brightness for a few moments until your eyes become accustomed to the low, warm light of Santi’s lamp. His room is rather small, so in the time it takes for your eyes to adjust, he’s slotted your hands together to pull you toward him, and the feeling of his palm against yours is enough to make your pulse race.

Because you feel abruptly aware of the fact that he may have already been inside you, but you haven’t actually held hands.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you let Santi pull you close and duck his head to scatter a few kisses over your shoulder. “Let’s get these pants off,” he murmurs. His free hand toys with one of your belt loops as he speaks.

“I could say the same to you,” you laugh. Reaching up, you curl your fingers in his hair and tug—just hard enough that he lets you pull his head back to look at you from beneath half-closed eyelids that give you the perfect glimpse of his darkened eyes. “You haven’t even let me into yours yet, and I’ve been trying for hours.”

Santi looks tremendously pleased with himself as he relinquishes his grip on you to unbutton and unzip his own jeans. “What exactly does ‘hours’ mean?”

You roll your eyes – admittedly affectionate – and nudge him to sit down on the bed, which he does easily, kicking his pants away the moment he’s off his feet. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It takes only moments for Santi to reach up and still your hand—not even long enough for you to unzip your own pants. When you look down at him, he’s gazing at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Yeah, I would.”

You swallow sharply. “Since my car wouldn’t start.”

“Just since then?”

He doesn’t sound hurt, per se, but you think it’s a valid question: you spent a whole evening with him, but it was only when you got more definitively stranded that you wanted to sleep with him?

Carefully, you begin to unzip and remove your jeans. “In another universe, where I hadn’t left my lights on when I came into your bar, I think I would have wanted an excuse to stay.” Your pants make a soft thump when they pool in a pile on the floor, and you lick your lips before stepping out of them and slowly, carefully climbing into Santi’s lap. “And when I couldn’t find one, I would have probably left, and told my friends about the sexy bartender who kept me alive, but not until the trip was over.”

Santi leans into your touch as your arms settle over his shoulders and the pads of your fingers slowly trace over his neck and into his hair. And there, arching slightly against your hand, he murmurs, “How come?”

“Because they would’ve spent the whole week trying to convince me to come back.”

These words hang in the air for several long moments.

“You could come back. If you want.”

Only Santi’s slightly too-tight grip on your hips gives any external indication that this suggestion might come from a place of genuine want. But you furrow your brow anyway, because there’s still something guarded in his gaze. As gently as you can manage, you say, “Why don’t you think about what you want, and then you can let me know?”

Maybe he doesn’t know whether he wants to see you again – or at least, and perhaps more likely, he can’t quite seem to say it – but Santi most certainly knows what he wants right now, and he shows it—pressing you into his mattress while he savors the taste of you. Now that your shirt is gone, he’s quite eager to continue where he left off in the back room of his bar, so it’s in very short order indeed that he scoots down on the bed to kiss and suck at whatever exposed skin he can reach.

You let out a gasp and arch up against his mouth as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark just above your bra cup, and he uses the opportunity to reach beneath you for the clasp to unfasten it, humming a low note of satisfaction against your skin as he slips the bra off and tosses it aside. No sooner has he left your tits bare than his mouth is on them again, making you whimper and tremble beneath his touch. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut over just how much it is, and over just how much you’re sort of willing it to last forever.

Then his mouth is gone, and his shoulders aren’t there anymore when you reach for him, and you find yourself earnestly whining his name as you open your eyes.

Santi is kneeling over you between your legs. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he looks you over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Given how wrecked he looks, you can’t imagine the sort of state you’re in, and you couldn’t care less.

But you still nudge his thigh with your knee and tease him for staring. “I’d say ‘take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ but I think that’s also definitely off-limits for a first date.”

He laughs bashfully and swats at your hip. “I’m just getting a condom.”

And he does, crawling around you to search through his nightstand, but only after taking a few more moments, and you don’t mind.

You lift your hips to shimmy out of your panties, and then you take this opportunity to check Santi out for a moment, stretched out on the bed beside you and peering through a half-full box of condoms to grab one. You take in the sight of him, his bicep flexing from the way he’s leaning on his arm for support; his toned thighs, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he leans forward; and his ass, still concealed beneath his underwear but tantalizingly within reach. A renewed sense of arousal hits you, full force, and you reach absently to touch yourself.

“Oh,” you breathe, over both the jolt of pleasure it sends through you and the lingering wetness that you sweep up with your fingers. Santi looks up in response to the sound, just in time to see you hesitate at your entrance before pressing inside.

Both of you swear in unison—you because it is something else to feel how needy you still are, your cunt hot and dripping and desperate for more than your fingers can provide. And Santi…

“Jesus,” he groans. The condoms make a soft clattering noise as he drops the box near your head, but he begins to crawl back toward you and the foil of a wrapper crinkles slightly in his hand, so you know that at least he didn’t forget to grab one. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“And leave Pope’s without an owner? I could never.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Santi settles his hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly. His expression is remarkably grave. “If you kill me, you have to take over. It’s like The Santa Clause.” He pauses a moment to consider it. “In the sense that you also turn into a lonely old man with bad knees.”

You giggle, both over the reference and over the fact that he’s now tugging his underpants off as though he said nothing out of the ordinary. “I think I can safely say this is the first time I’ve ever talked about Tim Allen during sex.”

“Does he not… come up often?” You laugh harder, kicking at Santi’s calf which in turn makes him crack a smile. “I’ll have to come up with some better pillow talk, then, I thought I’d talk about Home Improvement until we fell asleep.”

“I’d rather spend a night in the snow,” you retort. But you falter over the last word because Santi has ducked down to kiss you, soft and tender.

He pulls away after a few moments and hesitates, like that—oh so close and just looking at you. You hear him crinkle the condom wrapper in his hand again and you know he’s going to pull away in a moment to put it on, and you want that, you really fucking do, but you also feel words bubbling up in your throat that you really, really need to say now.

“And you’re not such an old man,” you add softly.

Wrinkles pull at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, and you don’t mean it any less.

Santi is slow and precise in fucking you. He’s slow and precise in the kisses he gives you as he rocks his hips, too, and the first time he sucks teasingly at your tongue while buried deep inside you, you can’t help the whimper that you let out.

Then you clench around him and he moans but can’t quite seem to say anything, in case you needed a reminder that he’s just as affected.

It would be an exaggeration to say that you lose all sense of time, in large part because so much of the night has already felt dreamlike and impossible to quite pin down. But you get the sense that Santi would gladly prolong this moment of being inside, on top of, around you, your pussy fluttering around him as your mouth moves languid against his, and the quiet winter night hanging over it all, seemingly endless.

You can relate.

So even you’re taken aback by the precise amount of urgency in your voice when he hesitates for a breath between kisses and you blurt, “Hold my hand, Santi.”

Your free hand – settled up beside your pillow while your other hand is splayed across his back – becomes the focus of Santi’s attention in an instant, and a momentary look of surprise crosses his features.

But then his fingers are intertwined with yours, your forearms are pressed flush against one another, and you become abruptly, overwhelmingly certain that you will be undone, just like that. It’s only a matter of time.

And what a rich, wonderful matter of time it is—as Santi fills you, as his own arousal gradually overwhelms him, drawing out eager moans that go straight to your core.

When your pleasure begins to overtake you, you barely have a chance to mumble a warning into Santi’s mouth before you’re tightening your grip on him and crying out. He swallows the noise easily, maintaining the pace of his thrusts and holding you close while you shudder beneath him, but you can see it in his brow when you begin to come back to yourself—he’s not quite there yet, even though he wants to be. He really fucking wants to be.

Giving his hand a careful squeeze, you breathe, “Can you come for me, babe?”

His hips stutter over the tender tone of your request, and when he finds his pace again, it’s faster, surer.

“Just don’t stop kissing me,” he instructs you, or begs you—you’re not sure which.

You obey, or give in—you’re still not sure which. You move your mouth slow and pliant against Santi’s as he chases his release, hyper-aware of each noise bubbling up from the back of his throat and each eager snap of his hips.

Distantly, you admit it to yourself, even though you don’t think you could quite say it aloud (let alone to Santi): you think it would make you happy, to do this again.

Even though you don’t say it aloud, you kiss Santi as he comes, and you wouldn’t mind if he maybe feels the truth of that, a little bit.

You allow Santi to be the one to pull away, his forehead settling against yours and his breath hot across your cheek as he hesitates inside of you.

“I’m really glad you came, because I kinda wore out my wrist back there and I’m too tired to eat you out like you deserve.”

These last words are accompanied by a low laugh bubbling up from his chest, which you can’t help but echo, even as you swat at his shoulder. “Aren’t you charming.”

“Yeah, I am,” he agrees with a smirk before giving you one last peck.

It’s irritatingly true.

What Santi said about being tired is true, too, for both of you; you watch as he disposes of the used condom in a nearby waste bin and you can see the fatigue setting in in his eyes and hanging over his shoulders. And you’re right there with him.

Because as he pointed out an eternity ago, you’ve had a long fucking day.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom while I can still move,” you tell him.

Santi hums his agreement as he rises to his feet. “D’you want anything to sleep in? It gets pretty cold, I was probably gonna…” He gestures vaguely toward his dresser.

You smile softly. “A shirt might be nice.”

He reaches the dresser first, combing through the drawers in the time it takes you to quite find your legs again. You couldn’t say who starts it, but one of you steals a lingering kiss as he hands off a faded band t-shirt, which keeps a smile on your face while you trail back down the hall toward the bathroom.

You’re only gone for long enough to pee and splash some water on your face – and perhaps marvel at your reflection as you get a glimpse at the mess that is your hair – but Santi is already under the covers when you return, lying on his side and facing the empty spot that he’s left for you. At first, you almost think that he’s actually managed to fall asleep already – you have a moment of amusement to yourself that, yeah, he evidently was too tired to eat you out – but then he mumbles, “I left the light on for you.”

Something about these words makes your breath catch in your throat, propelling you across the floor and into bed.

No sooner have you turned off the lamp and slipped under the blankets yourself than Santi has tucked his arm over your side, in a lazy sort of way. But you’re quick to lean deeper into him, and it makes you smile, when you realize his grip tightens.

For a moment, you’re tempted to make a joke. You consider perhaps asking Santi to make good on his promise to talk about Home Improvement, or tell him something absurd and patently untrue about how you’ll recount your snowstorm mishap to your friends since you did end up going home with that handsome bartender.

But words seem to fail you, and you’re glad for it, because you suddenly feel Santi nudge his nose gently against the back of your neck.

“I think I do want to leave,” he breathes.

You thread your fingers between his over your stomach and you don’t say a word.

*-*

It feels like you’ve only just nodded off when you’re jolted awake by the sound of your ringtone blaring loudly from the floor.

You sit up sharply, looking around in the dark as you parse through where the hell you are and make out… nothing, at first. But then Santi groans at your side and pulls the covers over his head, making them pull tight against your stomach, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper as you slip out from under the blankets.

He can only hum his vague agreement.

The curtains in Santi’s room were shut tight when you arrived last night, but as you move down the hall and back into the living room, you’re confronted by sunlight streaming in from over the lake, now clearly visible down below and through the trees. You’re still rubbing your eyes as you answer the phone with a weak, “Hello?”

Judging by the three voices on the other end of the line that erupt into a chorus of questions and one exclamation of, “We thought you were dead!” it seems that you’re on speaker phone.

You don’t tell them much. You explain about your car, and Santi offering to let you spend the night, and the fact that you’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep, which elicits some noises of delight that you choose not to humor with a response. But when you tell them that they should expect to hear from you with a more specific ETA within the next few hours, they’re reasonably reassured and tell you to go get some more sleep.

“Or whatever it is that you’re doing over there,” you hear just before the line goes dead.

Rolling your eyes, you go into Santi’s coat closet and tuck your phone into your pocket before making your way back to his wonderfully dark bedroom to curl right back up against him and drift off to sleep.

But Santi surprises you a little bit—because he’s opened the curtains partway and is sitting up against his headboard and rubbing at his eyes a little blearily when you reach the doorway.

“Everything okay?” he asks. His voice is husky from sleep, and you’d be lying if you tried to claim that the sound doesn’t make your stomach flip.

“Yeah, they just wanted to make sure I’m not tied up in some creepy farmer’s basement.”

Santi laughs softly—a creaky, sleepy laugh. “If anyone is getting tied up in this house, it’ll be in here, not in the basement.”

“That’s what I told them.”

You let out a soft hum as you tuck under the covers again, the weight of them settling over you and making you aware of just how chilly his house truly is, now that you’re thinking about it. It makes the thought of cozying up against Santi’s side again feel very warm and inviting indeed.

“But you’re not…” He falters and then reroutes. “If you’re in a hurry to get back to your car…”

“I’m not in a hurry at all, Santi.” When his expression softens, you feel that he’s been sufficiently reassured, so you add, “Now get over here, I feel like I hardly even slept.”

As much as you mean it, though, you find that you can’t truly nod off once Santi pulls you to him again, and he seems to be in a similar position. You go from talking sporadically as you doze to carrying on a full conversation, sunlight cresting over your pillow while you tell him more about your job and your world back home.

Finally, he squeezes your hip and says, “Alright, I feel like we’re not getting any more shut-eye this morning, so I’m going to make some breakfast. Waffles sound alright?”

You hum and squeeze his wrist in return. “I’ll help.”

Santi sounds genuinely affronted. “I don’t let women make breakfast after they’ve spent the night.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” You roll over onto your other side to look him in the eye, and you see the disapproval there. But you also can see that he knows he’s not going to win this particular fight. So you can’t help it: you smile.

“No need to look so smug,” he mutters, kicking your foot under the covers. But there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Despite the fact that you argued with him, there’s not actually much to making waffles when Santi only has a pre-prepared mix on hand, so you don’t even end up doing much. You lean against the counter as he stirs in the wet ingredients, burrowing your hands into the pockets of the sweatpants that he supplied you with before leading you back to the kitchen, and you ask him to tell you what he’d normally be doing, on a day like today, if he didn’t have you with him.

“Probably waking up right about now,” he says after glancing at the clock on the microwave. “Believe it or not, I usually go to bed around the same time we did. It takes a while to shut my mind off after work.”

“Oh yeah? What does the trick?”

“To turn my mind off?” When you nod, Santi stops stirring for a few moments, briefly lost in thought. “Reading. Watching some old movie on TV. Jerking off.” You roll your eyes and elbow him, and Santi giggles before going back to his stirring. “Mostly reading. It’s probably embarrassing how many times I’ve woken up at sunrise on my couch with a book on my face.”

Embarrassing, but he’s telling you. The thought makes you purse your lips, barely resisting the urge to smirk.

“And then… Oh, let me guess.” He raises his eyebrows at his mixing bowl, so you continue. “You do breakfast and then a workout and then a second breakfast, don’t you.”

Santi falters again in his stirring, just for a flash. “Better guess than the rundown cabin thing,” he concedes.

You grin, knowing very well that he’s as good as said yes.

“I used to just eat after.” Santi points the spoon at you almost accusingly, only to look surprised when you both watch a dribble of waffle mix drip onto the counter. He points you toward the paper towel roll on your other side, and you go about wiping the counter clean as he continues. “Then I started to get dizzy and my doctor said-- Long story short, you’re only right because I’m responsible with my blood sugar.”

Bumping him with your shoulder as you move to toss the paper towel, you say, “But I am right.”

Santi sighs heavily. “Could you plug in the waffle maker while you’re over there? I think we’re about ready.”

Feeling thoroughly called out, Santi nevertheless elaborates more on his routine as you oversee the waffle maker. He briefly alludes to the set-up he has down in the basement – “for when you’re not tying up lost tourists” you tease – but he spends much more time describing his summer work-outs with great fondness, how he’ll go out swimming on the lake or even rowing, sometimes, when the mood strikes him.

“And here you spent so long last night trying to convince me that you don’t have any hobbies.”

“I guess I don’t really see those things as hobbies.” You’re pulling a finished waffle out of the maker and pouring in more batter, but when you’re finished and he still hasn’t elaborated, you look up at him with one eyebrow raised. Santi looks a little bashful as he continues. “They’re more about wasting a few hours until it’s time to eat lunch and go in to do inventory.”

It’s impossible, in this moment, not to think back to his meek confession when you were drifting off to sleep: I think I do want to leave. And your heart aches more than a little, for this man who threw himself into a limbo that perhaps he needed, once upon a time… but one that he doesn’t quite know how to worm his way out of now.

“But what a nice way to waste a few hours.”

He smiles softly. “Yeah, it is.”

From the look in his eyes, it’s as though the thought has never occurred to him.

You’re slow in eating, and you don’t say so aloud, but to yourself you have no qualms with conceding that it’s because you’re beginning to feel the inevitability of your separation. If the prospect nagged at you last night when it looked like you might actually part ways with him at the bar, then now…

Well, you’re downright dreading it.

But at least Santi takes an age to eat, too.

Eventually, though, your plates are clear, the waffle batter is all gone, and he leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I figure I’ll stick around Pope’s once I bring you back, so I should probably shower before we head out. Do you…” He points a thumb in the vague direction of the bathroom.

Though Santi is graciously not telling you that you look like a mess, you certainly feel like one, so the very idea of warm, clean water makes you perk up in an instant. “I really, really do,” you agree, rising to your feet at once. And though he did not suggest that you shower together, per se… You allow yourself to look him up and down and say, “Maybe I can take care of our plates and then catch up with you?”

He pulls his plate closer when you try to reach for it. “Hey, hey, not so fast. First you insist on cleaning up my bar, then cooking your own breakfast…”

“I see no problem,” you reply, a little glow of delight coursing through your chest over his blatant exasperation.

And Santi captures your hand, pulling you in close—pulling you in just shy of a kiss. “Not seeing the problem is the problem,” he retorts. But then he nudges your nose with his and relinquishes his grip. “There aren’t really any tricks to the shower, just let me be a good host and I’ll be there soon.”

You, on the other hand, steal a quick kiss before you say, “Fine.”

“Clean towels and washcloths under the sink!” he calls after you.

He’s right—the shower doesn’t seem particularly fussy, and as you hoped might be the case since Santi lives up here full time, it’s an absolute dream compared to the shower in the vacation cabin where you’ll be spending the next week. The water heats up more quickly than you’d have anticipated given the cold, and you let out a sigh the instant you step underneath the steady stream and feel the full and consistent water pressure.

You’re halfway through washing your hair when you hear the door creak open, followed very quickly by Santi saying, “Maple syrup shouldn’t be such a pain in the ass to clean.”

“If only there was someone else here who was willing to do it for you.” You pull the shower curtain back enough to look at him pointedly.

With his shirt only half off, Santi pauses and gives you a stern look. “If only,” he agrees dryly.

He steps into the other end of the tub as you’re rinsing your hair clean. He’s shameless about taking a look at you beneath the water, his gaze focused first on your fingers in your hair but then drifting down. A smirk is tugging at his lips, but his expression falls a little when he looks at your chest and you can’t place why, at first.

“I’m usually better about asking before I do that,” he tells you awkwardly.

You realize then that Santi is talking about the mark on your breast, which has blossomed into a deep bruise in the hours since he made it.

“Oh, that?” You graze your fingers over the bruise absentmindedly. “Gives me something to remember you by. I’m not opposed to doing the same, if you want.”

He quirks an eyebrow and inches forward enough to settle his hands at your waist. Given that you’re in a bathtub, he doesn’t have to move far. “Are you asking to bite me?”

“I’m just saying I could.”

Santi laughs softly and says, “I’ll think about it,” before leaning in to kiss you.

You exhale a sigh into his mouth as he leans in closer, close enough that you’re aware of water droplets splattering against Santi’s skin and back onto you. He’s not trying to get you up against the wall, exactly, but from the way he’s pressing in and inching you backwards it feels like he’s at least thinking about it, although you have a moment of spluttering under the showerhead as the water begins to trail down your face and into your mouth, at which point another thought occurs.

Swatting at his bicep, you mumble, “You better not be kissing me to get under the water.”

“Happy side effect,” Santi offers with a pleased little grin.

You think you believe him – mostly – but you nudge him away to gesture toward the other side of the tub. “As another side effect, I think you’re closer to the soap.”

“Oh, am I?” When Santi glances over his shoulder, you’re inclined to suspect that that part wasn’t an accident at all. Not judging by the way he smiles a little wider as he swipes up the bottle of shower gel. “Then maybe I can…”

Looking at his eager, almost goofy smile, your heart beats a little faster at the thought of Santi washing you clean. So you swallow hard and say, “Yeah, okay.”

A wave of tenderness fills you as you watch him wet your washcloth for you, bubbling over as he gently guides you to turn around so he can start with your back.

“Do you not like how much of a romantic you are, or do you actually not see it?”

He stills with the washcloth on your shoulder blade and his other hand feather-light on your waist. “What?”

“Just that you thought you had to trick me into letting you do this.”

Santi lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss to your skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “Maybe I feel like I have to trick you because you keep arguing with me when I try to do anything nice.” You’re hyper aware of the soap lather beginning to trickle down your back as he moves the washcloth across your skin. “But I can be very romantic if you let me.”

You open your mouth to speak but let out a shuddering sigh when he kisses the nape of your neck, this time, light and playful. It doesn’t feel like there’s any particular intentionality behind it—not like his hungry kisses last night at the bar, in his dining room, in his bed, which felt in each moment as though they were propelling toward more even when his mouth moved only fleetingly against yours.

“I’m not arguing.” You’re aware of the irony even as you say it, and you flinch to yourself.

“Not really helping your case, here,” he retorts, washcloth cresting over the small of your back, now.

Inhaling slowly, you close your eyes and you hold Santi’s words close, for a moment. You feel the water from the showerhead trickling down your front, Santi tracing the cloth down your arms and back up, as soap drips from your back to the floor of the tub. You feel his breath at your shoulder as he just barely refrains from kissing you.

“It seems like you’re so busy taking care of everyone else because you think you have to,” you concede softly. “Or because it’s the right thing to do. And I don’t--” There are his lips again, making your breath catch in your throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for someone you just met.”

I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me, you don’t say, but from the way his grip momentarily tightens at your side, you can’t help but feel that maybe he hears it.

Santi hums. He rests his hands on your hips and slowly, gently encourages you to turn around. He begins washing your front when you do, sweeping over your collarbone, your tits, your belly. “Taking care of someone because it’s the right thing to do. Like making a pretty girl feel safe when she wanders into a strange bar in a snowstorm.”

“Something like that, sure.”

You’re unable to look away from Santi’s face—his gaze is so focused on what he’s doing, brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a serious line. But he licks his lips and smiles to himself as a thought occurs. “So how far does that go, exactly? Because if you think fingerbanging you against a table was something I felt obligated to do, I think we should probably talk about our expectations for people in the service industry.”

“No, of course not,” you laugh. When you do, he looks up at you with raised eyebrows, and you falter. Your smile doesn’t fade, but still, you falter. Hesitantly, you reach up and run a hand through his hair. “I think I knew you weren’t just trying to make me feel safe because you had to when you put your sandwich on my plate.”

Santi lets out a laugh of his own and says, “But you still thought I might not consider myself a romantic.”

“Okay, but how romantic is a grilled cheese, in the grand scheme of things?”

But Santi has barely let you get the words out before he’s cupping your jaw in his hands – getting suds of soap all over your chin in the process – and giving you a slow, heady kiss.

When he pulls away, he almost immediately lowers himself to wash your bottom half, saying, “A grilled cheese can be plenty romantic,” as he goes.

You’re not sure you’ve ever had someone kneel before you like this with such earnestly innocent designs—because even when Santi reaches between your legs, there’s nothing playful or teasing about it. It’s simply…

Tender, maybe. Sensual, maybe.

Both, you think.

And you’re on the verge of commenting on it – to say what, you’re frankly not sure – but before you can, he says, “You were right, that I’ve been going through the motions. Probably for a long time. But I like taking care of people.” He squeezes your thigh and looks up at you with soft eyes. “And I could’ve taken good care of you.”

You swallow hard over the heart-rending way he’s just offered up such an earnest sentiment—because you can’t tell if he means over the course of this pit stop, or if he’s referring to a world where maybe you don’t just drive away from Pope’s and leave this night behind.

Remembering the soft look in his eyes when he told you that you could come back, if you want, you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed by the fact that… Well. You have a guess.

It seems so hopeful but so final at the same time, and you don’t know how the hell that makes you feel.

So you do the only thing you can quite bring yourself to do: you try to crack a smile. “I think you took very good care of me twice.”

Santi returns to his full height, and you’re rendered completely immobile as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Alright, I could’ve taken better care of you, then.” Nudging you backward a bit, he adds, “Time to rinse.”

It is a very impractical sort of rinse, because Santi is kissing you as the water chases the soap away. Steadily, though, you feel the suds receding, replaced by wonderfully warm droplets of water.

You become increasingly aware of Santi, too, skin damp as he slots against you and the undeniable press of his erection against your thigh.

But you don’t do anything about it until he pulls away to take a breath. Only then, curling your hand at the nape of his neck, do you ask, “If I didn’t argue with you, you’d still let me take care of you, too?”

Santi presses a glancing kiss to your jaw, and then another. And another. “Mhm.”

Reaching between you, you trail a hand down his chest and hesitate just short of his groin. “Do you want me to take care of you now?”

He lets out a choked laugh and rests his forehead on your shoulder for a few long moments before conceding, “I mean. Yes.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in your own voice as you graze your hand down further, reaching the base of his cock. Again, you falter.

“I really, really want that, yeah.” In illustration, Santi rocks his hips forward. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head and pull you into another eager kiss, and you give him what he wants.

Your world feels so compact, so richly oversaturated as you stroke Santi right there, the water streaming down over you both and his tongue back at home in your mouth and those sweet, desperate little noises he makes in the back of his throat. And you are slow, so very slow in winding him up, particularly when you realize that this must be what he must have felt like as he gradually made you come apart on his fingers.

The need to memorize each piece of it—that’s what you feel.

The need to notice that little gasp Santi lets out when you first trace your thumb over his head and tease his foreskin, and the sensitive skin underneath.

The need to remember precisely how he’s clinging to your hair and how his curls feel between your fingers.

No wonder he didn’t want you to jerk him off last night.

But you think there’s another piece of this pretty picture that you’d like to get a glimpse of.

“I wanna suck you off,” you mumble into Santi’s mouth, just as you squeeze the base of his cock a bit tighter.

He groans and nods in an instant. “Mhm.”

No sooner have you gotten to your knees, however, than Santi grabs for your face, fingers splaying across your cheek and your neck. “Hang on, hang on,” he blurts.

Gazing up at him – gazing up at him as he blinks glassy-eyed at you, water trickling down his chest and his cock leaking eagerly in your hand – you feel the world grow quiet for a moment.

“What was that you said,” Santi begins carefully, “about something to remember you by?”

You lick your lips and resume your slow, careful strokes as you ask, “D’you want a little mark, Santi?” A smirk pulls at his lips at this question, so you push a little further, smoothing your free hand over his thigh. “Maybe somewhere just for you?”

Quietly, he says, “Yes please.”

The moan he lets out when you get your mouth on his skin, on the other hand, is loud—you think louder than you heard him at any point last night. Santi moans as you suck a mark into his thigh and thrusts eagerly into your hand, and you hear yourself make a little noise of pleasure yourself, just over the sound of his arousal.

“Fuck, that’s--” Santi falters and lets out a softer whimper when you press another, sweeter kiss to the same spot. “On-- one more thing. Before…” You sit back on your heels and gaze up at him with a pleased smile, admittedly delighting in the fact that it seems to be just the look of you kneeling before him that momentarily gives him pause. “Where do you want me to come?”

Oh.

“Where do you want to come?” Maybe you make a point to stroke your thumb over his head in this moment, collecting the precum accumulated there.

Santi opens his mouth and then closes it again, then traces a finger faintly over your cheekbone. “I asked first.”

You purse your lips in amusement. Fair enough. Looking up at the showerhead for a few moments, you don’t miss the flash of delight that crosses Santi’s face when you meet his gaze again and reach up to meet his fingers at your cheek, holding him closer. “If we’re in here anyway… right here might be nice.”

He’s barely choked out an okay before you’re taking him into your mouth.

It should take longer. You’re genuinely willing it to take longer, trying to wind Santi up slow and render him absolutely desperate before he unfurls.

So why does it feel like it’s only an instant later that he’s tugging at your hair and pleading with you to hang on, I’m--

Even though your knees are aching from the floor of the tub, and your neck and jaw are sore as shit, so there’s no fucking way that it actually went by quite so fast.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Santi says gently.

His hand is stuck out for you to take, which you do, allowing him to pull you to your feet on the wet shower floor. Knelt down in front of him, you hadn’t been getting as much direct spray from the shower, but now, at your full height, you’re aware of how tepid the water has become over the course of the time that you two have been in here—but it still feels nice, trailing through your hair and down your cheeks, intermingling now with the traces of Santi’s cum which have left your skin warm and sticky.

Santi’s skin too, then, because he traces his hand over your jaw before cupping your cheek, looking you over all the while with shining eyes. “You look so perfect like this.”

“All credit goes to the artist,” you reply, lamely.

But he laughs before leaning in to kiss you soft and slow. He settles his forehead against yours when he pulls away, and distantly, you imagine yourselves becoming stuck like that. You’re still imagining it when he asks, “Is something going on?”

What a complicated question.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” you blurt.

Evidently not a particularly complicated answer.

Santi pulls back, gazing at you vacantly for several long moments. And those moments seem to take an eon, your heart pounding in your ears and water splashing over you all the while.

“You’re serious,” he says an eternity later.

Now that the words are out, it is unbelievably easy to say more, all of it just as fumbling. “I mean, I want to see my friends, because I’ve missed them and I know they’re worried about me and this is my one time of year with them. And I want to get back home to some place with public transportation where people don’t call a twenty-five minute drive an easy commute. But I don’t…” You furrow your brow, mulling over how to articulate something that feels so entirely outlandish. “I don’t want to get back into my car and drive away. Please tell me that makes sense.”

As you’re speaking, Santi’s expression shifts, until finally he’s smiling—a wide, open, vulnerable smile. “Yeah,” he says. “It makes sense.” His eyes flit over your features. “Should we… talk more about it?”

You swallow sharply. “Yeah, I think we should.”

“Good.” He smooths a hand over your neck before saying, “But we really should finish up in here first because I don’t think I’ll be able to think straight with you looking like that.”

It feels like an exquisite release when you truly, earnestly giggle. “If you want to clean it off for me, I won’t complain.”

Santi grins, moving at once to give you better access to the faucet. “I really, really do.”

The water streams down onto your face, and Santi wipes the traces of his cum away, and you find that you can’t quite stop smiling.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

blanket taglist: @amneris21​​, @brandyllyn​​, @iamskyereads​​, @jaime1110​​, @justjaclin​​, @marvelousmermaid​​, @mstgsmy​​, @princessxkenobi​​, @pumpkin-stars​​, @trickstersp8​​

oscar taglist: @aellynera​​, @alwritey-aphrodite​​, @egcdeath​​, @genea-myers​​, @jitterbugs927​​, @rosiefridayrogersunday​​, @that-friend-in-the-corner​​, @thedukeofcaladan​​

triple frontier taglist: @ayrusss​​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​, @darnitdraco​​, @rosiefridayrogersunday​​, @stardust-galaxies​​, @wildmoonflower​​

santi taglist: @dailyreverie​​, @disabledameron​​, @jettia​​, @mariesackler​​, @millllennia​​, @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog, @zhonglis-wine​​

[ameliora-j]

what a lie // ts x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: angst, smut, mcd, blood, mention of injury, nipple play, pull out method (pls don’t use this irl), pregnancy mention

a/n: this is only half proofread but as always, lmk if i missed any warnings pls. italics is a flashback :)

“you’ll be okay, little dove,” thor whispered as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“we’ll all be okay, y/n,” steve added, accompanied by a hiccup and a small sniffle from his spot next to you. you could no longer contain the loud sob that raked your body as you set down the flower reef that held your fiance’s arc reactor in the center and read: proof that tony stark has a heart.

the blonde super soldier pulled you into his chest and allowed you to harshly sob into his suit coat. tony was your forever. and he just got ripped away from you.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you walked into the grandiose building called “stark industries” one--very sunny--monday morning. you went to the desk and were greeted with a very pretty blonde woman. “can i help you?” she asked you.

“yeah i um... have a meeting with tony stark. he... he told me to come and meet him here,” you stuttered shyly. 

“ah, you must be y/n,” you nodded and she offered you a smile, leading you into tony’s office. that day, he hired you as his personal assistant. however, at the time, you had no idea what was to come of that one fateful day.

in the coming weeks as tony’s assistant, you picked up his coffee, and scheduled his press conferences, and answered e-mails, and scheduled his meetings, and answered the phone. in that time, you had also become closer to the man you called your boss. you might even go as far as to call the two of you friends.

tony was really funny. whether it was intentionally or not. he told a lot of jokes, and he was nothing like the media painted him out to be. he was nice and caring. he was also very attentive. he stopped turning the ac so high when he noticed that you would always bring a jacket into the office, and he kept little candies laying around for your sweet tooth, and he always had your favorite pack of pens delivered weekly because you were always losing your’s and stealing his. he even let you sign all of his important documents with your pretty, purple glittery pens because he knew you liked them the best. 

not to mention, tony bought you a whole set of y/f/c office supplies for your desk after you called his decoration “bland and boring.” everyday working for mr. stark was a brand new adventure and you absolutely couldn’t wait to see what the future held for you at stark industries.

you learned a lot about tony while you were working. you were the first person that he revealed his identity as iron man to. you, of course, freaked out, lecturing him on safety and being careful while fighting literal aliens, all while he chuckles and assured you that he was fine. one night--or early morning is a better term for it--there was a knock on your window. when you checked your bedside clock, the numbers “2:23″ flashed across it in bright red. when you looked over to the window, you noticed tony in the iron man suit, floating outside of your window.

“what the hell stark?! it’s half past two in the morning!” you complained as you opened the window and allowed him in. he grumbled loudly as he took off the suit and stumbled his way into your bathroom. he ignored you as you flung a million and two questions in his direction. untill finally, you noticed the blood running down the left side of his face. “what the hell!” you exclaimed before leading him to sit down on your toilet seat. you took the small first aid kit from underneath your bathroom sink and began to clean him up while simultaneously muttering what an idiot he was and how he could have been killed.

once you were all finished, you looked down at him. you had seen tony monday through friday for ten hours a day and sometimes on weekends if he had a press conference on a saturday or needed you to come in quickly and do something on a sunday, but this was the first time that you had truly noticed him. cuts and scrapes and bruises over his face, his hair sweaty and some falling into his eyes. those eyes... pretty, brown, and tired. the way that his facial hair had begun to grow on his jaw as a result of not shaving that morning. tony stark was gorgeous... ethereal even. you knew your boss was an attractive man, the media said it every day. hell, your boss said it himself every day. but now, actually looking at him, you saw it. you truly saw it, anthony howard stark was quite possibly the prettiest man you had ever laid your eyes upon. 

you and tony sat in silence. it was in that silence that you realized your current position. the only thing donning your body was a very short pair of black sleep shorts that really didn’t cover much and a black tank top with no bra. you were standing above tony, straddling his left thigh and your faces were mere centimeters apart. the silence was long and loud as you stared, unblinking, into each other’s eyes. it was a hairs breath of a second when tony’s eyes flicked from your’s to your lips, and then back up before he was hungrily pressing his lips to your’s.

the kiss was nothing but the clashing of teeth and tongues. it had you moaning into his mouth as he stood and quickly pushed you against your bathroom counter. he wasted no time as he quickly rid the both of you of your clothes. “you have protection?” he asked from his place, sucking dark hickies into every inch of your neck.

“just pull out, please i want it,” you whimpered as you tugged on his chocolate locks. your whimpers and begs were all the encouragement the man needed as he pushed his cock into you, making you release a loud moan.

the way tony fucked you was a stark (no pun intended) contrast to the way he kissed you. his thrusts were slow and deliberate, hitting spots you never even knew existed, while his kisses were rough and hungry. “feel so good wrapped around me, princess. fuck,” tony moaned into your mouth.

“fuck, tony please. more. give me more,” you whined, causing him to chuckle as his lips traveled down, sucking your nipple into his mouth as his hand came up and twisted and tugged the other one. “feels so good. ‘s so big,” you whimpered as he fucked his cock into you even harder. he moaned at your praise as his teeth scraped across your sensitive nipple before he pulled off of it with a small ‘pop’ and began giving the same attention to the other one.

“always knew your little pussy was made for my cock, princess. knew it from the day you stepped into my office. looking all innocent, just begging me to bend you over my desk and make you mine,” you moaned loudly at this, causing him to smirk. “that what you want? come on, use your words, princess.”

“wanna be your’s. make me your’s tony please. want you to corrupt me. ruin me for anyone else’s cock.” you whined out pathetically as the head of his cock abused your gspot.

“who’s pussy is this?” he asked as he began to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit.

“your’s. your’s ‘s your’s please let me cum,” you whimpered as you arched into him. 

“cum on my cock princess, go ahead,” that’s all it took for you to cum with a loud shriek of his name. he continued his assault on your clit to fuck you through your orgasm as he pulled out and used his free hand to stroke his cock untill he came with a groan of your name, all over your stomach.

that night, after tony took care of you and made sure you peed and were cleaned up, as he pulled you into his chest, you whispered, “can i really be your’s?” 

“you can be mine forever if you want princess.” you fell asleep with a wide smile on your face.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you stayed at the lake after all the avengers had left. you sat against the tree with your left hand on your stomach, staring down at the large ring that tony presented you with just days before going to fight on titan. the one that was supposed to symbolize forever. the one that made tony stark your official future husband. 

“i’m pregnant tony...” you whispered as the tears collected on your waterline. “you promised forever. you promised that everything was going to be okay five years ago,” you took a deep breath as you rubbed the small, three month bump that was forming. “what a lie that was.”

how the hell were you going to raise a baby by yourself. how were you supposed to go on without your other half? how were you supposed to heal your heart? your baby would never know how amazing their father was. and your husband would never know how amazing his baby was. it still didn’t feel real. it never would feel real.

but you would figure it out. after all... you were a stark now. and stark’s are nothing if not strong-willed.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Quarantine Lovers | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: Can we have a Charlie x reader where she is his secret quarantine partner and the cast keeps guessing who it is until Maddie names a famous writer and gets it right? Thanks!

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Female!Reader

Warnings: fluff

A/N: I’m not sure if this is what you wanted but i kinda like it haha

Charlie has always been secretive about his private life. It’s always been his one thing he promised himself. Work life and private life needs to be separate. Especially in the industry he’s in now. You and Charlie have been together for a couple of months now and nobody knows. It all started when he’d finished filming Julie and The Phantoms and came back to Dieppe from Vancouver. He went for a hike with one of his brothers when they found you sitting on a rock, clutching your ankle. 

“Hey, are you okay?” his voice made you look up. You offered him a polite smile, trying not to show your pain or the fact you were thinking ‘Holy crap, attractive”. “Yeah, just threw my ankle a little bit on the rocks over there,” you pointed to a few feet behind the boys. “Was waiting for it to blow over and I could go on, but I’ve been sat here for…” you checked your watch, “About half an hour.” You chuckled at your own pathetic behavior. “I used to be really good at these hikes, you know?” Charlie then chuckled too, mostly at how endearing you were. 

“Can you stand on it a little bit if we support you?” Patrick, Charlie’s brother, asked then. 

“I’m not sure…” The two guys walked up to you, each taking a hand of yours to pull you up, and then wrapping one arm around your waist. You could go like that for about a kilometer until your foot began to throb again. “Can we take a break?” you squeak. Charlie and Patrick placed you onto a tree trunk very gingerly and took a seat next to you. 

“Are you from around here?” Charlie then asked.

“Yeah, I live in Moncton with my best friend,” you replied with a smile, glad he’s distracting you from the pain in your ankle. 

“No way! We live in Dieppe!” The excitement on his face was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.  Your eyes and smile widen at this, not necessarily at the fact he lives kind of close, but at the excitement on his face. 

“Cool! I have family in Dieppe, so I know my way around there,” you told them. Charlie and Patrick nodded their heads at this, not entirely sure what else to say to this stranger they just picked up from a rock in the middle of nowhere. 

“So, what’s your name?” Charlie then asked upon reminding himself of this fact. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you replied. 

“Charlie Gillespie, and this is my brother, Patrick,” he introduced himself and his brother, who gave you a little wave. The wind suddenly picked up, and you knew exactly what that meant. 

“It’s going to rain soon. We better get going.” Charlie and Patrick nodded their heads agreeingly and helped you up from the trunk. 

“Get on my back,” Charlie then suggested. “It’s going to go quicker than you hopping along with us.” You hesitated for a few seconds, but then decided you agreed with him. Patrick helped you jump on Charlie’s back, and the three of you continued your walk down the trail, chatting about your lives the whole way down. 

You found out Charlie was an actor and had just finished filming about a month ago, and you told him you were a screenwriter. Your most recent work was on Outer Banks and Season two of Umbrella Academy. You talked about your hopes and dreams and agreed the industry you both were in was a tough one.

From that day on, the two of you have been pretty inseparable. You became really close friends and spent a lot of time together before he finally asked you out on a first date. Then came more and more dates, and then came March 2020. Quarantine. And since Charlie had been spending most of his nights at your place since your best friend was with their parents, you both decided to quarantine together. 

No one knew about your relationship. Not even his friends from the cast of Julie and The Phantoms. Only his family knew, and that’s all that mattered right now. No one knew you two were spending lockdown together at your place, and you could keep it a secret for a very long time. Charlie liked it this way, though the cast had been texting and calling non-stop because they knew he wasn’t home in Dieppe. 

When September 10th hit, and he could finally show you the work he’d done on Julie and The Phantoms. 

“What do you think, Baby?” he asked every five minutes when you were cuddled up on the couch watching it together. 

“Stop asking me that question, Char,” you giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You were fine for most of the show, chuckling at the ghost jokes or pretty much anything Reggie did, bopping your head along to the catchy songs. And then Unsaid Emily hit. “Oh, no…” you whined as the music started to play and on-screen-Charlie started to sing the sad song. The Charlie next to you chuckled, endeared by your investment in the show, and wrapped his arms tighter around you whilst kissing your head multiple times. “HOW DARE THEY END THIS LIKE THAT?!” You screamed at the very end, making Charlie love you even more. Afterwards, he listened to all of your theories and your predictions for season 2. 

Thus far, quarantine is going really well at the Y/L/N-Gillespie Quarantine Residence.

The couple of weeks after the release of Julie and The Phantoms, Charlie had to do a lot of zoom calls for interviews. Sometimes even multiple a day. You made sure you were never in sight during those interviews, sometimes even leaving the house for a walk, but today, you decided to stay home and work on a script for an episode of season 2 of

Outer Banks.

You were sat on the sofa with your laptop and all your notes while Charlie was doing his interview in the bedroom. You could hear him talk to his castmates and the interviewer, and you often had to pause your writing because you wanted to hear what he was talking about.

“Where have you been spending quarantine?” the interviewer asked. Most of them said home with their families, and even Charlie said ‘home’. This answer melted your heart just a tiny bit.

“That’s a lie, Charlie,” Madison said with a giggle. “Charlie has a secret quarantine partner and doesn’t want to say who!”

“I am spending time with family, exploring Dieppe. I don’t know where you get your information from, Mads.” Though Charlie was a good actor, he couldn’t hide the fact he was lying to his own friends. Even you could hear how flustered he was.

“OK, I wanted to start with a couple of the fans’ questions that they sent in,” the interviewer continued, either ignoring the banter and the big piece of gossip they could get out of this, or not having heard it. “Someone asked who you’d love to work with on a next season.”

“Actor wise, I want to do scenes with Cheyenne Jackson,” Madison replies, “I didn’t get to do any scenes with him this season, but he’s really talented and I’d love to work with him. And I also have a writer that would be really great to work with on our show and that’s Y/N Y/L/N. She worked on Outer Banks and Umbrella Academy, and I loved the episodes she wrote.” Charlie’s face at the mention of your name is priceless. His eyes widen first before his mouth curled up into a smile, though he tried to hide it from his castmates and the interviewer. 

Madison and Owen glanced into the camera knowingly but decided not to say anything and continue with the interview. It’s when that interview was done, Madi, Owen and Jeremy called Charlie in a group FaceTime.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?!” You heard Madison scream from Charlie’s phone as he walked into the living room where you were working. He gave you a questioning look, as if asking for permission to tell them. You simply nodded encouragingly.

“Yes, okay, fine! You figured it out!” The three on the other side of the line cheered loudly, making you chuckle slightly. “You want to meet the cast, Babe?” he asked you whilst making his way over. You patted the spot next to you for him to sit down, and he obeyed, showing you the screen of his phone.

“Hey, guys!” you greeted with a wave. A chorus of ‘hi’ and ‘hey’ meets your ears. “How’d you figure it out?” You asked them, placing your laptop on the coffee table to get more comfortable. You tucked your feet underneath you, placing your elbow on the back of the couch and gliding your fingers into Charlie’s long, lockdown-hair.

“First of all, I follow you on Instagram, Y/N, and I saw the two of you tagged the same location on the same day once, and your last pictures kind of look similar. So, I had a bit of a hunch, but I wasn’t sure, and when I mentioned you in the interview, he got all flustery and happy and I just knew!” You gave the girl an impressed nod.

“We literally just hung up on the interviewer when Madi texted us ‘IT’S Y/N!!’ in all caps,” Jeremy added with a smile. Defeated, and a little embarrassed, Charlie groaned and hid his face in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort.

“We won’t tell anyone, Char. We’re just happy for you,” says Owen with a smile, “And us, because now Madi won’t be texting us non-stop with all her theories on who your quarantine partner is.” All of you chuckled a that, except for Madison, she glared at her blonde-haired friend through the screen.

“You all wanted to know!” she snarled.

All of you chatted for a couple hours until Charlie and you got hungry and decided to prepare dinner.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N! Hopefully we’ll see each other soon IRL!” Madison said with the biggest smile on her face.

“It was nice to meet you too, guys! Ooh, by the way! I loved the show!” you complimented.

“Of course you did,” said Owen with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Bye guys!” you waved at them, completely ignoring Owen’s statement. Charlie hung up the phone and put his phone on the coffee table before turning to you. “Madison would be a good detective,” you pointed out with a grin. Charlie glared at you, which just made you giggle and kiss his lips. At least now you didn’t need to keep it a secret from his friends. Almost like a weight off your shoulders.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​

[keimisan]

ahhh ty for doing the event :) can i request fluff + "Don't forget among the cloudy dark, you're a star painted with a left hand" (Celebrity-IU). I'm an introvert & rather blunt, look intimidating irl but im sensitive and pretty much only opens up to my besties. tbh my way of lettering sums up my entire personality =) if i were to be shipwrecked i would either have a meltdown 24/7 or just bother the loml as a distraction. My fav animal is koi fish & my ideal date is going to the cafe or an art exhibition. idc much about affection as long as it's from my close friends.

↪ star painted with left hand- s. inui

pairing: seishu inui x gn!reader

wc: 803

a/n: hiii!! your description matches with — inupi! seishu inui is soft-spoken and would be compatible with your personality. while you're both seemingly intimidating but are softies inside, seishu is someone who'll appreciate your little features and aid you in any situation he can. your style of lettering and gradients vaguely remind me of chifuyu and inui, but your ideal date totally made me pair you up with the stoic boy.

"seishu?" your voice resonates through the hallway, hands fluctuating to feel the surface of his living room switches, eager to turn the lights on.

you knew he was at home, he usually was; partly because it was a place where he promised you could always find him in, and partly because he liked to seclude himself whenever his heart hinted a downpour in his feelings.

your feet promptly halts in front of his room, eyes glooming at the shut door that ensured his presence. Albeit upset, a heave of gruff stones cannoned upon his sensitively strong miens. but you hoped he hadn't indulged too far into his own destructiveness, too far into his disconsolate conjectures that weren't true in the slightest.

"seishu, can I come in?"

it's a low hmm that allows you to slide the door open, speckles of light seeping through the windows that accentuated his back amidst the darkness of the room.

"what are you thinking about?"

seishu turns around to respond with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "nothing much,"he says.

he wouldn't tell you this easily, of course. he never did.

you slide your legs beside him, sitting yourself down on the cool surface as you too, gaze far into the evening distance; waves of illuminated colours shimmering against sinuous tree leaves, the street bustled road now a cloudy reminder behind a few feet and calming silence- seishu liked this, the subtle insinuation of presence yet so hollowly calming. he liked these minute perfections of life, and so did you.

with a sigh, you speak, "tell me at least. I can try to help you know."

"you just being there helps me," the latter keeps the somber smile stitched on his face, as if to reassure you, not himself. and then, he heaves a deep breathe, fingers chattering with the cold wind that returns from its escapades every now and then; you watch as the side of his eye trembles, lips straining to pull themselves up as he mutters, "don't you....ever regret being with me?"

your brows furrow, "hmm?"

he looks into horizon instead of his lap yet again, and although his fingers still tangle with each other unknowingly, the rest of him remains prim and advocated, just as stiff as ever.

"people can't even look me in the eye because of how hideous I am," he says as his hand trails up to cover his left eye, pressing on the ends of the surrounding skin that marked a deeper color on the ivory.

"seishu, it’s not because you’re unsightly,"you begin, wondering how awful it was for such a gorgeous person to be lamenting about his beautiful scars, "this little imperfection doesn't flaw you. you're truly one of the most mesmerising man I've ever seen."

you then cup one of his cheeks into your palm, advancing to press one slow yet profound kiss on his forehead- and his scar, then two, and then three turned into four little pecks. you can feel seishu's smile as you do so, and how he lowers his head for you to reach him better.

It was painfully evident how beautiful he was from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice, from his generous opinions to the touch of his hand upon your own. you loved the way his voice quickened when he sparkled with a new idea, or was so enjoying one of yours that he lost himself for a moment and quite forgot the mask he wore for others. so you gave him your heart and kept his safe, that's the way it was.

his eyes are far too soft when you look into their depths, into the translucence of his beauty, "to be honest, among the cloudy dark, you're a brilliant star painted with a left hand."

"because you're a lefty?"

you avert your eyes, "yeah, kind of. also because you’re too, uh, pretty."

“pretty?”

“yes, pretty pretty.”

A tinkle of boyish giggles has your eyes refocused on him, a warm smile covering your own lips as you feel the latter clasp your hand into his, his eyes formed into crescent and smile as beautiful as his soul, "how can I be so lucky…." he whispers, "thank you."

you drop your head on his shoulder along with your blinking eyes staring at the mints and pastels that reflect against the skin of his palm, "but if you ask for my opinion, your appearance and your scars both are equally too beautiful. I envy your genes."

this time, his lips press against your temple as he replies with tenderness etched into every crevices of his lips, "sure, honey."

"wait, i-i'm so sorry, the scars aren't inherited-"

"don't worry about it baby."

taglist: @sxlver-sweet @smilingnekos @sscarchiyo @shinsou-rii

[allywritesforfun]

How you and MCYT would survive a zombie apocalypse

before we get started this is more of a headcanon for myself. I am planning on using this to write an interconnected oneshot story...if that makes sense? basically its an irl zombie apocalypse au with each character and their reader having their own story but all of the stories connect in some way. it won't be out for a while considering I have to write at least 2 one shots for each character and then once all of those are connected, add Easter eggs of who they connect with and that might lead to more parts. so its gonna be a while but its way easier to write with a headcanon and it is headcanon day so... enjoy!

regular masterlist

headcanon masterlist

dream: 

dream is definitely the fighter

anyone he sees, he has to kill

but you are not a fighter 

you try to think about your situation and come up with a plan before resorting to violence

dream knows he can handle the zombies well, but the people are a different story

he is more scared of the people than is the zombies

you two survive by having one or two close allies and killing everyone else 

sapnap:

sapnap doesn't go to the extreme to survive

he cares more about protecting you

is 100% willing to throw himself in a heard of zombies to protect you

sapnap has seen the movies- he knew this wasn't going to be a week thing, it was way longer

you two spent most of your time getting resources that people wouldnt have thought that needed to survive

you are pretty crafty yourself and managed to kill some animals to make some protection from their skin and blanket from their fur

you two hate seeing people die so you only kill if there is something that they have that you need

george:

george and you are very reliant on each other to survive

“two minds are better than one”

neither of you can handle fighting so you already know you have to team up with someone 

you stick with that person til the end, willing to sabotage anyone that comes in your way

basically become the bitches of your allies, you do anything that they say because you feel that you have a better chance of surviving with the,

it works

wilbur:

wilbur has openly said that he doesn't take himself very seriously...

...in this case he doesn't take his life seriously either

both of you have come to the conclusion that you are most likely to die no matter what

why waste all that energy on trying to survive?

you two brought all that you could into the basement of your house

you were worried that the one way exit trapped you in but wilbur was more worried about bombings and being seen

wilbur was actually kinda having fun

I mean, it was an interesting way to die and you two played a bunch of games

honestly the cutest lovers, you two tried to do everything that you ever wanted to do as fast as possible

technoblade:

techno has been preparing for something like this for a while

you did not know about this

techno was one of the first to hear about the outbreak

before people started turning into zombies, he has already taken you to his hideout in mountains

you two were the loners

trust no one, absolutely no one

snipped off every person that you saw

better they die from a bullet than getting turned into one

you on the other hand carried on with life pretty normally

techno had built this shelter to last a life time

you basically became an old time housewife

tommy:

you and tommy were one of the youngest survivors 

you two honestly had no clue how to survive

you guys decided on the trickster role

getting absolutely everyone that you saw fucked over

wether that be setting a trap to gain their resources or cutting down a tree they were hiding in

your ultimate goal was to mess with everyone and mentally torture them

you were skeptical in the beginning, but it proved to be a good strategy

quackity:

you two were the pitiest survivors 

used multiple allusions and tricks into getting people to trust you

backstabbed everyone that you saw

you did not struggle for a single resource

just using the soft side of people was enough to get you to survive 

eret:

you two were the helpers

helped everyone and anyone that you saw

you two proved to trust worthy to tons of people and that's how you ended up with the resources that you did

you two became pretty popular and ended up becoming some sort of business

had a bunch of medicine to give people

you were in training to become an ER nurse before the outbreak

you taught eret everything that you knew for that you could save everyone

it became the worlds best interests to keep you alive

karl:

you two planned on not killing a single soul

you two strongly believed that if everyone kept their composer and didn't turn against each other, than the world could band together and stop the outbreak without anyone dying

you two didn't want to steal from anyone, so you looked for abandon houses to take from

you knew that you could outrun a zombie but were scared of people

did your best to not meet a single person

that all changed when karl started making posts about how the world needs to come together and help

became some sort of organization and created a great community where everyone trusted people 

kinda reflected a form of socialism

badboyhalo:

this man has the weapons

he started collecting when we was younger but never planned on hurting anyone

guess those came in handy

bad and you promised to keep the weapons and not give them to a single soul

you two already held so much power but what you had

made it your mission to protect people from afar by using your weapons to kill zombies that were protecting others

[oogaboogasphincter]

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break. 

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting​ and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic​. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian​

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?” 

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being. 

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.” 

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.” 

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies. 

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.” 

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you. 

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study. 

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced. 

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left. 

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts. 

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt. 

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out. 

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.” 

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​, @mellowswriting​

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

____________________________________________________

« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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

For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[scalpelandrose]

🏯🌒 Heart Under Blade, Oath Under Maple and Moon ( Sengoku Jidai AU) 🏯🌒

-> Another project collab with @the-phoenix-and-the-witch, @conchasweetheart, and @lariflames after announcing my next drawing series on my main and discussing the Sengoku Jidai and possible routes we could apply it to our f/os. The quote in the moodboard is actually something Megohime wrote to Masamune, as he was in Kyoto & she was attending to diplomatic affairs with the Toyotomi 🥺❤️ Like for many topics I am passionate about, this one got quite lengthy, especially because Sengoku Japan is one of my favorite areas of study 🌹 The anime above is Basilisk and the manga is from my own copy of Sengoku Basara: Samurai Kings

Era Concept: Law is Date Masamune & I am his wife Megohime

Original Create Date: February 4, 2022

Songs: Hana Kagari by Yumi Shizukusa | Returner by Gackt | Jougen no Tsuki by Nero | Heaven by Ayumi Hamasaki | and the whole Sengoku Basara OSTs that inspired me so much

Note: A lot of this is actually based on history, such as the battles, the ages of his 1st campaign & rise to the head of the Date clan, the figure dynamics, and how his wife helped him with Oushu. I took the liberty of making Law’s aunt an antagonist, instead of his biological mother (like irl for Masamune), because his aunt was against him too and I don’t see Law’s mother being a cruel woman. The childhood love story and courtship is my take on how my & Law’s romance would develop if we were in this situation and era.

Concept Outline:

Law’s past mirrors Date Masamune’s, in that he fell ill to a life threatening disease that required him to remove from his body. He was a curious, gifted, and carefree child, until he contracted smallpox from Portuguese settlers werein he had to rip out his right eye where the infection was spreading. Whether he did it by himself or asked Rosinante (Katakura Kojuro) is contested, but regardless, losing his eye caused his father’s retainers to look down on him, believing that a “one-eyed brat” could not see the future of the clan. Like his aunt, who grew to abhor him, they favored his brother as the clan’s successor. However, his father still saw potential in Law, so he appointed Rosinante to care and train him in his stead. At first, Rosinante was reluctant, not believing he was good with children and Law initially did not seem to want to cooperate and kept to himself. However, one day after being harshly rebuffed by his aunt for konpeito candy, he asked Rosinante if he should have been born, because he read that family meant that one feels “comfortable and welcome,” which is so different from his own. Hearing the 6 year old boy ask this moved a great emotion in Rosinante, so he promised that whatever it took, he would help Law rise to the position as the head of the clan. Indeed, Law learned many different martial arts, sword techniques, philosophies (such as the multi-faced Buhdda), and arts with Rosinante’s help and began to feel more sure of himself. But it was lonely in Yonezawa, and Law did not have many friends.

One day, Law decided to sneak out without informing Rosinante, taking his bokken, some onigiri, and foreign books from the Date library with him. It had been 2 years since he visited his special secret place where a kaleidoscope of maple trees grew, tucking away a little clearing with a quaint waterfall stream. It was a place where he could feel free from his responsibilities once in a while and just be a kid. Once there, he thought he’d start by practicing some new techniques he learned and experimenting with developing his unique style, until a little girl came from one of the tree alcoves, holding a handful of maple leaves, and appearing as if she just got done crying. She wanted to get a better look at the boy who had been practicing his swordsmanship for the last half-hour.

She seemed a bit timid, so Law lifted his hand in a slight wave to demonstrate that he saw her. He found it cute when her face lit up and was surprised when she walked up to him, giving him one of the maple leaves she collected.

“It’s for you,” she softly said.

“You…you don’t think I’m a freak like the other kids?” he asked, a little dumbfounded at the warmth of the interaction, which made the little girl shake her head.

“I think it’s so cool your eyepatch is a tsuba (katana’s hand guard),” she smiled, “I know by that, that you’ll be a great swordsman! But I think you already are from watching you.”

This made Law blush a little, as he never really gotten a compliment like that before. He then grinned and asked her if she wanted to see some more moves, which she excitedly nodded her head to. After some time, both got hungry and he shared some onigiri with her and she pulled out some zunda mochi. She then told him how she was yelled at for something she didn’t do and had been coming here just last year whenever she felt she wanted some peace. It was then, they realized they had a connection. From there, the meetings became weekly. On the sixth meeting, when playing in the stream, Law caught the girl from slipping.

“Thank you uhh…” she paused, realizing she didn’t know his name.

“Law,” he answered.

“I’m Michelle,” she softly returned, “So you’re the next in line of Oushu.”

“I guess you could say that,” he sighed, “though a lot of people don’t want me to be.”

“Well those people are dumb!” she huffed, “You’re so smart, strong, and nice, so I’m sure you’ll be like Xiahou Dun from my history books!”

“Is he someone from the mainland?”

“Yes! He had one eye like you too, but he was a great general of North China back in the day! I think you are like him or could be even greater, Law—like a Dokuganryu (One Eyed-Dragon).”

“Dokuganryu…” Law mused, bringing a hand to his eye. After that meeting, he told Rosinante that he will do what it takes to become worthy of succeeding the clan and the title, “Dokuganryu” that a friend gave to him. Rosinante internally celebrated, shocked that Law made a friend without his knowledge, but instead of asking further, he decided that night to get the lines, “One day Law will soar the skies like a One-Eyed Dragon,” etched onto his katana, Kokuryuu.

Eventually, Rosinante discovers that Law had been meeting with me through the trinkets and poems he would take back, and it is revealed that I am the daughter of the head of the Tamura clan, a vassal under the Date. Seeing how we kept sneaking out to each other and how close we were, Rosinante thought it would be a good opportunity to bring up the subject of marriage during a meeting with Law’s father & the Date elders. “They clearly made for each other. They just don’t know it yet.”

However, Law’s aunt did not agree with having an unladylike niece-in-law from an inferior clan, and engaged in a verbal altercation with the Tamura retainers, so my household decided to go back to Miharu Castle in Fukushima after the insults, though we still served the Date. Our homes were close enough to visit bi-weekly on horseback, but since we were growing into adolescence, our responsibilities and studies grew greater, and we had little free time. However, we still sent each other letters, sometimes including new poems we wrote, a maple leaf or sakura flower we found during the day, and different theoretical strategies that can be applied in a mock situation. When we did get to meet, we would spar, play out imaginary war scenarios on the map, and sometimes took each other around town. Law even showed me his black bladed katana, the Kuronbogiri-Kagehide when he got it. I was extremely amazed by the craftsmanship, and shortly after, I got my own Kagehide blade too. In a way, it was like an unofficial courtship. When Law turned 14, it was time for his first campaign on the battlefield, which I made a point to support him through. Though I could not join in, still being young, I convinced my dad to send him some of our cavalry, who met him in Fukushima as he was riding south against the Souma clan. Surely enough, it was a success and when returning home, he decided to spend the night at Miharu Castle, where I met him at the entrance with happiness. We spent the time catching up and talking about his victory, and let the night wile away. At 17, Law was appointed head of the Date clan, despite protests from his aunt, some elders, and allied clans.

After his dad’s kidnapping and assassination by the Hatakeyama, Law found himself in a 5-front war against the Hatakeyama, the Ashina, the Souma, the Nikaidou, and the Nihonmatsu, who wanted to take advantage of the young lord and achieve some territorial gain they’ve been craving. All the odds seemed to be against Law, but he was not one to back down from a challenge. He began gathering his resources as best as he could with Rosinante’s help. Law sent me and my dad separate formal letters asking for my and the Tamura clan’s aid for his situation. In my letter, he wrote that this might be his last stand and that if so, he wanted me to know that his heart had always been with me, and that if he survived, he intended to marry me, regardless of what anyone said. “If you feel the same way, let me know and I’ll be there in a heartbeat on horseback to carry you away,” he wrote, “Anyone who objects or slanders you will be cut down. I swear under the moon that blesses my armor and my lands to never betray you, and if I ever mistreat you, may my reign fall.” Of course, I knew my answer, but thought it best to tell him once I met him on the battlefield.

My father and some generals were reluctant to send help for what seemed like a losing battle, but I threatened that regardless of their decision, I would ride out there and help Law, even if it cost me my life. I began debating them with facts, appealing to bushido and The Art of War, laying out plans that would benefit us both, and eventually I won out. Law and I felt a quiet enthusiasm finally meeting each other at his camp, and discreetly took time admiring each other clad in armor, which didn’t escape Rosinante’s notice. After a war council, he and I took a walk around the camp under the crescent moon and stopped under a maple tree, like where we first met. We started reminiscing, until I brought up his letter and wholeheartedly told him that I accepted his proposal and that I loved him and would go so far as abandoning my sword if it meant following him to Hell. With the strong maple that symbolizes endurance and the crescent moon representing hope and love towards an uncertain future as our witnesses, we shared our first kiss and crossed the base of our blades in a pact of loyalty and respect.

Throughout the Northern Civil War, I helped Law devise strategies with Rosinante and other trusted retainers, came up with a way for our soldiers to easily carry non-perishable miso and foods with them, and collected information for Law. We knew Hitoribashi will be a gruesome last stand that will determine the future of our clans, so that night he invited me for tea in his tent and we make love, after contemplating on what these events mean for us and the facts of life. But the most truthful thing we were certain about were our feelings for eachother.

The 5-front war was a difficult fight, being outnumbered 7,000 to 30,000. We lost 3-5 forts at the Battle of Hitotoribashi, but through grit, strategy, and luck, we emerged victorious and Law was able to get his revenge on Hatakeyama Yoshitsugu, for the death of his father, and unify the North under his name.

As promised, and after meeting with my father, Law and I were married. The wedding took a month in preparation and had some difficulties, with his aunt trying to frame me for attempted poisoning to have the wedding called off, but Rosinante found evidences of her trying to poison Law and we gave her the choice to be executed in Oushu or be sent back to the Mogami clan from which she came and never return, since we did not want a family death overshadowing the wedding. The event took place during the spring and was a modest one, with our close relatives and friends. At the end of the night, with the camelia dividers and candlelight, Law and I let our feelings pour out once more, as we worshipped each other’s scars from the past and let our bodies tangle together, like the fabric below us. I eventually bore him three successful and precocious children.

Throughout his career, Law never lost an individual campaign and I remained by his side through everything, as his wife, his diplomat to the Toyotomi and other difficult negotiations, and his most trusted confidant. I helped him build up Sendai from a fishing town into a bustling trade center, when Tokugawa gave it to him after taking away Aizu, in fear Law was becoming too influential. I also helped him set up festivals to make the Date clan seem more approachable by the common people, and always leant a listening ear when reflections of the past caused melancholy for the people we lost. He never broke his promise that he made to me in his letter when he proposed, and when we pass by a maple tree or look up to the moon, we are reminded of the endurance and strength of our unbreakable bond.

-> Tagging: @undercoverweeeb, @gabrielasalazar18, @jazminetoad, @simp4ace

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR: WD106] Avoiding A Blunder

Summary: Prince Liam has to fill in for Crown Prince Leo, and Murphy’s Law is put into motion at the end of his trip. Chaos ensues, condensed Wacky Drabble style. Fic Rating/Warning: M; alcohol consumption, minor health/medical emergency, anxiety/angst Author’s Note: All main characters belong to Pixelberry/The Royal Romance, I’m just borrowing them * Fictional versions of IRL individuals are included with affection; any other characters mentioned in this piece are my creation * This is my submission for @wackydrabbles Prompt 106: You’re gonna get us busted! * You have @the-soot-sprite and @ao719 to thank for this ridiculousness, lol - Soot reblogged a photo, Betsy sent me this request

and...this is what my brain came up with (PS - thank you both for the movie discussion) * For the purposes of this story, Triydalia is a fictional country that shares a border with Thailand * Word Count: 1999 😅 (7 minutes reading time)

Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I'll tag you in the comments): @/ao719 @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @ofpixelsandscribbles @rainbowsinthestorm @superharriet @/the-soot-sprite @choiceskatie @jaqren @aestheticartsx @bbrandy2002 @dcbbw @gnatbrain @jared2612 @kingliam2019 @ladyangel70 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @princessleac1 @queenjilian @sfb123 @texaskitten30 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @yourmajesty09

Liam was used to filling in for Leo at a moment’s notice; participating in conference calls with ambassadors for early morning updates when Leo overslept, and attending meetings with ministers when Leo went AWOL. He’d grown accustomed to his brother’s antics, but he wondered how Bastien managed to keep his position, when he’d lost track of Leo’s whereabouts countless times.

While Leo spent more time avoiding his duties as Crown Prince of Cordonia, Liam dutifully took on the extra responsibilities in stride. It often meant partitioning his already packed schedule to sit in on vital cabinet meetings or dining with visiting dignitaries, but sometimes Leo’s vanishing acts gave Liam the opportunity to travel.

Though their ambassadors handled the majority of day-to-day relations with other countries for trade, Constantine preferred to meet face-to-face when he could. One such time, a lingering cough turned to walking pneumonia, restricting Constantine to as much bed rest as possible. It also meant sending Leo to Japan for a meeting with the Prime Minister in his stead.

It would have been fine, if Leo hadn’t pulled another one of his disappearing acts.

--

A week later, Liam was seated on the royal jet on his way back from Tokyo, navy attache with espresso brown leather trim in the chair next to him. Across from him, Maxwell chatted with Anya over various Thai dishes. On the other side of the plane, Drake was in a heated discussion with leggy blonde Anitah while the ladies’ petite friend Donna observed in silence, fighting back a grin. “You’re an imbecile if that’s your opinion,” Anitah declared, raising her hands up in the air. “Are you sure that’s the hill you wanna die on?”

Drake smugly sipped from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “I’m right and you know it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Liam asked, relieved to think about anything other than what was in the bag and why it was so important he hand deliver it to his father.

“Fight Club being a better cinematic masterpiece than The Princess Bride,” Drake replied. “You guys agree, right? If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, you’d want to watch Tyler Durden fight the system instead of some…” he paused to sneer at Anitah, who crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue at him, “...story about a swashbuckler rescuing a princess? She’s not even a real princess!”

“Fight Club is such a guy movie though,” Anya argued, turning in her seat to face Drake. “Princess Bride appeals to men and women, with a much larger audience.”

“Okay, that’s two for Buttercup,” Drake sighed. “Maxwell? Li?” He looked at his friends expectantly.

“Fight Club, definitely,” Maxwell said, nodding his head. He’d spent the better part of the trip doing everything to get into Drake’s good graces after the octopus incident on the first night in Tokyo.

Before Liam could respond, a commotion from the front of the plane made everyone’s heads turn, where a pair of Kings Guards and two flight attendants were seated near the galley. One of the guards slipped into the cockpit, rushing out a moment later in Liam’s direction, as the jet slowly tilted to the right. “Apologies, Your Highness. Do you or any of your guests happen to speak Triydalian?”

Anya slowly raised her hand. “I knew a bit when I was a kid, but I haven’t used it in years.”

The guard motioned for her to join him. “Please come with us, miss. The pilots need a translator.”

“Is everything alright, Remy?” Liam peered past the guard, eyes widening at the sight of the other guard and one attendant hovering in front of the other attendant in a chair.

“We need to land the plane, Sir,” Remy answered, ushering Anya up from her seat. “Ramona passed out. She’s breathing but unresponsive.”

--

Twenty minutes later and after a jarring landing, they’d arrived at a small airport in the Republic of Triydalia, at the edge of one of the country’s many jungle forests. Calling it an airport was generous - it was more of a cleared dirt path in the middle of the jungle with a shack for an airport tower, and a man that looked like more of a hunter than an air traffic controller. After a choppy conversation that required pantomiming and hand signals, Anya left with Remy and the man from the tower to fetch a tribal doctor, while Anitah and Donna assisted the other member of the cabin crew to look after Ramona. They were warned to remain as quiet as possible and to stay inside the jet.

Minutes passed by in tense observation; Anitah and Drake continued their debate in low whispers, growing louder as they defended their choices. Liam could see the pilots discussing something pointedly as they checked readings on the instrument panel and worked on calculations. One of them stepped out, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs, and walked cautiously down the runway. When he returned, the other pilot joined him outside, despite the original warning to stay inside. Liam peered out the windows and checked his watch, worrying about Anya and Remy, along with his father’s instructions to avoid delaying their return.

While the remaining guard headed towards the back of the plane to pace back and forth for the eighth time, Liam took it upon himself to speak with the pilots. The air was thick and stifling the moment he stepped outside. Around them, there was nothing but green, green, and more green from the wilderness that surrounded them, abuzz with tropical birds and insects. At his side he carried the blue attache, remembering the promise to his father that the bag wouldn’t leave his sight. He spoke in a hushed tone when he approached the pilots. “You’re doing more than just stretching your legs, aren’t you, Captain?”

Both men grimaced slightly. “Yes, Your Highness. Even if we pulled back to one end of the runway, we’re still at least five hundred feet short of clearing takeoff.”

“What if we worked to try and clear the brush on either end?” Liam offered, looking off into the distance.

“There’s no way to clear out the trees, even the young ones,” the co-captain answered. “We might be able to take off if we could drop some weight, but the larger concern is the longer we wait, we increase the risk of encountering someone who doesn’t want us here.”

Liam nodded gravely; months of civil unrest in Triydalia meant rebel groups assembled faster than the government could contain them. There was no guarantee of anyone’s safety, stranded on a remote runway. There was no telling what was wrong with Ramona while she was unconscious, and therefore no way to treat her without the aid of a doctor. Ensuring the safety of the crew and his friends could have been avoided altogether if Leo didn’t constantly opt out of handling the duties of his station. In that moment, Liam abhorred the never-ending list of responsibilities thrust at him as a result of having to pick up the slack for his brother, knowing if their roles were reversed, Leo would manage to find a way to leave Liam to solve problems on his own.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He’d barely finished asking the question before walking into the tall grass by the edge of the runway. Ignoring the pilots’ calls to return, Liam sprinted into the dense greenery, dodging between vines and scanning the ground for tripwires until he could no longer see the plane over his shoulder. When he finally stopped running, he bent over, hands on his knees as he gulped in air. Liam looked down at the blue bag in his hand, wondering what on earth was so precious to reduce him to a courier.

Shaking the bag did nothing; it felt practically empty, though he could tell something was inside. He couldn’t open the bag to check, since Prime Minister Abe and his father were the only ones with keys, and PM Abe handed him the sealed bag when they parted ways. Liam wanted to throw the infernal “murse” the ladies had good-naturedly teased him for into the bushes. Perspiration dotted his hairline, and he let out a primal scream, before taking slow, deep breaths to quiet the worrisome thoughts racing in his head and bring his heartbeat down to normal.

Cursed courier bag in his right hand, Liam braced his arm against his torso, pinning it in place with his elbow when he bent his other arm up towards his face. Curling his fingers into a relaxed fist, he pressed his lips against his thumb, thick brows furrowing in thought. All around him, wild birds called to one another amidst the chittering clamor of insects hidden in the foliage. He was so busy running through scenarios in his head that he didn’t hear the quiet click of a camera, turning to look up only when he heard a branch snap in the distance.

“Watch it! You’re gonna get us busted!” Donna hissed to Drake. She pocketed her phone, elbowing Drake in the ribs as they crouched behind large leaves. She ticked her head in Liam’s direction. “Go get your boy, none of us are safe out here.”

After some coaxing, Liam headed back to the plane with Donna and Drake, walking briskly through the jungle, eyes trained to look for anything out of the ordinary. Liam was alarmed when he heard and then saw the engines running, until Drake explained the pilots were burning off fuel to lighten the plane. They’d begun to walk up the steps, when Maxwell popped out above them. “Whoo!” Maxwell exclaimed, digging for another snack from the container he cradled in his arm. “Feels like a sauna out here!”

“Lower your voice, Maxwell! Please!” Liam seethed. His features pinched together in disbelief. “Are you...eating? Now?”

“You know I stress snack,” Maxwell replied, shrugging his shoulders. He shoved another cookie into his mouth.

Liam’s eyes lit up and he took the stairs two by two, knocking on the cockpit door before swinging it open. “What if we unloaded whatever’s not bolted down? The decor, dinnerware, the food and drink?”

“That...would certainly help,” the captain replied, looking back over his shoulder. He turned to his co-pilot. “It could be enough to get in the air after burning off the excess fuel.”

“You heard the man, Maxwell,” Liam said, offering his friend a nervous grin. “Get Drake to help you start unloading the plane. Has Ramona’s status changed?”

“Donna found the first aid kit just before she took off with Drake to go after you. Anitah found some smelling salts that gave her a rude wakeup call. Turns out her insulin pump shorted and she just needed some juice.”

Several more minutes passed as the group removed whatever they could from the plane, leaving piles of cookware, food, throw pillows, and even seat cushions to lighten the load. Drake whined when they gathered up the liquor, but he stuffed a bottle of whiskey in a cabinet by his seat. They’d nearly finished when Anya and Remy returned, running on foot. “That thing better be ready to take off!” Anya hollered, motioning for everyone to board. “Rebels on our tail! Time to go!”

Everyone scrambled back onto the plane; Liam relayed the urgency to depart to the pilots, who rapidly went through their flight checklist. Remy pulled Anya up onto the steps and they all clamored to buckle into their seats, the sound of gunfire in the air as the jet rolled forward and lurched up into the air, barely clearing the canopy.

Adrenaline pumping and breaths shallow, Liam looked around at his friends and the crew, thankful they were safely in the air again.

--

Liam thought he was having a stroke at twenty-four when he saw the contents of the bag. Constantine smiled with glee at the small gold cat, one paw raised.

[xenia-cenia]

hiiii 💕 may i request domestic hcs with chuuya and dazai with a clingy s/o? thank you 💞💞💞

A/N-i like doing these theyre cute :)

sorry for taking forever! some irl things came up

-writing for chuuya is hard bc all the gifs of him are so cool

-so im using dog chuuya for this one

-moving on

-chuuya does not put any thought before asking you to move in with him

-you mentioned it once in passing and he responded with 'yeah, why the hell not?'

-as stated before his house is filled with dog pictures

-he LOVES cooking

-do not get in his way while he cooks

-itll just be a mess for everyone involved

-if you want a cutesy-fun couple activity hes much more fond of walks in the park

-in fact he likes to go on at least one long walk every week

-and hes always delighted when you tag along

-if you get tired and cant finish the walk dont worry he'll just use his ability and carry you back home

-also enjoys going shopping with you

-he knows the ins and outs of every current fashion trend and will happily help you pick clothes out

-be warned though he likes to only buy the most expensive stuff

-he personally has no plans to get married

-deep inside the fear that hes not 'human' enough lingers

-however if one day years into your relationship you were on a night walk and turned to look at him

-the wind softly rustling your clothes and the streetlamps reflecting in your eyes

-(oh your eyes. he always feels painfully human when he looks into those eyes of yours)

-he'll take a deep breath

-and give into his impulses once again

-"lets get married."

-he says it so casually you barely notice

-but when he says it again it sticks in your head

-you laughed

-(why was his heart beating so fast? did your laugh always do this to him?)

-and kissed his cheek

-"id love to, chuuya."

-his knees shook as you spoke those words

-he smiled and didnt notice his ability start until the two of you were above the trees and you gripped onto his shirt

-"chuu!" you had exclaimed

-but nothing was phazing him

-it was the happiest he had ever been in his life

-well

-the second happiest

-as your hands folded into his

-and the expensive suit he was wearing felt 1 million degrees

-he was shaking

-had he ever shaken this hard before?

-and you noticed his fear

-(you always could read him better than he could read himself)

-and all at once the world melted away

-there was only pure bliss

-"to the person who makes me feel truly human" he had added to his vows "i promise to protect you for the rest of our lives"

-"to the person who hangs dog pictures on our ceiling," (he had laughed nervously. he didnt know you saw those) "i promise to protect and care for you the rest of our lives"

-thats when chuuya cried

-he kissed you as hard as he could

-tears burning his eyes as he pulled away for air

-"i love you." chuuya whispered and he knew that this

-this would be the happiest moment of his life

-he LOVES clingy people

-once you move in with him (or him with you. He doesn’t mind either way) he finds himself falling much further in love then he thought possible

-want cuddles?

-god yes

-reading together with his head on your lap?

-please play with his hair

-he’s also a terrible cook

-terrible awful cook

-if you enjoy cooking you’ll need to forcibly keep him out of the kitchen to stop him from ruining your meal

-if you just want to have fun and make a mess?

-he’s your guy

-“belladonna! Look! The eggs stick to the ceiling!”

“Osamu no”

-like Chuuya he enjoys talking walks

-his walks are  much less peaceful however

-he likes to talk about whatever’s on his mind as he walks

-though frankly he enjoys listening to you blabber much more

-insists on movie date nights

-he picks the movie one week and you pick the movie the next week and so on and so forth

-his movies are typically tragic love stories

-you asked him why one day and all he did was smile and shake his head

-“there are some secrets I’d rather keep, Belladonna.”

-eventually you wrote it off as another mystery about Dazai Osamu

-it takes a long time before he lets you change his bandages

-the entire time hes smiling sadly and refusing to make eye contact

-(your fingers are so smooth compared to his. he’ll never forget the feeling of your fingers tracing the new bandages, making sure they fit right)

-now unlike Chuuya he has put a lot of thought into marriage

-he’s fantasized about it for years but always wrote it off as a pipe dream

-though his dream marriage isn’t really anything official

-he thinks ‘love’ is something that you can’t put on display or into a certificate

-when the two of you get serious he’s very clear about this dream of his

-to his surpise (and joy!) you smiled and kissed his cheek telling him you’re okay with that

-if you want a big wedding dazai will compromise for two weddings

-one thats incredibly low effort, just the two of you drinking wine and getting lost

-and the other thats everything youve ever dreamed of

-in fact during his vows for the ‘second’ wedding he’ll grab your hands and look out towards the audience

-”they told me if you love them so much, i should just marry them. so i did! twice.”

-about half a year after the wedding the two of you were lying in bed

-you were half-asleep and dazai smiled softly

-”belladonna, did i ever answer your question?”

-”wha?”

-”i watched them so often because i wanted to remind myself that we’d have a happy ending.”

-you looked at him through sleepy eyes, confusion lacing your expression as he kissed your forehead

-”osamu...”

-”sleep, belladonna. i’ll remind you in the morning.”

-and as you quickly drifted off to sleep he finally felt the stress in his shoulders dissolve

-”a happy ending...” he muttered to himself

-(though, he feels any ending that includes you loving him was the happiest ending he could get)

-he went further into the sheets and let his eyes close

-maybe... maybe he’ll get the story he never thought he deserved