#[ also i need need NEED to figure out what to draw for his birthday ]

[vidawhump]

@whumpy-wyrms HAPPY BIRTDAY SAWYER!!!!!!! :DDDDDDD

[despairforme]

[lunamugetsu]

Delivery!

Flash was currently being held captive in a black of ice. How he got like this he wasn't sure. All he remembered was that he was running across Central City keeping the peace until suddenly an ice beam shot out of nowhere and froze his feat to the ground.... and the rest of him.

"Alright you got me! Show your face!"

"Well I was going to regardless. No need to yell." Out pops Danny Phantom carrying a bag with him and holding out an envelope.

"What? Who are you?"

"My name's Phantom. Danny Phantom. I have a message for you. I couldn't get your attention earlier so I thought this was just the next best way to get you to stop." Danny said as he unfreezes the speedster.

"Uh, okay." Flash said as Danny gives him an envelope.

On the envelope there are drawing in crayon and stickers and in marker it says: to Flash.

"It's from Susie, she'd said you'd remember her."

He remembered a Susie, a little girl that he used to see in the children's hospital. She had leukemia. He spent any minute he could making sure the kid was smiling when he was there. He was heartbroken when the nurses told him that she had passed away before he could give her her birthday present. Flash examined the crayon written words, it was just like Susie's writing.

"How did you?"

"Just read it."

The letter reads:

Dear Flash,

I'm sorry, I wasn't there when you showed up for my birthday. I never got to tell you, but thank you for being at the hospital with me when I was scared of going to treatment or when I had to take my medicine. Thank you for making me smile even when I didn't feel well. Thank you for playing games with me when I couldn't go outside. Thank you for talking to my mom and dad at my funeral. That was really nice. I drew some pictures for you but I never got to finish them when I was in the hospital so I drew you some new ones. Danny says that he'll give them to you.

In the envelope was a series of different colored papers all with different crayon and marker drawings of Susie and him playing in different scenarios. One where she was a doctor and he played the injured patient. One where they were both superheroes. Another one where they were playing shadow puppets when she wasn't feeling well. Page after page were different drawings of them playing with the last one was covered in glitter with a big heart with a crayon drawing of him and Susie.

"Susie said that her biggest regret was that she couldn't say thank you to her hero before she passed. So I bumped her up on my delivery list."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, I never fully introduced myself. I'm Danny Phantom, you can call me Danny. I'm the designated delivery person for the afterlife to the living realm. Any messages or special requests from the dead are delivered by me!" Danny hands him a business card all official.

And it does say: Danny Phantom special delivery service for those of the non-living variety!

"She also said she wanted to give you one last hug before moving on."

"What do you?" Flash is halted from saying anything else as he feels a pressure against his legs. He looks down to see a translucent small figure. She was a picture of what she looked like before the chemo. Susie gives him a smile and a hug before fading before his eyes.

Before Danny officially takes up the mantle of Ghost King he's trying to do a job that would have him interact with all of his citizens first so he could get a feel of it. Hence him making connections with both the living and non-living people (he went big-brain for this idea)

Extra scene:

"Oh that reminds me, I have a card for you from someone else."

"A card?" Flash opens the card only to get sucker-punched in the face. (like one of those cartoon boxing glove punches)

"A punch card." Danny said

Flash groans as he looks at the card that has the words: STOP MESSING WITH TIME! from CW

Obligatory Gotham Scene:

Danny standing in front of a beaten up Joker that has been tied to a chair.

"Just so you know I have a back order of a lot special requests for you. And since I can't exactly kill you, that would create so much political tape. I can let them make requests for certain actions. So right now I have over 50 requests for me to break your legs and over 30 to pull out your teeth and break your jaw. Some of them contradict each other because they want to make every word you say hurt you but others want me to curse you so you can't speak again. So I'll just have to get creative." Danny says winding his arm back and form.

He is for sure being completely professional about, he gets no personal gratification from beating up a crazy clown at all. (said nobody ever)

[spdrwdw]

Pairing: 1042 Miguel X f!reader Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI) fluff, smut, food play (Is that a term?), Miguel has a weird kink ( it is still kinktober, after all), oral-m/f receiving, slight breeding kink, unprotected intercourse, no use of y/n Summary: Miguel seems to have a sweet tooth. Not only for the birthday cake you are making for Gabriella's birthday, but also for you. Word Count: 2018 A/N: Thank you to @phoenixflower468 who requested some earth 1042 Miguel content! I will continue working on my other requests. Thank you to those who submitted requests to help my writer's block! ALSO; if you'd like to be tagged for my future fics, please let me know! No translations at the end. I figured most of Miguel fic readers already know some of the Spanish pet names and phrases used by now, lmao Check out more of my work on my Masterlist

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Tomorrow was Gabriella’s birthday and you were scrambling getting the cake finished. It was already eleven at night and you were covered in flour and frosting. Or was it icing? You could never tell them apart. Anyway, you were decorating the cake when you heard footsteps coming down from the stairs. 

You quickly paused what you were doing, trying to hear the footsteps. They were too heavy to be Gabriella’s. Miguel was coming downstairs to check on your progress. 

“Miguel. Mi amor, I thought you were sleeping already,” You spoke softly as he made his way into the kitchen, taking a seat on the stool across from you. 

“I miss you,” he pouted. God. He was too adorable. He was six foot nine of pure muscle and dad bod and yet he was the most adorable thing in the world. Besides Gabriella, of course. 

“Lo siento, Miguel. I’m just trying to get this cake finished,” You apologized as you went back to work. Thankfully, those baking lessons you took back in college were finally paying off. The cake didn’t look half bad at all. 

“Why are you making a cake rather than just buying one?” He asked as he took a bit of leftover frosting..or was it icing..and licked it from his finger. You couldn’t help but to bite your lip at the sight. The simplest things this man did made you go feral. It just wasn’t fair.  

He noticed your expression and smirked. Oh, he was such a bastard! 

“What?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He simply contained the smirk on his face and grabbed more of the frosting onto his finger and opened his mouth, tongue sticking out slightly before slipping his finger in, letting out a moan. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep your composure. 

“I still need that, you know?”

Miguel chuckled and shrugged. “You know how I get around sweets, querida. I have such a sweet tooth.”

You simply gave him a look before grabbing your things and went back to decorating the cake. 

“Yes well, that sweet tooth of yours is going to have to hold off until tomorrow, Miguel. I can’t have you messing this up,” you grumbled, trying to concentrate on your work. You were almost done. 

As you tried to concentrate on drawing up some flowers, you could feel Miguel’s strong arms wrapping around your waist, his chin resting against your shoulder as he watched you work. 

“You’re doing amazing,” he complimented, placing a kiss on your cheek. You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get you distracted. 

“Thank you, mi amor,” you hummed, trying to not let him get to you. At least, not until you were finished with Gabri’s cake. 

Surprisingly, he was actually behaving, watching you in admiration as you finished up the cake for your daughter. 

“Looks perfect,” he hummed as you nodded your head in approval, marveling at your work.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You smiled, glancing over at him before pecking his cheek. 

“Mind putting it in the fridge while I clean up?”

Miguel nodded his head and did as he was told before an idea popped into his head and he glanced over at you. 

“Take the frosting upstairs with you,” he said, causing you to raise a brow. 

“What? Why?” You asked as you continued to clean the kitchen island.

“I want to try something,” he stated. 

“Try what?” You pressed, curious as to why Miguel wanted to take the leftover frosting upstairs.

“Just..I’ll show you when we get up there. Come on, mi vida. It’s getting late.”

—-

“What on earth? Miguel!” You gasped as you now laid completely naked in bed, with your hands tied above your head. It was to prevent you from stopping Miguel and his shenanigans. 

Miguel shushed you as he squirted some frosting out of the piping bag and onto the bottom of your navel, leading a trail all the way down to your pubic bone. 

“I told you I had a sweet tooth, mi vida,” he chuckled before he began licking the frosting off of you. 

Your body twitched a bit and you tried to fight back a moan. You had to keep quiet. You didn’t want Gabriella to wake up. 

“And you thought this would be a good way to ease your sweet tooth?” You questioned as Miguel began to coat your breasts with the frosting before taking a breast into his mouth, licking and sucking off the sweetness, swirling his tongue around your nipple and tugging at it before doing the same with the other breast. You couldn’t conceal your moans any longer. 

“M-Miguel..please..” you breathed. 

“Hmm? Please what?” Miguel asked, a smirk on his lips.

“You’re making me all sticky,” you pouted. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll wash it off of you later,” he continued to smirk before taking hold of your chin and ordered you to open your mouth. You did as he said, and he squeezed some frosting into your mouth, keeping it along your tongue before he kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth to catch the sweetness. 

“Mmm, tastes so much better coming from the pretty mouth of yours,” he moaned, licking his lips.

“Alright well, don’t be greedy. Let me in on some of that, too,” you stated. 

Miguel chuckled and freed your hands before he began to take off his own clothes. Geez, how did you get so lucky to have a man like him as your husband and father of your child? 

Miguel then laid down on the bed as you straddled his waist and saw him open his mouth, tongue hanging out as he waited for you to squirt some frosting onto his tongue. You did just that, shaking your head before leaning down and kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue as you tasted the sweetness in his mouth. 

In no time at all, you were both sticky and smelling sweet. The piping bag was now discarded somewhere on the bed, and you were now sitting on his face. Honestly, it was the best seat in the house, if you had anything to say about it. 

Miguel was eating you out as if your pussy was the sweetest thing on earth. Tongue slobbering over your folds, teeth nipping at your clit, and long fingers curled into you, hitting you at just the right spot, making you see stars. You couldn’t help but to grind against his face. Miguel could take it, though. He was sturdy. 

You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, your other hand stroking his meaty cock. You could feel the veins twitching as your wedding band rubbed against them. Leaning over, you finally took him into your mouth, slowly, of course. You could feel his moan vibrating through you as he continued to eat your pussy, causing you to moan out around his cock in response. After taking in as much of Miguel’s cock as you could, you began bobbing your head, the tip hitting the back of your throat every time. 

It wasn’t long until you felt him twitching in your mouth, and you doubled down on your efforts, pumping him with one hand, and gripping his balls with the other as you continued bobbing your head. 

You felt his tongue assaulting your pussy, running through your bundle of nerves while his fingers curled up and rubbed against that spot that made you see stars. 

In no time at all, you were orgasming into each other’s mouths, and you didn’t dare to waste a single drop of him. 

Before you could even blink, Miguel picked you up and flipped you over, pinning you down onto the bed, lining himself between you and rammed his cock into your soaked pussy. 

“Oh! Miguel!” You gasped as he pounded into you. The wet, sticky sounds of skin hitting against skin bounced off the walls, filled with the harmony of yours’ and Miguel’s moans. 

“You feel so good, mi amor. So fucking good,” Miguel groaned through gritted teeth. 

“Kinda makes me wanna put another baby in you. Think that’d be okay?” He grunted. The thought of filling you up and getting you pregnant with another baby made his cock twitch inside of you. 

Eh, the conversation of having another child did come up every now and then, and..yeah, why not? Gabriella deserved a sibling. 

“M-Miguel..” You breathed, your mind going fuzzy as you tilted your head back against the pillows. 

“Qué pasa, amor?” He cooed once he leaned over and pecked you on the cheek, his pace still brutal. You were so close to your orgasm, you gritted your teeth.

“Can’t handle my cock? Hmm? Is my pretty wife gonna cum?” He continued to coo, pivoting his hips against you in a more snapping manner. 

“Cum over my cock, mi amor.”

And you did. Because when he commands you to do something such as this, you do it, gladly. 

“That’a girl,” Miguel groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy as he reached his limit and came, coating your walls with his seed, filling you up just how you loved it. 

Once he was finished, Miguel slowly pulled out of you and laid on top of you, however, didn’t put all his weight on you cuz, the man is huge.

Miguel rested his head over your shoulder as you both caught your breath. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer before kissing his cheek. You just loved him so much. He was a great husband, and a wonderful father. The best person you could ever imagine having as your life partner. 

“You alright?” He then asked, a cheeky smile on his face as he gently rubbed your back. 

“I’m fine, Miguel,” You giggled softly before kissing him sweetly just as you heard something coming from the hallway. Your eyes suddenly went wide. 

Gabriella.

The bedroom door opened as you both scrambled to get your naked bodies under the covers. 

Gabriella slowly stepped in, rubbing her sleepy little eyes as she held her stuffed bunny in one hand. 

“Mamá? Papá?” She muttered. 

“¿Qué pasa, mija?” Miguel asked softly as Gabriella stepped further inside. 

“I can’t sleep,” she said, looking up at the both of you. 

“Oh, Gabri. Do you want to sleep here with us?” You asked her, and she quickly nodded her head. 

“Okay, go grab your blankie and your pillow.”

She then smiled and nodded her head before walking out of the room, and you and Miguel both bolted to the dresser and closet to grab some clothes and a quick change of sheets. 

As you fixed up the bed, Miguel as in the bathroom getting himself cleaned up, and then you stepped into the bathroom to do the same just as Gabriella came back in, holding her bunny, blankie and pillow. She climbed onto the clean bed just as you both made your way back out of the bathroom. Miguel closed the door and turned off the lights and joined you two, wrapping his arms around Gabriella. 

“Feel better, mija?” You asked with a smile and Gabriella nodded her head, grinning.

“Yeah! I kept hearing these weird sounds and I couldn’t sleep,” she said, causing you and Miguel to look at each other with slight embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Gabri. Hopefully you won’t hear them again,” you told her, gently stroking her hair as she snuggled up against you. You noticed Miguel pouting over at you, to which you rolled your eyes and smirked at him.

“Let’s get some sleep. It’s your big day tomorrow,” you reminded her, kissing her cheeks as she giggled, nodding her head. 

“Good night, ladies,” Miguel said, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you and Gabriella closer to him, having your daughter sandwiched in the middle; which she loved. 

“Night night, papà,” Gabriella giggled. 

“Goodnight, Miguel,” you smiled over at him and leaned over to give him a goodnight kiss, still being able to taste the frosting on his lips. 

Perhaps you had a bit of a sweet tooth as well. 

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Tags: @migueloharastruelove, @camzzn

[angelpuns]

CW WARNING FOR SIBLING/FAMILY DEATH, CW DEATH. Please let me know if I need to add more warnings!!

Finally finished this comic redraw of one of my oldest and also saddest comics to date :)

I originally planned for this comic to become a part of a bigger future/apocalypse au, but with the tmnt iteration and other projects I wanna work on, I figured it's best to shelve it. Not to mention I didn't have too many plot ideas anyway! It was pretty much a lost ronin lost years type au where Leo is haunted by his brothers :)

I also wanted to post this all at once due to the sort of...twist? I didn't want to have it sit there where you guys wouldn't know what was happening next. Best to get the hurt out of the way all at once!

I hope everyone enjoys it, I really enjoyed doing the extra color and finishing on this comic!! Also F!Donnie's design was pretty fun to draw!!

I don't have a link to the og version because I never posted it here, but I love seeing the huge improvement in dialogue and just drawing in general. It looks a lot more finished <3

Anyway, new birthday special update tomorrow! I hope that is enough comfort for you all because I will also get back to posting the spinoff comic and it is....similarly devastating to this one (no spoilers though <3)

[shuadotcom]

Main Dish | HJS (M)

☐ Summary: When lunch ends up being inedible, Joshua has to pick something else to eat.

☐ Pairing: Joshua x Afab!Reader

☐ Genres & AUs: Smut, fluff, established relationship!au, absolutely porn without plot

☐ Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

☐ Warnings: Profanity, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, pet names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart, honey, good girl), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting

☐ Words: 3.2k

☐ Note: This fic is brought to you by my lack of cooking skills and my insatiable need for Joshua. It was also written for @kpopsblackcreatorsociety Bon Voyage Bingo event! The bingo square/prompt for this fic is camping.

Thank you @horanghater for being my beta ily 🥰

☐ Net Tag: @kflixnet

“Please don’t go off, please don’t go off, please do-”

BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEP

“Goddamnit!” Working as fast as possible, you grab the pan from the hot stove top, removing it from the heat. The blare of the smoke detector rings out through the apartment and you have to act quickly to open all the nearby windows, waving away the smoke in the air with the dish towel. 

Once the smoke mostly clears and the alarms have subsided, you survey the scene in front of you. Grumbling in frustration you eye the now burnt tofu on the stovetop and let out a disappointed sigh. You had just wanted to cook something fun and new for your boyfriend. He’s been camping with his friends for the past week and you figure he would appreciate a home-cooked meal but, as usually happens with you in the kitchen, it turned out to be a disaster. 

You weren’t a cook by any means, but you knew how to get by with very basic skills. Boiling eggs, making stove-top ramen, and using the air fryer slash toaster oven you had begged for on your last birthday. 

All of the essentials of cooking. 

Tonight, the plan was originally to try a new pan-fried tofu recipe you saw on TikTok because it looked yummy. Instead of looking like the wonderfully golden-fried nuggets that they were supposed to resemble, all that sits in the pan in front of you now are uneven little pieces of charcoal. 

Great. Wonderful. Amazing.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, gnawing at a hangnail in distress, you didn’t even take notice of your boyfriend watching you from the entrance of the room, admiring how cute you looked in your little lounge clothes and apron. His entrance had been drowned out by the blaring of the smoke alarms.

“Don’t chew on your nails, honey, it’s not good for you.”

Joshua’s voice is much louder than the music you are playing from your phone on the counter and you nearly leap into the air when you hear him.

“Jesus, Shua! You scared the shit out of me!” Clutching your chest, you reach over and pause the sound from your phone.

He chuckles as he approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist and drawing you in for a hug. 

“Sorry, baby. I couldn’t help it.” He apologizes, but the smirk on his face shows he’s not really that sorry.

Joshua places a kiss and your waiting lips and your annoyance at being jump-scared fades. He smells like outside and a little bit like sweat, but underneath that, he still has his usual warm, homey scent that belongs only to him.

You let him take your breath away a little while longer, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer. He rests his head against yours when you pull away, his eyes tired but still sparkling down at you.

“How was your guys' camping trip?”

“Well, Mingyu found a spider in his tent and tore the whole thing down trying to get out, Soonyoung got sunburnt and fell into the lake, and Vernon forgot his allergy medicine and spent all week sneezing.”

“So the usual shenanigans?”

With a chuckle, Joshua nods, looking you up and down. “Basically, but I’m having a much better time now that I’m back here with you.” He leans down to kiss your forehead and you still let yourself get flustered by his sweet words, even after three years together. “And what’s going on in here?” He asks when he finally pulls away, eyes looking over your head at the charred remains of your lunch.

“Nothing, just me fucking up in the kitchen again.” Pouting, you cross your arms, wincing as Joshua steps up to the counter, inspecting what’s remaining of the tofu.

“Ah baby, they don’t look that bad…” He uses the chopsticks you left nearby to poke at a piece, raising it to his face and sniffing it.

“Shua, don’t-” Before you can stop him, he pops it into his mouth, chewing extra slowly. Your boyfriend, always so sweet to you and considerate of your feelings, looks like he’s in physical pain as he crunches the food, his nose wrinkling with each shift of his jaw. With a sigh you walk over and grab a sheet of paper towel, holding it up to his mouth. “Spit it out.”

“It doesn’t taste terrible…” he mumbles between chews, eyebrows furrowing as he does.

“Joshua, just spit it out!” At your insistence he does, expression apologetic.

Joshua watches you take the rest of the tofu and throw it away, shoulders slumping in defeat. He moves across the kitchen to stand behind you, wrapping you in his arms. 

“Don’t be upset, baby. It’s just some tofu.”

“But I fucked up lunch for you! I just wanted to make you a homemade meal since you’ve been eating over a campfire all week.” Joshua coos at you, pulling you tighter against him.

“Aw, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do all this in the first place. I think we both know that you would’ve been better off ordering something. There’s a reason I do most of the cooking, remember?” He laughs, his tone teasing.

Gasping, you spin in his hold, round eyes staring up at him as you pout for what feels like the twentieth time tonight. “Joshie, are you saying I can’t cook?!”

Faltering, Joshua’s eyes dart back and forth, strategically planning his next words. 

“I - I didn’t mean that you can’t cook, Y/n. I just -”

“I’m kidding, Shua. Of course, I know I can’t cook.” He’s clearly relieved, rolling his eyes at your giggles. 

Joshua leans down to pepper your face with kisses, holding you close, ignoring your feeble attempt to escape his grasp.

“I guess it’s a good thing then that I wasn’t even thinking about what I’d eat for lunch.” He places a final kiss on your cheek before pulling back to gaze at you.

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not. How could I even begin to think about lunch when all I could think about was tasting you again?” Joshua smirks at you, laughing when you scoff, your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“How did I know you wouldn’t even be a little bit subtle about wanting to have sex as soon as you got back?” 

“Because you know how addicted I am to you and how much I think about you.” You and Joshua are chest to chest, his hands tracing your body, fingertips pressing lightly into your curves.

Joshua’s voice has already lowered an octave, eyes flickering to your lips. You’re in no way surprised at how quickly Joshua turned the situation from silly and domestic to horny, but you’re not bothered in the slightest, more than happy to fuck your boyfriend again. A week has been far too long of a time to go without Joshua’s cock inside of you.

“Oh, so you were thinking of me on your trip? Thought you’d be too busy grilling meat and playing games with the boys.” 

“Baby, I’m always thinking about you, but especially when we’re not together.” Joshua ducks down, his nose brushing yours. 

“And what about me were you thinking about exactly?” You whisper, holding your breath as you await his next words.

“Well, I was thinking all about how sweet your cunt is and how I couldn’t wait to come home and devour you.”

Somehow you hadn’t registered that Joshua walked you back until the counter pressed into your lower back, trapping you between it and Joshua’s firm body.

“Hmm…then I guess lunch is served whenever you’re ready to eat,” Tilting your head up, your lips brush against Joshua’s. You shift your leg forward, knee brushing against the crotch of his sweatpants. A grunt slips out of him when you make contact with his half-hard cock and he surges forward, lips meeting yours in a feverish kiss. 

Joshua’s soft lips move against yours, his hands cupping your face to keep you close. Your hands trail up Joshua’s thick arms, tracing every ridge and dip of muscle. You’ve never been shy about how much you enjoy the new gym rat era he and a few of his friends have entered, making sure to be very obvious about the way you appreciate the new muscle he’s worked on gaining. He also doesn’t hide just how much he loves how the bulkier version of him turns you on, your boyfriend flexing for you so the muscles tense and loosen a few times under your fingertips.

Those same strong arms move to hold your waist, holding onto you as he swallows every pant and tiny whine that you let out. Joshua’s tongue wraps around yours and sucks, the kiss descending into lewd territory as Joshua grinds against your thigh still wedged between his legs.

The kiss feels like it goes on forever, which is in no way a complaint. Joshua’s hands wander all over your body, hands skating down to grab at your bare thighs and up to your ass, grabbing a handful to bring your hips impossibly closer. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you are, feeling your cotton panties clinging to you with each shuffle of the fabric. 

Joshua seems to read your mind as he finally moves a hand under your apron and into the waistband of your shorts and panties, his finger grazing your pussy making you jolt and buck into his hand.

“Would you look at that? You’re fucking drenched just from my kisses?” To illustrate his point, he pulls his fingers from your shorts, holding the wet digits up to showcase your juices to you both.

“Fuck, yeah, I need you so badly. I missed you so much.”

Joshua hums, popping his fingers into his mouth, eyes closing as he sucks them clean, savoring your flavor. The scene is enough to have you rubbing your thighs together, easily recalling just how good his tongue feels when it’s on you.

“Mmm, I missed you too, baby. And speaking of, I’m starving, so I think I’m ready to eat now.”

Joshua plants his hands on your hips and turns you around so his front is pressed against your back, walking with you out of the kitchen and around to the island, leaving kisses on the back of your neck as you go. When you reach the side of the island that you usually sit to eat at, Joshua’s nimble fingers untie your apron and lift it over your head, tossing it to the floor. Your shorts and panties come next as he slides the fabric down your legs, letting them pool at your feet.

Your boyfriend makes a sound of appreciation at the sight of your bare ass, big hands squeezing your cheeks before landing a firm smack on one of them. He helps you up onto the island, sitting you near the edge. Joshua pulls up a stool in front of you, spreading your legs wide, and letting out a low whistle.

“Look at all of this, so messy and sloppy all for me.” Joshua leans forward and places kisses on the inside of your thighs, inhaling your scent as he does, small moans rumbling in his throat.

A few whimpers slip out of you with each kiss over your hot skin, Joshua’s breath hitting your core only serving to make you wetter. Joshua loves eating you out, always talking about how good you taste and how much he loves the way you smell when you’re dripping for him.

He doesn’t leave you waiting for long this time (another thing Joshua loves is to tease you, but he seems to want you bad enough to spare you this time) as his tongue finally licks at your clit, the muscle flattening and adding much-needed pressure. 

A squeal of Joshua’s name tumbles out of you as he licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit - once, twice, three times, each go making you twitch underneath him. Your legs almost snap shut, but his firm grip keeps them open.

“Nuh-uh, keep your legs open, baby girl. I haven’t even started eating my meal.”

Your eyes stay trained on him as his hands grab the back of your thighs, pushing them toward you. You lie on your back in a more comfortable position, hands trembling as they hold onto the front of your shirt in anticipation.

“I’ll never get tired of eating you out, you know that? Never get tired of how fucking sweet you taste on my tongue.” To further his point, Joshua’s thick tongue slips into your pussy, lapping at your gummy walls, letting his nose brush against your clit.

“F-fuck!” Your hands dart down, fingers threading through his brunette strands, tugging at the root as he tongue fucks you on the kitchen island. 

Every grunt and groan that Joshua lets out is deep, deep enough that the vibrations can be felt throughout your whole body. You can’t help but thrash underneath him, loud obscene slurping sounds fill the room as he works. Joshua’s hands keep your thighs pinned down, preventing you from nearly falling off the counter while his face presses closer to your cunt. 

He eats you out like a man starved, a week without your pussy proving to be much too long away for him. The tip of his tongue is still buried inside of you, flicking at your walls at an almost impossible speed. 

Fire begins to quickly pool in the pit of your stomach, nails digging into Joshua’s scalp which only spurs him on more.

“Shua, b-baby so good!”

“Mmph?” You can’t quite hear what he says but it sounds like it has a questioning tilt at the end.

“‘M gonna cum!”

That must’ve been what he was getting at because he picks up the pace and moves his hold on you to the sides of your thighs and makes you wrap your legs around his head. Joshua uses this new angle to force you to rock your hips against his face, leaning into you so far that when you glance down, all you see is the top of his hair which you’re still holding onto for dear life. 

Rolling your hips you go with his movement, desperately riding his face. Joshua lets you, his tongue drilling into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

When you do cum, you stiffen almost painfully as heat spreads through your body, your thighs squeezing around him like a vice, holding him in place. Your boyfriend happily continues lapping at your sensitive core, murmurs of praise accompanying his coos of delight.

“So fucking tasty,” Joshua sighs as he pulls back, finally taking in air through his mouth. He glances at you, watching your chest heave as you catch your breath. Without a second thought, with your hole still clenching around nothing, Joshua shoves one of his thick fingers into you, drawing a gasp out of you. 

“Shua!?”

He has the audacity to blink up at you, faux innocence on his face along with your juices still shining on the bottom half of his face.

“What? I want seconds.” He shrugs, adding a second finger which has you cursing, senses on overdrive. Joshua’s plush lips are back on your clit, sucking the nub into his mouth, ignoring the way your nails dig into his hair again, tugging on his soft locks. 

“Ngh, Josh-Joshua! Please!”

“Please what, baby?” He mumbles, lips still suckling on your clit, your legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders. His fingers have no trouble finding that soft squishy spot inside of you that has your eyes crossing, the squelching sound of your wetness ringing in your ears.

“I’m - I just…” You trail off when your boyfriend curls his fingers, the overstimulation derailing your train of thought as you feel another orgasm hurdling toward you. Joshua smirks up at you, loving the way he can literally watch as your brain short-circuits for him - because of him.

His lips go back to your clit, suctioning around the bud. His fingers delve into you faster, your velvety walls hugging his digits, coating them in more of your sticky arousal. Sweat beads at your hairline and tears prick your eyes as Joshua throws you into another orgasm, electricity coursing through your veins and a choked, desperate cry of Joshua’s name tumbling from your lips. 

“Yeah, just like that, good girl.” He purrs against your overworked pussy, slowly dragging his fingers out of you. You whimper at the loss, only for the sound to be replaced by a loud wail, Joshua’s slick fingers rubbing rough, frantic circles against your clit. 

“Shit! Fuck, Shua I’m - fuuuck!”

“Come on baby girl, one more. Make a mess all over the fucking counter.” The pads of his fingers drag against your clit, body arching as you flail your hands, scrambling across the marble of the counter looking for something to ground you.

The sensation borders on painful, the sensitivity too much to handle as the pleasure builds and your muscles spasm. When you cum this time, it knocks the wind out of you, your eyes rolling back, your mouth open in a silent scream. Joshua leans down, eyes watching with glee as you squirt all over his hand and arm, getting your mixture of arousal on his shirt. He even cranes his head down, mouth open to drink up the remaining spurts of your release.

He rubs lazy circles over your puffy clit, letting you ride out the rest of your orgasm until your hoarse voice begs him to stop and he does, but not before wiping up as much of your wetness as he can on his fingers and popping them into his mouth once again.

“Fucking hell, Shua!” You huff out when you’ve finally sucked enough air back into your lungs.

“What? I told you I was starving.” His cocky grin earns him a half-hearted kick to his shoulder using the minuscule amount of energy you have remaining. He catches your leg, placing a soft kiss on your ankle before he straightens up and sits back to admire your ruined state.

“Are you going to help me up or leave me here for the rest of the day?” 

“I should eat all of my meals in the kitchen, but I suppose I can help you down.” Joshua laughs at your half-hearted threat to kick him again and offers his hands to you. He helps you sit upright and slowly slides you off of the island. 

When you’re back on shaky feet, you move to pick your bottoms up, but he stops you by pulling you against him.

“Wh-”

“Oh, you don’t need those. I’m gonna order some lunch for us, but I need dessert before it gets here.” He presses his hips forward, his rock-hard dick pressing against your ass. Joshua once again envelops you in his warm embrace, lips skirting against the shell of your ear. “That okay with you, baby?”

Between the orgasms he pushed out of you only minutes ago and the dip in his voice, wetness collects between your legs again, pussy clenching at the thought of Joshua fucking you for real.

“That’s more than okay with me,” you rasp, clearing your throat. “I’m feeling pretty empty myself and am dying to be stuffed.”

[sgiandubh]

This was a work Outlander event and posts. No way to determine how they feel about each other from today's Social media promotion. 12 minutes apart just shows it was a coordinated attack for audience involvement. When you have something about their connection unrelated to Starz, Outlander, then it will be interesting. But so far after 10 years, everything between these 2 still is work related. Nothing new. Even Sam coordinated his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL 'birthday'. It's all promotion. Do you have anything not related to Outlander showing a relationship?

Dear Work Event Anon,

I could really set my watch by you guys popping in here each and every time a breath of fresh air floats over this fandom. Since you seem to have a problem with people being happy about something, I figured out you'd actually be better hearing what I have to tell you:

I am not sure I am interested in what you have to say, Anon. You certainly chose to step in here completely uninvited, unwanted and at your own risk. At this point in time, I am actively hesitating about you being bored, daft, cruel or simply desperate. A bit of each, to be honest and the mix might vary.

Two social media posts might not be able to determine how These Two feel about each other, Anon. But, I wasn't exactly discussing that. I was discussing their entourage reactions, in my first post, something you probably understood very well, since I do not think you are visually impaired. I was also pointing out the fact S shared C's post in record time, something that did not happen in a good while. That is all.

Sam coordinating 'his whisky event over the weekend to coincide with OL's anniversary' (not birthday, punk - that is for people only!)? You must be kidding, pumpkin. Hasn't your Marketing Expert Supremo explained to you yet that The Kimpton Hotel & Restaurant Group, LLC is, in fact an international boutique hotel brand, based in San Francisco and owned by the InterContinental Hotels Group? Hasn't she explained to you that, as all the other international hotel brands, their marketing strategy is also focused on event management and planning, with a separate dedicated website to boot?

Hasn't she told you there is actually a dedicated event management and planning webpage on Kimpton Charlotte Square's website?

It features everything you'd need to properly organize any type of event. As is the case for a bajillion other luxury hotels all around the world:

Same wallpaper, same picture frames. Matchy-matchy, as Ye Olde Troll would say. Heh. And this is how we know the pop-up shop was organized in the hotel (connecting) private Dining and Drawing Rooms:

You also seem to not be aware that such events are never planned last minute. He did not 'coordinate' anything, punk. The opportunity was there and he took it. As simple as that.

If you think you do God's work by trying your very own version of the Chinese water torture, i.e. asking the same damn questions over and over again, well...You have no idea how wrong and clueless you are, Anon. What makes you think people will actually engage with a broken record?

And last but not least, I don't give a damn if you find my page uninteresting. Now be a doll, Anon - scroll on and fuck off.

[factual-fantasy]

Happy 1st Birthday Jangles!!

This post was originally going to be a humongous comic filled with lore, goofs, and even a bit of angst? 👀 And then have a funny/wholesome ending. Just like Bibi’s birthday comic.

But.. I ran into a problem. I didn’t know what to get for Jangles.

For Bibi’s present it was obvious what to get him. He wanted a real friend. Bringing Jangles to life was perfect and really tied the whole comic together.

But Jangles? What does he want? 

I wracked my brain for days. And when I finally thought of an idea? I only had 8 days left to make it happen. Sketch the comic out on paper, sketch it again in digital, line it, color it, backgrounds, dialogue.. I also had to make the actual present so that its picture could be used in the comic. All while having a very busy schedule for this week AND while working on Moon Malfunction..

I thought I could pull it off. So I got to sketching right away.

The comic would start with me in a big black blob. Locking myself away to try and get this project done as fast as possible. You know, like a total drama queen XD

Bibi and Jangles break in, and Bibi tries to talk to me but I ignore him. Meanwhile Jangles goes over to this goopy present by the wall. The present has a tag with Jangles name on it. As he goes to open it I do a spoopy jump scare and tell him not to.  Jangles and I then proceed to go back and fourth. “Why not?” Because its not good enough yet. “I’m sure its fine, what is it? What’s it for?” I cant tell you what its for because its not that day yet. “What is that day? And why cant we know about it?” “BECAUSE, its a S E C R E T-”

Bibi then says I need a break. I tell him I cant because I’m running out of time. I tell him that it needs to be posted on a specific day and that it has to be perfect but I don’t know what to do..

Jangles then deadpans “Its my birthday isn’t it?”

“...Yes. It is.”

“Okay? So what? I get wanting to post it on the day. But why all this pressure for the perfect gift?”

I explain that Bibi got a big special comic for his birthday. It had all the bells and whistles and it had the perfect gift. Jangles. And I wanted to do the same for him. I explained that the problem though was I haven’t really written enough of Jangles character to know what he would want.. I then wrote for Jangles response to be,

“Well what I dont want is you stressing yourself out over me.”

..I stopped sketching the comic at that point. I realized that I was stressing myself out way too much over this comic. It was 1 in the morning at that point. I was already pushing myself so hard to get this done on time and make it perfect that all the fun was just zapped right out of it. 

But I still worried a bit. I care about Jangles as my character and I wanted to do something cool for him. I wanted to post this at midnight on the dot, but that would require me to stay up until then when I’m still wiped out from the day before.. I also still wanted to get him a cool present.. But again I figured Jangles wouldn’t want me to stress over this “big comic” and “special gift” stuff.  So I just settled for a break. 

This entire post was prepared early, and posted when ever I was awake enough to post it. All the days beforehand I spent just taking my time with Moon Malfunction and focusing on my schedule. And on the day I’m posting it, I plan to draw nothing. Just relax and take a break from everything. I’ll get back around to all my projects tomorrow.

I think a post with minimal effort and day of no Tumblr, is probably exactly what Jangles would have wanted. So Happy Birthday Jangles! And thanks for the day off! XD

[moonsbypadfoot]

can you make another theo nott headcanons?? <3

I do not have anything specific in mind but make it angsty?? I guess

also I made the text small so it'll fit your blog's aesthetic <3 ❤️‍🩹

obviously I can make another theo headcanon 🪼

Theodore headcanons | pt. 2 🩶

(I think I'm dyslexic, so please excuse any typos)

+ kind of an x y/n?? , second pov, longer than the last one

for the little woman fans!

🩶

theo draws like a pro but then complain of how 'cattivo' (which you haven't figured out what it meant yet) his drawing is, even though it is beautiful?? Like what??

theo tries to speak as if he's in an Shakespeare book and his friends (Draco, and mattheo) would laugh at him at how ridiculous it sounds because they don't understand him plus, his accent makes it more confusing

after his friends laughed at him, he would get all grumpy and sad. that's where you hopped in.

"theo, what's wrong? " You scrunched your face. "Theo? " you said, once more, but the boy didn't even move a muscle.

I forgot to tell you, when he's grumpy, he gives everyone the silent treatment.

but, you're an exception.

"theodore, what happened? " You sighed, looking down at Theo, who's head was on the table.

"nothing is wrong" Theo scoffed.

also, he doesn't want to bother you, that's why he tends to lie sometimes.

"something is wrong, look at you! " You said, softly touching his hair, trying to make him look at you.

"fine" he pauses "something is bothering me" he rolls his eyes.

"well what is it? " you gave a small smile, after finally convincing him to tell you.

"can you teach me english? "

at that second you swear that you could laugh "Theo? What? You're speaking English right now! " You chuckled

bad mistake ; he got more grumppier.

he gave you a nasty 'mhm' and lays his head back on the table.

"hey I was just joking, but, nonetheless, you're already good at English"

"see? you know when to put 'nonrtheless', I don't even know what that means! "

The next day, you took him book shopping (for everyone's sake, everyone knows a grumpy Theo isn't a good Theo), and you paid for him

Instantly his mood was better, and he took you to drink at the three broomsticks.

theo keeps smiling and looking at the totebag you crocheted for his 14th birthday. inside was the books you got him.

(he was most excited for little women)

theo paid for the butterbeers you both drank.

after that, it became your weekly thing to go to the three broomsticks every Sunday.

theo also starts to call you 'amore mio', but whenever another boy calls you 'love' he immediately assumes things.

at valentines day, he was weirdly quiet, until he suddenly came to you

"y/n" Theo said, not looking directly at your eyes. "yes, Theo? "

"that's for you" theo sighs.

you gave him a big smile, and hugged him, though, he didn't look very happy.

It wasn't a secret that Theo has a big crush for you, well, lorenzo kinda spoiled that for you,

(talking with enzo, 4 months before valentines)

"I may know a guy who likes you" Lorenzo said, all giggly. You gasped. "Tell me who it is! "

"No I can't! " Lorenzo laughs.

"I swear I'll kill-" He cuts you off, "okay, okay fine! But you cannot tell him nor anyone that I've told you this"

he paused for a second. "it's Theo!! "

It also wasn't a secret that you like him, Lorenzo also spoiled that for him

(2 days before valentines)

"Theo, I need you to do a favor for me"

"What? " Theo groans, dog-earring his little women book.

"You need to make a move on your girl" Lorenzo said, making Theo scoff the second he hears that. "hey, she likes you! "

"Ridiculous" Theo said, opening his book again.

"I will, and you must hear me. It's no use, Jo, we've got to have it out, and the sooner the better for both of us," he answered, getting flushed and excited all at once. "Say what you like then. I'll listen," said Jo, with a desperate sort of patience. theodore was a young lover, but he was in earnest, and meant to 'have it out', if he died in the attempt, so he plunged into the subject with characteristic impetuousity, saying in a voice that would get choky now and then, in spite of manful efforts to keep it steady... "I've loved you ever since I've known you, Jo, couldn't help it, you've been so good to me. I've tried to show it, but you wouldn't let me. Now I'm going to make you hear, and give me an answer, for I can't go on so any longer."

After he read that, he realized that if he waits anymore longer you and him wouldn't work out just like theodore Laurence and josephine march.

"Maybe you're right, Enzo, maybe I need to make a move" He said, which made enzo confused but, he was happy either way.

well long story short, that was the start of your lovely relationship.

the whole reason you two got together was because of a book and you think it's absolutely beautiful and poetic 🩷🪼

[hard-core-super-star]

Hi rubix, love your writing btw!! so would I be able to request a wandanat x reader fic where it’s readers birthday and they don’t usually have time or people to celebrate with so Wanda and Nat decide to change that for this year and whisk her away to somewhere like Paris to celebrate and have a great time with some smut at the end 🫣

It’s my birthday in a few days and I’m in dire need of this 🤧

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: your girlfriends set out to make your birthday as memorable as possible.

warnings: smut -> minors, you know the drill, bye [threesome; smut so soft it borders on spicy fluff; like...one inch of plot; grinding; fingering [R receiving]; the daddy and mommy kink is implied but not explicit lmao; wanda's low-key a brat because...yeah :) ; clothed sex AGAIN because i think it's neat, okay?; cheesy ending...again]

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi, lovely anon, thank you for the kind words! i hope i'm not too late with this but either way, i hope you had a fantastic birthday! also, you get the honor of having requested my first ever wandanat fic so that's cool. this was my first time properly sitting down and writing for them so let me know what you think! i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

“Guess what.”

You look up from the book in your hands to find two pairs of expectant eyes on you. You’ve seen your girlfriends wear many faces since you met them and yet it never fails to surprise you when you catch a glimpse of the genuine joy they wear around you.

The one that makes your heart skip several beats and earns them both teasing comments from the rest of the team.

“What?” You ask as your eyes flicker back and forth between them and the proud grins on their faces.

Wanda playfully rolls her eyes at you. “That’s not how the game works, detka.”

“Come on, go easy on her,” Natasha comes to your aid for once, a subtle hint that even she must be excited about whatever news they’re hiding.

“Yeah, what Nat said.”

You and the redhead share a look that draws a soft chuckle out of your girlfriend. “Remind me how I’m the one who spoils y/n again?”

“Can you stop stalling and tell me what you’re hiding already?” 

Your question earns both a glare and a laugh before you’re finally given the answer you’ve been searching for. Your girlfriends may love you more than anything else in the world but that will never stop them from teasing you like their life depends on it.

“So impatient…yes, fine, we convinced Tony to let us borrow one of his stupidly fast jets for tomorrow.”

Two pairs of green eyes watch your reaction expectantly only to find your face twisting into confusion. “Why?”

There’s a beat of silence where they both stare at each other, silently trying to figure out how to proceed. Clearly, they weren’t expecting you to question the exciting news they had brought to you.

It happens in a flash.

One second you’re sitting alone in bed and the next, your girlfriends are on either side of you, contradicting touches landing on your arms. It’s strange how easy it is to tell them apart. How cautious Natasha’s fingers still are when they trace random patterns onto your skin compared to Wanda’s gentle pressure as trails down to grab onto your hand, unmistakable tendrils of red magic moving to put your forgotten book back onto the shelf.

Natatsha’s the first to break the silence, all her earlier playfulness gone and replaced by subtle concern. “y/n, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?” You shrug. “It’s just another day.”

Wanda tightens her grip on your hand and successfully steals back your attention. “Nonsense, malyshka. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Guys, it’s not a big deal,” you assure them. “I really don’t need anything. Plus, I have too many things to do.”

“Not anymore.” A sweet kiss is placed on your lips before you can voice your complaints. “We’re stealing you away tomorrow.”   

“But what about-”

“Already talked to Steve.”

“And-”

“Kate will understand.”

“How-”

“Stop looking for excuses, detka.” Natasha rolls her eyes as she pulls you closer to her. “You’re coming with us.”

You want to argue, you truly do, but then Wanda’s gluing herself to your side, eager hands slipping under your shirt, and you quickly come to the conclusion that spending all day with them is the best way to spend any day. 

Including a birthday.

Especially since you’re more than used to treating it like every other day of the year. It’s not that you don’t like celebrating it, you’re just always too busy to make real plans and no one’s ever thought to surprise you before.

But of course, your girlfriends aren’t like anyone else.

Which is how they manage to get you onto one of Tony’s jets, reminding you of the existence of time zones and how you have to leave right now if you want to make it to your surprise destination on time. You don’t really mind either way but you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen them this excited about something in a while so you go along with them anyway.

The jet ride seems never-ending despite how fast the aircraft is supposed to be. It doesn’t help that you’ve been having trouble sleeping peacefully the past few nights and Wanda’s running a hand through your hair in the way that makes you melt.

“You’re allowed to go to sleep, you know?” Natasha whispers with a teasing smirk. “We still have a long while to go.”

“Whose idea was this again?” You grumble as you drop your head down onto the redhead’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be a brat, love. You’ll thank us when we get there.”

You bite back the rest of your complaints and sink into the sweet arms of a dreamless sleep. You miss the way your girlfriends watch over you the entire time as well as the long list of things they each want to see and the various ridiculous ways in which they propose to get everything done.

They ultimately agree to let you choose once you’re awake again…something that backfires when the jet finally lands and you’re still far off in dreamland. They go back and forth on whether they should wake you or not, especially since it’s morning where you've landed and the jetlag will definitely destroy you.

You look far too cute to rouse though so Natasha gathers you up into her arms with ease and carries you in her strong embrace the rest of the way.

When you finally do wake up, a few hours have passed and you're safe inside the lavish hotel room Wanda reserved using one of Tony’s endless credit cards. The change in scenery startles your drowsy mind before you feel familiar arms pulling you close.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Wanda says softly as she easily pulls you onto her lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, tucking your head into the crook of her neck.

“Hi, darling. How's the birthday girl feeling? Still sleepy?”

“A little.” You let out a soft sigh as your girlfriend’s hands travel inside your loose shirt, slender fingers tracing random shapes onto your warm skin. “I’m sorry I ruined the trip.”

She scoffs and the sound instantly reminds you of Natasha which pulls a small smile onto your face. “You didn't ruin anything, detka. It's your birthday.”

You don't say anything in response and your girlfriend is quick to pull your thoughts away from their current trajectory. She keeps exploring your waist with one hand while the other one comes up to playfully tug on your hair.

“How about you stop hiding and look at your surprise, hm?”

It’s unclear whether it’s her words or her grip on your hair that makes you obey but neither of you mind. You reluctantly lift your face from its hiding place and let the green-eyed woman guide your gaze toward the large window of the room.

You gasp the second you realize where you are. “You guys brought me to Paris!”

Your excitement manages to break through your exhaustion which earns you a laugh from your loving witch. “Only the best for our girl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little.”

You turn your head at the sound of Natasha’s voice, eager hands reaching out for her instantly. Your silent request is instantly fulfilled and the redhead easily slips into bed next to Wanda.

“I can't believe you would do this for me.”

“Believe it, malyshka.” She leans forward and easily captures your lips with her own.

Wanda huffs as she’s left out of the moment, her hands wandering under your shirt once again. You're too lost in the kiss to notice where her fingers are going until they brush against your nipples.

The sensation makes you jump which makes you grind against the witch’s thigh in a way that leaves you gasping for air. 

“That’s cheating,” Natasha warns after she pulls away from you. 

“What happened to spoiling the birthday girl?”

This time, you're the one who gets left out of the moment as they fight for the control that always rests in the Russian’s hands. They get caught up in their knowing stares and bruising kisses, leaving you aching and panting for their attention.

It’s a game they love playing with you but you’re far too desperate already to last much longer without their hands on you. 

Thankfully, Wanda decides to take pity on you. She gives your hardened nipples a soft tug, smirking against Natasha’s lips when she feels your hips buck once more. “I think someone’s feeling a little needy.”

The redhead turns to look at you, a perfectly raised eyebrow painting her face with the stern humor you've come to know so well. “Is that right, kotenok? Are you feeling needy?” 

You nod, all the heat in your body rushing down from your face to between your thighs. “Please don’t tease.”

“Aw, look at that, Nat. You're not going to deny her when she looks like that, are you?” You're not sure if Wanda’s actually being genuine or not but you don't really care as long as she’ll help you get what you want.

“Who’s the brat now?” She chuckles before reaching out for you, pulling you onto her lap, and leaving behind a pouty Wanda. “Come here, let me give you what you want.”

The Russian is true to her words and wastes no time in sliding a hand past the waistband of both your pants and your underwear. Your complaints about the lack of sink-on-skin contact between you are forgotten as Wanda situates herself behind you, plump lips trailing feather-light kisses up your neck. 

A gasp tumbles out of your lips once Natasha’s fingers finally find your drenched cunt. She moves slowly, almost too slowly, but you already know she’ll be quick to remind you to be patient if you dare whine.  

“You don’t have to be so cautious, detka,” Wanda whispers against your flushed skin. “It’s your birthday, remember?”

“Don’t listen to her, it’s always so much better for you when you’re a good girl.” She easily slips two fingers into your waiting hole, barely holding back a laugh as your pussy swallows her digits.   

Your hands grip her shoulders for stability while they both work in tandem to make you lose the last bits of control you still have over yourself. 

The witch’s hands find their way under your shirt yet again except this time she’s gripping your hips and helping you move in time with the redhead’s movements. It’s the slowest, most agonizing, of dances and yet the pleasure has you arching your back in seconds.

“Look at you,” Natasha coos, taking a mental picture of how delicious you look writhing in Wanda’s arms. “You’re so pretty when you’re like this, malyshka.”

Your walls clench the second you hear the affectionate petname and the Russian can’t resist the urge to lean forward and attach herself to your neck. Her thrusts are still slow and steady but then finally, her thumb begins to circle your puffy clit.

Your head falls back against Wanda’s shoulder and she laughs as you practically go limp from the pleasure. “You’re gonna break her, ‘Tasha.”

“She likes it.” She punctuates her point by curling her fingers just right and pulling out a string of moans from deep within you. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Mhmm, please don’t stop.”

They share a look you don’t see but you do feel the evidence of yet another standoff. It’s like Wanda just can’t stop herself from pressing all of Natasha’s buttons when they’re like this. Which means it’s your job as their devoted girlfriend to let them turn your pleasure into a competition.

And they do just that.

Wanda’s grip on your hips tightens until her nails are digging into your skin and she’s practically forcing you to ride Natasha’s fingers. Natasha, for her part, increases the speed of her thrusts, launching you closer and closer toward your orgasm. She’s still drawing it out of you, though,  still balancing speed with soft kisses and murmured praises.

It’s a strange combination but it works perfectly. Just like your relationship with them. It’s something that transcends words, something that can’t be explained, merely felt…and it’s also exactly what brings you to the edge.

“Nat…please…”

“Please, what, detka?” Wanda responds for your girlfriend.

“Can I cum? Please?”

You half-expect them to make you beg for a little longer but it seems your special day has left them more merciful than usual. Natasha’s lips make their way up your neck and onto your jawline until she reaches your lips and gives you the permission you’re searching for.

“Go ahead, cum for us.”

You’ve heard the words thousands of times and yet they make you fall apart like nothing else. The slow build-up finally reaches its peak with one more swirl of Natasha’s thumb against your clit and you literally fall face-first into your orgasm.

“Such a good girl, love. Always so good for us.”

Your response comes in the shape of a muffled whine as you bury your face into the redhead’s neck. 

The sound makes both of your girlfriends smile and Wanda moves to sit on Natasha’s other side while they wait for you to recover. “I guess we’re not leaving the hotel any time soon.”

“Are you complaining, Maximoff?”

“Shut up.”

Their bickering makes you giggle. “Wanda’s being a brat again, Nat.”

“I know.” The green-eyed woman turns her head to press a barrage of kisses against the side of your face. “I think that means she can’t join us in the shower.”

The comment draws another complaint out of the young witch and you happily rest in your girlfriend’s arms while they start up another playful argument you’ll eventually have to get in the middle of.

You don't mind though, there's no other way you'd rather spend your birthday than with them.

[starreyblueberry]

Hiii star! I love ur Headcanons/ideas for Timmy! He’s so adorable and my whole childhood <3

I need more of em :>

WAIT HOLY SHIT UR THE ONE OMORI FAIRLY ODD PARENTS ARTIST?? BROO I LOVE UR AU SO MUCH!! I have a BUNCH of silly head canons and ideas in my heard for Timmy :D

- Timmy is actually a smart kid, he’s able to figure out stuff rather quickly and is very quick on his feet, he just deals with mildly severe ADHD ^_^ (he just like me FR)

- Timmy couldn’t decide on a major and kept switching between them during his first 2 years of college

- Timmy’s room becomes more and more decorated with memorials from his adventures that could pass as stuff he got from the store

- Timmy’s closest also had to be expanded with how much stuff Timmy had from his adventures

- Timmys Time skooter used to be one of the only ways to time travel outside of Father Time (basically it was a secret item Timmy had that he only used for emergency’s)

- Timmy LOVES skateboarding and Rollerskating when he’s a teenager, he feels like he’s flying with his fairies.

- Timmy didn’t get his license until he was 18, as he crashed the car a few times at first.

- His most common wish is usually summoning toys or gadgets for Peri/poof to play with

- Timmy always lists Peri as his little brother in assignments that tell you to make a family tree

- Timmy was the only godkid allowed to dimension-hop

- Jimmy neutron and Timmy turner stay in touch as the years go by, staying close as they valued each others friendship greatly. (until one day Timmy stops messaging Jimmy when he turns 18? What’s that all about.)

- Timmy’s considered a peace maker across the galaxy, and also has a bounty on his head for millions of dollars in whatever space currency there is

- He starts his own video game club, trixie uses her disguise to play sometimes and Timmy doesn’t mind her

- Timmy learns how to deal with fairy hair so that he can help Peri and Wanda with different hairstyles (and sometimes Cosmo but he usually just keeps it down)

- As Timmy gets older he and Jorgen actually meet outside of when he’s in trouble and offer each other advise sometimes or just hang out. And also to tell the other when the universe is ending but who gaf

- Timmy starts becoming really fond of sitcoms since most of them feature found family

- Timmy starts learning how to draw and has a dedicated sketchbook just for his adventures with his fairy fam, so that he had some way to see everything it after his memories were erased

- Timmy gave his Pink hat to peri on his 18th birthday, it’s collecting dust on Peris Bookshelf right now

- Timmy tried to play match maker with his friends as he got older which resulted in a stern talking to from Cupid

- Timmy is a horrible cook until he turns 18, and actually tries for once cause he dosent have much to do anymore

- Timmy is a bit obnoxious with his music taste sometimes (Name 5 My chemical romance songs rn 🙄) (he means well and gets over it)

- Timmy listens to a lot of Midwest emo, and hyperpop. No one likes listening to his playlists cause of the drastic whiplast the change in songs is sometimes

- Timmy wishes less and less as he gets older but he always needs Cosmo and Wanda, just for their bond. He always goes to them for advice

- Timmy sucks ass at sports, he still tries though but sometimes he will fake being sick so he can sit out of gym

- the day before Timmy turned 18 was the time he used the most wishes (aka trying to find loopholes)

- Timmy started to have an appreciation for sea creatures that never faded away as he grew up

- I MISS TIMMY TURNERRRRR 😭😭😭😭

[qalijahbydior]

Mirrors — Tom Blyth x Actress!reader

a/n: happy birthday to the internet's boyfriend!! LOL HE'S 29 already I FEEL SO YOUNG 😔🤌 anyway i decided to write since i had to post something while my story is still being written. newayz enjoy reading!

warnings : none just pure fluff

Tom has been in love with you the moment he heard you speak, it might be not the softest tone or soothing but there's something that draws him into you. He finds you pretty, hilarious, oddly funny and you give off that 'sunshine energy' He feels giddy when talking to you and do you feel the same thing? You do. You just love it when he laughs to your stories and hype your jokes especially when he listens to you. You two have always been teasing each other and that's what makes your friendship go on.

"Tom, come here! Look what I've found!" You say as you carry the ginger kitten and pat it. He came running to you and was already planning to touch the cat but you pulled it away. "Let me guess, you want to adopt it right?" he said, crossing his arms and tilted his head to the side. "Of course I do but the owner of my apartment specifically said no pets." You frowned at the thought of it. You really wanted to adopt the cat even if you just met him. Tom looked at you, scrutinizing your reaction. He then took the cat and rubbed its throat.

"You adopt it but it goes home to me, how does that sound?" He looked at you and the cat lovingly, his words made your face lit up and squeal at excitement. Him volunteering for the cat to live in his house meant having you over so he thought it was a good idea. "What, really? Are you serious?" you say as your eyes fluttered. You didn't think that he'd also like to take care of the cat that you were holding. "Yeah besides I feel like my house can use a pet since I don't have one." He shrugged, still petting the cat. You clung to his arms and hugged it "Yay! I now have a cat!" you squealed again then he looked at you, smiling.

she's so cute i can adopt a lot of cats if her reaction will be like this everytime he thought to himself

"But, I will name him. That's the condition, alright?" his tone was teasing because he knows that you already have a name for the cat. And you gladly let him name the cat, you nodded. "Alright, you name him." and just by a snap of a finger he already has a name for the cat. "His name is Miku, cute right?" he turned to you then smiled.

if loving this cat means getting even closer to you then i will love him and cherish him because he'll always remind me of you he thought as he was looking at your face, like it was illuminating and he loved it.

As for you, you thought that he's so kind to even offer the cat that you were adopting a roof to live in. Tom has always been nice to you and everything you love, you do, and you liked he liked it all too. As if he's now mirroring you. Everything he does is now a reflection of you.

"Nice choice, it is cute." you thought the name was cute but it had a hidden meaning and he knows. Miku is a japanese name and it means 'beautiful sky' it's name matches the way he looks at you. You're the sunshine and now the cat is the beautiful sky.

"I'll put the cat on my dressing room." you gently tried to get the cat from him but he refuses. "Nuuh, I'll hold him for a while. I'm the Dad after all." he said, a smirk creeping on his face. You furrowed your eyebrows and scrunched your nose as a reaction. "Let me hold him, you get to take him home later." you still tried to get Miku for him but he doesn't budge.

"No, I'll hold him first so he can get used to me." he's still pulling the cat away from you and tou seem to figure out a good way to deal with this and it's by distracting him. "Wait, let's buy something for him real quick. There's a pet shop five blocks away from here. We'll be quick we just need to buy uhhh a collar, wet food for kittens and his very own plate." You smiled as you pat Miku.

You and Tom, both carrying the kitten in your arms, went to the pet shop five blocks from your set. You had come to buy everything the kitten needed, and despite some hesitation by the shopkeeper - who warned you this was a lot of responsibility - you were confident that you could do it. The kitten meowed softly as it was carried away from the safety of his littermates and the familiar surroundings of the pet shop, clearly a bit anxious and unsure of what was to come next.

You and Tom carry the kitten back to the set. The kitten is a bit fussy and wants to explore everything, but eventually settles down in Tom's arms. As the kitten falls asleep, you can't help but marvel at just how cute and adorable it is. You have to admit that the pet shop was right, cats are a lot of work. But it's so worth it when the kitten is snuggled up against your chest, purring softly. It makes all the work feel worth it. You took your phone then took a picture of you, Tom and Miku.

you two will make such good cat parents and you know it.

You're now sitting at Tom's couch, inside his house as you insisted that you come and feed Miku. This day went on so fast a while ago you're contemplating whether to get Miku or just leave him there but you now have him! Tom is also loving Miku as the cat always clings onto him and purrs on his touch. You asked him if you can stay at his house for a while before you go home and he agreed.

"You know what it's starting to look like you're Miku's owner and not me but either way, it seems like he really likes you." you crossed your legs and picked Miku up to put him on your lap and pet him. "We're his owner, babe. Chill. Besides I used to have a cat that's why he seemed to like me." his words warmed your heart and did he just call you babe...? The thought of the two of you owning a cat is so cute and it just fuels your feelings towards him even more.

"Thank you, really, Tom. I appreciate this so much. I love that you also love Miku." you smiled at him as he was setting up Miku's bed. "Anything for you, pretty girl." He looks at you with love in his eyes, and the butterflies on your stomach felt like they're going to explode. You felt blood rushing through your face, feeling flustered. You just bit your lower lip, stopping yourself from smiling and continued to pet Miku.

Tom has always been like this, he compliments you at the most unexpected moments and it just gets you all red and flustered. You love his compliments and he loves giving it to you. He likes seeing you smile, laugh and jolly because seeing you happy makes him happy too. Your enthusiasm is like a virus once he gets to you. And you also love making him happy, that man's happiness is just simple. You don't know how you make him happy but you just do anything anyway.

Your friendship with him has been a rollercoaster ride, it gets crazy the more that it lasts. You wanted to tell him how you feel towards him but It also scared you, the thought of losing your friendship just because of your feelings towards him scared you.

You always fought the urge to tell him how you felt, so instead of telling him you just express it. Physical touch, words of affirmation and acts of service has always been your love language. You liked being near him, you liked clinging onto him like he's going to disappear anytime.

He now sat down beside you and just looked at you as you were playing with Miku. "Y/N" he called and you turned to him, smiling. "Yeah?" his expression softened as he spoke once again. He looked like he was in deep thought before he spoke. "How come you're not dating anyone? I've never seen you go around and date someone?" he asked, he always thought of that but if ever that you really did it would hurt. Just the thought of you dating another guy that isn't him is already piercing his heart.

"I'm not interested. That's it, I'm not looking for anything because I've already got what I need. I can never ask for more." and that's how you really felt through out your friendship with him. You know that he probably doesn't think of your friendship like you two were tied to each other but it always felt that way.

"But do you like someone right now or I don't know, used to like someone?" he knows that this question might be a risk but he still asked it, desperate for an answer. Like his whole feelings depended on it. You didn't know how to answer the question because you were afraid that he might think that he's the one you're talking about. But you're going to make the most out of it

"Well, there's this friend of mine. He really makes me happy. What's for sure is I like him but I can never tell him what I feel. What if my growing feelings ruin our friendship? I enjoy what we have. I feel like I'm already tied to him but not in a bad way, you get me? This friend has been there for me since we met, and lately I've been feeling that I'm seeing myself through him. Not in a selfish way." you explained and that got him thinking of the things that he's done to you or with you these days, trying to connect the dots and see if it would make sense.

And now, it did make sense. He just now realized that he's mirroring you, too. You two are the reflections of each other

"Y/N, it's me isn't it?" he asked, wanting to confirm his thoughts. You looked down and nodded. He was so happy that It was him and you felt the same. He put Miku aside and held both of your hands, he made you face him. His ocean blue eyes looking at you.

"You know why I stuck with you the moment we met? There's like an invisible force pulling me towards you. Your smile, your laugh, your funny antics had got me. It's just so addicting that I found myself always crawling towards you. You're like a ray of sunshine that wherever you go you lighten up everything." he removed his other hand from your grip and caressed the side of your face, and you finding comfort in it. His words made your heart melt even more. You loved him the same as he's the reason why you laugh and smile.

"I never knew that you saw me like that. I now know why you always tease me and make me laugh. To be honest I feel the same, there's a missing part of me whenever you're away from me even just feets away. There's something lacking when you're not there making me laugh and it has been a routine ever since. Your presence and existence completes me." you gave him a sweet smile then looked down at your hands intertwined.

The butterflies on your stomach felt crazy. His hands holding you, his ocean blue eyes fixated on you and love just filling the room felt right and perfect. He looks at you the way he always looks at you all the time, eyes full of admiration and love. You've always tried to shake off that thought when he looks at you thinking that you're just mistaken or seeing things but now it's all clear. He loves you, likes you, adores you like you're the only thing that's meant to be adored.

And you also tried to hide that look in your eyes but now that got you thinking, did he always see right through me?

The moment feels euphoric for Tom, and he can't contain his excitement as he shares his true feelings with you. He has waited for this moment for so long, and finally, it's here. Tom confesses his love for you, and you can sense the genuine and pure emotion behind his words. Seeing your reaction, he feels beyond happy and satisfied that you now know how he feels. He feels like he has accomplished something special, and the sight of your face only makes the whole experience even sweeter.

The vacancy that sat in my heart, is a space that now you hold.

[writefightandflightclub]

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

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

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

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

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

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

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

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

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

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

Many years earlier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?” 

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

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

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

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

“I really need to meet that guy.” 

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.” 

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

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

“You just don’t remember him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soldiers; not friends. 

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

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

Friends; not lovers. 

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

…realises he is having fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll follow you anywhere. 

***

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

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

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

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yay!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.” 

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

“Thank you, Sir.”

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

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yessir.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye. Here’s to that.” 

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

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

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

“Can I give you some advice?” 

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

“Marry her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colin has this all wrong. 

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

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

Isn’t that the same thing?

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

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

You. 

You. 

You.

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

There’s nothing here. 

Nothing with you. 

Nothing he could have with you. No way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You a’ways do, asshat.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Even? 

It could never get close to even. 

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

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

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

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

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

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

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

It scares him.

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

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

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

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

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

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

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.” 

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

***

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

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

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

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.” 

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

“I stink.” 

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

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

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

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

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

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

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”  

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

You scoff. “What? For real?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?” 

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

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

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

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

“But I can’t-“

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

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

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

“But won’t your mom-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do.“

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

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

“Yeah. Exhausted.” 

“Let’s lie down then, alright?” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?” 

“Do I what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you ask, anyway?” 

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

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

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s only what you’re due.” 

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?” 

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

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

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

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

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…” 

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

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

“No. No, please.” 

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

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky. 

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

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

“And I love her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you. 

The day he realised he was in love with you. 

And the day he started running from that.

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

The fourth will be tomorrow. 

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

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

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

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: jongseong + domestic life]

pairing: park jongseong x gn!reader [ig implied fem!reader, but it isn't rly specified where jinsol comes from,,,, if u,,, catch my drift ig LMAOO] genre/warnings: domestic fluff bc i need to marry park jongseong asap >:( !!! / food cw !, corny flirting bc i love playful banter, misleading title bc i posted this in the evening lolol, also i finished this at 3am again so the end is prob a bit ramble-y (?) wc: ~0.9k (this is pretty short considering i could talk abt jay 4ever) a/n: inspired by jay's weverse post where he told engenes to eat more fruit &lt;////3 (i love him so much it's literally not even funny) / i also have no idea where "jinsol" came from ?? i've never had baby fever in my LIFE??? but oh to have a happy little family w park jongseong :'''''') / also i listened to seasons by wave to earth while writing 10/10 recommend

humidity weighs heavy in the summer air as a bead of sweat threatens to trail its way from the valley between your shoulder blades down to the small of your back. the weather would be unbearable if not for the large bowl of freshly cut fruit in your lap and the angelic bouts of laughter spilling from your daughter's lips. a fake tiara is poised atop her tiny head, the bottom of her fairy costume is stained with dirt from the garden, and she's poking your husband with a magic wand you recently purchased for her birthday.

you giggle as you spot jongseong pretending to be some fantastical monster; he chases your daughter back and forth through the park with a menacing twitch of his nose and an undeniable fondness twinkling in his gaze. relishing in this moment of peace, large clouds billow out into the sweeping, blue sky to offer a temporary reprieve from the sun's unyielding heat. however, even in spite of the shade, condensation pools in your lap as the bowl of fruit succumbs to the sweltering temperatures.

"oh, princess jinsol!" you call, having to suppressing a chuckle as your daughter's face immediately lights up at the new title. "the fruit's going to be all warm if you don't catch that big, scary beast soon!"

jongseong shoots you a playful glare as an exaggerated pout is etched into his features. while jinsol is still distracted by trying to figure out how to defeat her father-turned-sworn-enemy, he scoops her up into his arms and peppers an array of kisses all over her face. another spell of that same, ethereal laughter graces your ears as the two of them draw closer; your daughter is squirming in jongseong's hold, and as soon as she escapes from the "monster's" clutches, she buries herself into your side to nuzzle her forehead into the soft fabric of your sundress.

"daddy's so silly—huh, babygirl?" you say, running two knuckles along the soft, rounded expanse of her cheek. as you move the bowl out of her way, jinsol nods into the crook of your hip; she seems to find solace in the damp cotton and the hypnotic patterns you're tracing into her skin. "never goes easy on his princess, hm?"

jongseong brushes his fingers through jinsol's hair before reaching up to pinch your cheek. "hey—i let her win, sometimes ..." he protests, glancing down at his daughter; her chest rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern, and the fatigued fluttering of her eyelids mimic the butterflies accompanying your summer picnic. jongseong places a loving kiss to the crown of your head while admiring the little masterpiece napping atop your thighs. your lover lowers his voice to a careful whisper, "i just felt like i had to live up to the title of 'big, scary beast' that was bestowed upon me."

"oh, i see ..." you hum with a playful lilt, "what were you even trying to be—a troll?"

he snorts, "an ogre, maybe?"

"some sort of mortally wounded dragon?" you offer, basking in the feeling of his shoulder bouncing against yours. jongseong leans into your side as he carefully reaches over you and jinsol to grab a piece of watermelon, but you're quicker. ever the bringer of mischief—you snatch the bowl away from him with an impish grin dancing at the corners of your mouth. "maybe instead of stealing the princess, though," you simper, wiggling your eyebrows in the way you know makes him laugh, "you could steal a kiss from me?"

your husband scoffs, but lets his fingers waltz up the length of your arm nevertheless. "hilarious," he deadpans, quirking an eyebrow to stare at you over the rim of his sunglasses. "you're pretty bold to assume that one kiss would satisfy a super strong, super awesome dragon with sexy shades."

"ugh, you're so lucky i love you," you groan, faking a gag before succumbing to his charms—regardless of the strange ways that they may manifest in. "how about two kisses and i give you the watermelon?"

"haggling, now, are we?" jongseong chuckles, hooking his index finger under your chin, "i'll raise you ... three kisses, the watermelon, and another picnic next weekend."

"you've got yourself a deal, park jongseong."

your husband moves forward to press a gentle kiss against the tip of your nose; it forces a symphony of giggles from your mouth, but everything goes quiet when his lips meet yours in a conjunction that mirrors the sensation of ice cold lemonade gliding down your throat on a warm, summer's afternoon. the way jongseong kisses you is light and refreshing; he never fails to send shivers up your spine, and his lips are always sure to leave you dazed when he pulls away. jongseong draws back, stopping for a moment to graze the pad of his thumb over your cupid's bow before craning his neck up to place one more lingering kiss to your forehead.

"can i snag a piece of watermelon, now?" jongseong asks, that same exaggerated pout reappearing on his face.

you laugh, "anything for you, dear."

there's a beat of silence. a delicate summer breeze coaxes a sweet melody from the leaves that hang on the surrounding trees. as you watch jongseong feast on a mouthful of fresh fruit, you card your fingers through jinsol's silken hair. your princess is safe once more, sleeping soundly beneath the hidden stars in the evening sky. perhaps, in the future, she will face dragons more dangerous than the one her father pretends to be—but, for now, she is peaceful in your arms. mesmerized by the sheer adoration swelling in your heart, you don't actively register your husband's soft hand squeezing at the back of our neck. instead, it's a comforting pressure, it's a quiet reassurance that everything is okay, and it's a resolute promise to protect his happy, little family until the end of time.

it's love.

and, really, what more could you ask for?

[the-art-ghost]

I did it!! I made art!! And redrew another character!!!!

I love doing this shit! I love drawing and info dumping in the alt text (most of my alt texts have something lol) ((mostly shitposts tho))

Let me dissect this page for you :3

Ignore the filler space I couldn’t figure out what to add there

Toddler Icarus and Jack’s nap time

Jack always says he has something on his forehead and needs to clean it off and Icarus believes him every time

I redrew Frankie :) he gave me jaded old man vibes

I also gave him a lazy eye (he had that before he became undead)

I forgot his dress shirt was black so ignore that-

And wait.

What is this?

Oh shit!!! Lore!!?!?!

I got more coming up!

Nothing too soon tho, my birthday is like in two days lol

Until next time!!!

[nanaten]

more people should base mother characters’ character traits/design elements off their stats. its something ive been doing for a while now

I draw Ninten to be thinner than the rest of them as a result of his speed stat being significantly higher than the other two at level 99 (155!! insane!! more than double Lucas’s max speed!!) and I also imagine him to be that way having less guts than the other two protagonists— so he’s more susceptible to finding other routes to resolve/escape conflict, (4th D Slip you get it). He’s also (pardon my language,) a lucky, sarcastic fucker, so he’ll take advantage of that during combat too. (Wisdom/Luck: 155). I also think that Ninten, lacking in vitality, also aids this general idea that Ninten isn’t noticeably strong— though i also think maybe his vitality would be noticeably higher without the asthma, LOL.

This is why i also consider Ninten to be more witty and bastardy. Is he all that strong (from the outside)? No. Can he use offensive PSI? No. But luck is on his side, he’s smart, and he can pack a real damn punch if need be.

I also think, with his wit, he’d weaponise his smaller stature, this is to say he’d weaponise his (what is viewed as,) physical incompetence. you get it. he’s just a little boyyyy he’s a little birthday boy look at him he can’t hurt you he’s like 2 grams of protein Oh Shit He Just Knocked You Out Because You Were Unassuming And Thought He Couldn’t. Welp!

Ness’s I consider less simply based on the fact he specifically gets a huge boost (y’know the whole magicant boost thing,) nearing the end of the game, but I still think it’s important. For example him having the least defence of the three (whilst having the most guts & IQ) could take to mean that he’s overtly confident and relies far more on his own strengths and immediate in-the-moment smarts. I also take this to mean he’s got alot more muscle mass, not valuing speed as much as raw strength— His moves are calculated, but not premeditated, he figures out the best course of attack and goes for it immediately. I also think it’s representative of a more laid back, relaxed personality— he’s not too uppity, he’s not all that scared of much, he’s confident and reliable and faithful in his skills.

Lucas’s stats may initially seem weaker than the rest but I moreso take this to mean he’s alot more calculated. Being the slowest with a speed of 60, I imagine he puts an immense amount of thought into each and every move he makes— he cares less about how much he can do and cares far more about precision, each hit deliberate with intention. And i think this is cooperated well with his defence stat being the second highest (I also take this to mean Lucas is pretty tanky, as opposed to Ninten, who I think has high defence more from mental planning and probably PSI— cough cough power shield,) only 5 points away from Ninten’s— it all takes to mean he is safe and deliberate, calculated and threatening. I also think the high fight/guts stat infers that Lucas isn’t really one for finding alternative routes out of combat, he is not afraid to fight and is down to fuck your shit up if it comes down to it. He is also a notorious lucky fucker, like Ninten, but with it being slightly lower I imagine his luck would moreso aid him, as opposed to Ninten who would regularly bank on that luck.

Lucas’s stats don’t add too much to how I characterize him but I think they do further aid the general idea of Lucas being quite stoic and unmoving, quiet and observant.

These stats are scaled because each mother games’ stats work differently! this is just a general idea and for fun lol