Text
epilogue. she might just be my everything and beyond
javier peña x f!reader | epilogue of late night texts
summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.
chapter warnings: here's the epilogue. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. mention of olivia (steve's and connie's child) ✨ wordcount: 2.7k.
an: at the end.
text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi
you keep flirting with me and ill drive myself over
Oh will you now?
use my key and everything
You have had very little reason to use it lately.
thats cause youre so desperate youre already at the door
Desperate or welcoming?
both
I can be less desperate next time, if you prefer.
dont you fucking dare baby
So when you coming over?
already putting my shoes on
It flies by, time.
One minute, he’s clutching your hands until your fingers slide from his. A promise in the air, one he knows you’ll keep because it's all temporary. Knowing that you’ll be right back, suitcase—and possessions following behind—as you move across the country.
Within a blink, Javi is asking you where you want things to go, in the little place you chose with so much ease. Spotting you unpack a photo frame, the photo strip from Houston front and centre, sitting on a bed of receipts.
The next, he’s sweating for reasons he’d rather not be.
His back twinging, protesting as he carries another box to the van. Your smile rises at the sight of him approaching, gesturing to pass it to you—still standing on the edge of the truck.
“Cariño. You’ve lived here six months. How have you amassed so much sh–tuff?”
Narrowing your eyes, taking the box and placing it on top of another, “Nice save.”
Sending you a sink, he smiles as you slide your hand in his to get down. Knowing he doesn’t ever need to feel them slide from his again—hopefully, no emotional goodbyes at the airport. Not ones that don’t involve you visiting someone for a long weekend here or there.
“Are you forgetting that I packed an entire suitcase the first time I saw you? Because knowing that information, I am surprised you’re confused that I’ve doubled my possessions since living here?”
Pulling you close, he focuses on how you feel warm against him—fitting against him perfectly. A feeling he’s had plenty of time to grow used to but finds he never does. How you slot with him, face turned upwards, looking at him like he moves mountains and walks across fire.
If you asked him, he would.
But you never do. You just look at him as though you know he would. Knowing he does.
He supposes it’s why you’re all set to move in with him. Into his home. His room.
This place—as lovely as it has been—will no longer be yours. The little home in the centre of town is tucked away above a video store that you’ve become a frequent customer of, whether he has plans with you or not.
From tomorrow morning, though, you’ll be waking up with him officially. The two of you have had months of it, where you’re there but not entirely with him. Even if, over time, your things have been left amongst his, some even finding themselves hanging alongside his. To the point a drawer was needed—and hangers. Still, for a while, when you said home, you had meant yours.
That was until the last few weeks. Your eyes shimmering, twinkling with the stars in the night sky, curled into his side. His green jacket, the one with the brown collar, wrapped around your shoulders, no longer smelled of old cigarette smoke and desperation but rather sweetness and hope. Your hand entwined with his:
Can we go home, baby?
Yeah, I can take you now.
No, to yours.
You poke him. Light, but purposeful. A little jab to bring him back, and the way you’re smiling at him—fuck. He can’t imagine a look that could make his heart double in size quicker. His thumb strokes alongside your cheek. His pink shirt—the one you had commandeered as your own—rolled up at the sleeves and tied at your waist.
Javi’s noticed you steal his clothes a lot. Fashion them into something that suits you better. He doesn’t moan. If anything, he makes it a purposeful thing to show you how much it means to him—how much he likes it, craves it.
“C’mon, only a few more boxes...”
Groaning, he buries his lips against yours, feeling your smile widen, grinning widely against him as you hold him close.
Your teeth pull at his bottom lip before releasing it with a pop, a twinkle to your eyes. “… think of it like this: once the van is packed, we get more time to say goodbye before I have to return the keys.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles, keeping you in place with two fingers under your chin. “And how do you plan on us saying goodbye, baby?”
Sliding your nose against his cheek. “Loudly. I plan on saying it loud, baby.”
You packed me a note in my lunch?
I did
It wasn’t very safe for work.
you said you eat your lunch at your desk
Yes but I’m not a loner, Javi. I do eat lunch with people.
lesson learned then baby
But yes.
yeah?
I don’t think the porch table will cope though, may have to think of a more stable surface.
I think I can think of something
No wood! I am not having you pick splinters out of my ass again, baby.
that was on you
I think it was on you and your speech about how beautiful I looked being a ranch-hand.
Do you fancy coming to my office Halloween party?
do I have to dress up
Yes. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll be dressed up too.
before I decide what are you dressing up as
That’s the incentive to come, if you say yes I’ll tell you.
do you want me there
Yes! Want to show you off
then ill be there baby
Because you like being showed off?
yes. but also because you want me there
While outwardly, he’d protested the trip to Miami from the moment you booked it off work up until he was sat beside you on the plane, he does see the beauty in it.
Although, Javi primarily suspects that it is down to you. You with your legs out, you in a bikini on the beach, robbing his shades until he buys you your own—a matching pair, something that makes Steve chuckle and Connie aww.
The lazy mornings that remind him of Houston are nice, too. The ones where neither of you are woken by an alarm or his Pop’s awful singing. The backdrop of the airy hotel room and a warm, gentle breeze blowing the sheer curtains as his thumbs dig into the back of your thighs and make you chant, is a bonus.
Because Javi can make your skin glisten, and your body sing, whenever and wherever he gets the chance.
What he can’t have at home with you is the sight of you fitting in so easily with the two people who have become a second family. The ones who have seen him go to lengths he hadn't known was possible, him and his old partner seeing things that only appear in occasional nightmares now.
Connie and Steve welcomed you in with ease and with them, you smiled so effortlessly. Blending in like you were always there—laughter bursting out of you when you’re playing with Olivia.
It's there, ever-present on the beach, as you chase Olivia around in the sand. The castles the two of you had been making long since trodden on, as the little girl squeals and squeals until she’s caught.
“You should marry her.”
Turning his head, Steve nods towards the three of you. Connie snapping photos as you roll in the sand. The yellow tinge from his aviators adds an additional glow to the world as he eyes up his former partner-turned-friend—a friend who apparently now gives unwarranted marriage advice.
Scratching his chin, he rolls his jaw. “You giving me permission, Murph?”
“C’mon, Jav. She’s nice, good to you. Clearly makes you very fuckin��� happy.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I’m already planning it.”
“Yeah? Fuck. Can’t wait to tell Connie. She told me I needed to convince you.”
Javi shrugs, pushing the glasses up his nose. “It so hard to believe I’d have come to that conclusion on my own?”
“Before you met her? Yeah. Since her? No. Could tell you were smitten—”
Snorting, Javi runs his hand across his chin. “I was not fucking smitten.”
“Yeah, you fucking was. No shame in that, Jav. No shame in enjoying one good woman.”
Groaning, he turns back to the laughter. The corner of his lips twitched, wishing to slide into his cheeks as he watches you throw your head back, neck exposed, as Olivia tries to do a handstand.
“I got the ring last month.”
“Shit.”
Turning his head, he narrows his eyes, watching Steve put his hands up in defence.
“You just said—“
“Yeah, well. Forgot how determined y’can be about things. Surprised me. S’not a bad thing,” Steve says. “Just, y’know. Years ago, I knew you as the man who fucked his way through—“
Elbowing him, Javi smirks as he hears Steve splutter. A sharp look added as Steve holds his hand up.
“I’m not that person anymore, Murphy.”
His friend nods, apology falling. The evidence that he means it stitching into his expression—that he was just joking, teasing. An explanation coming, that he knows how he’s changed—all words he would have once craved hearing. But since meeting you, he’d found even the teasing didn’t upset him as much.
Clapping his hand on his shoulder, Javi looks over his shades. “I know. Alright. Just, I don’t like the reminder, that's all. Feels like… feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Y’telling me.”
Snorting, Javi slides his hand off. Moving his eyes back to the sight of Olivia grinning at the two of them. Her small hand trying to cover her mouth as she whispers something to you, something which Javi suspects involves him from the way she’s running full speed towards him.
“She’s grown up so quickly.”
He’s about to reply, but Olivia interrupts—skidding to a stop in the sand, kicking it across his feet. Swiftly, her hand—all small and delicate—wraps around and tugs on his hand.
“Uncle Javi, can you come play?”
Over the top of her, he spots you. Leaning your weight on one side, hand covering your brows to watch his expression.
And fuck, how can he say no to either of you.
hows pops?
He’s good. In fact, enough to be getting your Mom’s cookbooks down from the shelf for me.
I hope you know thats him saying he loves you
He has told me how much it means to him that I wanted these. Also keeps telling me that he’s happy they’ll be staying in the family.
bet that made you cry didn’t it
Yes! Obviously.
youre so cute baby
In my defence he caught me off guard with the comment, I was busy staring and deciphering the handwritten notes.
not gonna be able to read them now if youve cried all over them
As always, you’re hilarious. I obviously didn’t cry into the book! I cried in the bathroom.
you turn the tap on to try and hide it again
Shut up, Javi.
i should be back soon, just grabbing the parts now
Don’t rush, he’s fine. Promise. He even says his back is barely giving him any problems since I told him I’d cook from the book.
what you cooking?
Come home safe and find out.
youre such a tease
Learned it from you baby.
At one stage, Javi had been good with people.
Persuasive.
Now, he’s unsure if he even knows how to ask for a favour without giving something up or flirting.
He’s still charismatic, or so you tell him. But, he's pretty sure his tact has gone, impatience bubbling as he tries to pretend to give enough of a shit to be able to ask for the favour he wants.
For you, he decides to push through. To not walk back through the door he came through. He does stuff his hands into his jacket, the man staring at him, still wearing the same confused expression he had when Javi first stepped through the door.
Because even if he’s explained three fucking times, the man still doesn’t understand why he asked him to create the crossword he’s got clutched in his hands.
The one that would never even go to print—just a single request. A favour. All personal, just for him. Not to be published in every newspaper, but just one.
The one for him, and him alone.
It didn't matter how many ways he explained it, the man remained confused. Only reluctantly accepting, he's sure, to get him to leave.
That had been days ago. Now, you're ahead of him. Your fingers brushing over the tops of long stands, occasionally looking over your shoulder at him, making him feel like he's stepped into one of the movies you've made him watch.
Even when you look ahead, he can tell you’re grinning from behind—taking the view in. It's 'one of your favourites', something you’d told him the first time he brought you here.
It’s why he brought you here, now.
Second to you, of course, baby.
You stop some distance ahead, beginning to place down a blanket, all chequered and soft, as he comes to join you. Placing the basket in his hand down on the edge of it, before your fingers are swatting at him and undoing the ties before you grasp the bottle, food and other bits.
Not that he can eat, needing more than what the wine you’d grabbed would do.
Nerves bubbling, dancing and fluttering like the flies further down the hill. You don't notice. You're focused on the newspaper, the crossword he's not let you see for the last few hours, taunting you, making you wait.
He almost wishes he hadn't when it adds to the knot in his stomach, it tightening more when you become irritated at his coyness as he's reading out the clues—
Javi, what are you up to? You always do down, across, down. Always.
You’d have made a good detective or DEA agent.
Likely given him and Murphy a run for their money—something Steve had even said to you both when the two of you were in Miami. Sand in your toes, sea air in your hair—grin brighter than the sun.
“Give it here,” you say, not sharply, but not playfully either.
His hand wipes his lower mouth, hiding his smirk, having wanted you to do that for the past fifteen minutes.
When you take the crossword, you’re chewing.
Distracted, barely able to spot him sliding the remainder of your punnet from reach. Because Javi remembers how you feel about being asked any critical questions when you are eating.
He supposes it's the one benefit of you making him watch so many romcoms. It allowed him to do market research and ask questions without raising your suspicion, such as where wouldn't you like to be asked and if you want him down on one knee.
Mainly, I don’t want to have food in my teeth when I’m being asked. Don't want to spit any leftovers at you in my shock.
“Hey,” he whispers, stealing your attention—watching you smile, glancing at your clean teeth. “Eres preciosa.”
Your lips slide, curling up into your cheek. “You’re such a flirt, Peña.”
Kissing your cheek, he keeps his arm around you. Fingers playing with the fabric on your hip—balling it up before smoothing it out. Thumb and index brushing, calming, soothing him as your eyes glance over the page.
Occasionally, asking him things, avoiding the clues he desperately wants you to solve.
Until.
Fuck, until.
“Javi.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles, pretending indifference, head tilted down, resting his chin on your shoulder—knowing from the high-pitched way you said this name that you’ve already cracked it.
Your fingers slide over the paper, smothering the white and black boxes from view. “Javi?”
“Yes, baby.”
“I think that’s my reply, isn’t it?”
Lips curling, he wraps his fingers around your chin, turning you to face him. Watching it happen in slow motion, how you smile before you grin—tears all but filling your eyes as you clearly try not to get ahead of yourself.
“You wanna make me less lonely, cariño?”
Swallowing, you drop the paper. Let it fall to the blanket, twisting your body until your knees are between his thighs as you take both sides of his cheeks.
“Sí.”
“Sí?”
Nodding, a tear falls. It's one shimmering with joy and happiness, his thumb swiping it, spreading it across your skin.
“I don’t know… I don’t know the translation,” you laugh, it spluttering, fingers stroking his skin. “But I’ll marry you. I love you. Yes, Javi.”
And he whispers it.
The translation. Pressing it, as well as I love you, to your lips as his arms snake further around your waist. Hearing you, all quiet, it almost buried in kisses, repeating the translation back.
Before he falls backwards into the grass, with you on top of him—his fiancé. His world.
you fancy coming to laredo in autumn
Any particular reason?
been told I need a best man and I only know you
an: gosh, here we are. i began writing late night texts one night after a chaotic chat with @guyfieriii because i was manic/sad/anxious all at once and it was the only logical thing i could focus on. as much as javi and reader saved one another, they saved me too. thank you to you lovely lot. not only did you welcome this in with open arms, but you cheered me on every single week (also, btw, how cool is it we didn't miss a single week omg). i owe you so much, and i cannot believe we made it here together. to the old followers, i see you. to the new ones who just discovered me, hey, welcome. to all of the friends I've harrassed over the last few months, i love you. to the new ones I've made, i also love you omg. i'm already missing this pair so much, and i cannot wait until we get to hang out with them sporadically. i'm going to go cry in a corner, but just know my heart is so full and so happy and it's all down to you all 🩷
#javier peña x reader#javi peña x reader#javi peña x you#javier peña x you#narcos x reader#javier pena x reader#javier pena x you#javi pena x reader#narcos javier x reader#narcos javier#pedro pascal x reader#narcos fanfiction#pedrostories#mm: late night texts#javier peña fanfiction#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfic
648 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oooh my, your requests are freaking open???? I've got an idea in my head for a long time and now I give it a try and send it to you. I'm obsessed with Jake (and Bradley) x Roomie (fem reader or oc) trope, so apologies in advance for this one (also a sucker for hurt and comfort 😬). I try to keep it as short as possible: Rooster's and Hangman's new roomie has a sad past. She has sleeping issues and bad nightmares. They hear her whimpering and crying in her sleep. The guys are worried but she plays it down, feeling bad for waking them up with her shit. Maybe she starts to sleep walking and unfortunately hurts herself during this episode. The guys find her in the middle if the night hurt. And she opens up to them telling them about her dreams and her past.
ahhhh !!! I'm so glad to finally get this one posted, I'm so sorry it took so long ! I am such a sucker for the roommate trope, and I love writing stories that are strictly platonic, just focusing on lovely friendship vibes bc those are just as important as the romantic ones !!! I hope you enjoy!
(this doesn't have a title yet bc it's admittedly the thing I'm the worst at when it comes to writing fics)
word count: 2.4k
warnings: mentions of alcohol, some suggestive humor, language, brief and vague mentions of death, lmk if I missed any
“Are you going to eat these leftovers?” you asked Bradley, who was sitting at the kitchen island keeping you company as you cleaned out the fridge and he stared at the tupperware container for an infuriatingly long time, contemplating his options before you let out an exasperated sigh. “Bradshaw, it’s pasta. Yes or no?”
“No,” he finally answered. “You’re in a mood.”
“No mood, it would just be nice if you could be snappier in your responses while you just watch me clean the kitchen.”
“Yeah, definitely not in a mood,” he muttered under his breath but you heard it anyway. “Do you know where Hangman is?”
“You two share a bathroom and you still can’t call him by his name?” you asked with a chuckle. “He’s at the gym, should be back soon.”
“We only share a bathroom because you got the master,” he protested and you laughed again.
“I needed the bigger closet,” you shrugged. “I told you you’re welcome to use mine anytime.”
“After you reamed me for using your face wash? Thank you, but no thank you, I haven’t been yelled at like that since I borrowed my moms car to take Cindy Daniels on a date.”
“I only yelled because you used a forty dollar cleanser as body wash and somehow managed to use half the bottle. Besides, your mom was right to yell at you too, you stole her car and you were thirteen.”
“I was covered in grease! And my date with Cindy is none of your business.”
“Are we having the face wash fight again?” Jake asked as he came in through the garage, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he reached around you to grab a bottle of water, but you only pushed him away, muttering something about keeping his sweat away from you. “Take the blame, Chicken, you wasted half a bottle of Drunk Elephant, you’re lucky she didn’t put you on the porch for the night.”
“See, the craziest thing about this whole situation is you were just as outraged as she was.”
“Good skincare is not just for women, you might want to invest in a routine of your own.” he smirked before disappearing down the hallway and you heard the sound of the shower turning on.
“You working tomorrow?” Bradley asked, getting up to wash the containers you’d placed near the sink.
You shook your head, “a Friday and Saturday off, Penny was feeling extra generous.” You’d met the two of them, along with the rest of the team, when they’d first gotten to town for the infamous and secretive mission that almost claimed the life of the man currently donning cherry-printed cleaning gloves and scrubbing pasta sauce out of tupperware. You’d all become fast friends, they’d coax you out from behind the bar on your breaks or when your shift was over for darts or pool, and when your lease was up just as they received word of a permanent assignment it seemed to make sense for the three of you to find a place together. It was a godsend for you, it got you out of your cramped apartment with dismal lighting and into a beautiful craftsman only a few blocks away from the beach. Even with arguments with Bradley about face wash and a sweaty Jake, it was a no-brainer.
“Could we convince you into coming to your place of work on a night off? These new recruits are testing our patience, Phoenix wants a fun night out to blow off steam.”
“I could potentially be persuaded,” you replied, shutting the fridge after deeming it was as cleared out as it was going to get.
“Which translates to as long as I’m not mixing them, I’ll always show up for drinks,” Jake said, walking back into the kitchen with freshly washed hair. “Do I get any kind of welcome home now that I’m not sweaty?”
“No, because now you’re wet, did you even dry off?” you asked, snapping him with a dish towel before he rounded the island and wrapped his arms around you.
“Enough,” he answered, squeezing you tight as you pretended to hate it. Really, you loved living with these two. Being on your own before was starting to take its toll on you, and they reminded you of a different time in your life, one that felt like it was ancient history. “Not to dampen the mood, but… we did want to talk to you about something.”
“Sounds serious, should I break out the house meeting wine?” you asked, eyeing them skeptically as they shared a look with each other that you couldn’t quite decipher.
“We just wanted to… check in,” Bradley started and you raised your eyebrows. “The past few weeks we’ve heard certain sounds coming from your room and-”
“Okay, first of all,-” you started to cut him off, eyes wide at what you thought he was insinuating.
“Not like that, sweetheart,” Jake interjected. “But feel free to get louder when you do,” he half-joked and you hit him with the towel again. “What bird boy is trying to say is sometimes we hear what sounds like nightmares coming from your room and it’s happened enough that we just want to check in and see if everything is okay.” You suddenly felt nauseous.
“If there’s something going on, or you need someone to talk to, you know we’re here, right?” Bradley asked and you nodded softly.
“I know, everything is fine, I’m sorry if I woke you.” you said, trying to dismiss their concerns altogether as you occupied yourself with looking over the mail.
“It’s just… it doesn’t sound fine, if you don’t want to talk to us we can help you find someone else to talk to, we just want to make sure you’re okay.” Jake tried and you gave him a forced smile.
“And I am, but I’m glad the two of you finally found something to agree on.” You tossed some junk mail in the garbage before turning to face them again, “I have some errands I want to run early tomorrow morning… text me if you need anything from the store but I’m going to turn in. Goodnight,” you said with another forced smile before heading down the hall and letting out a sigh as your back pressed against your closed bedroom door. You thought that things had gotten better… that enough time had passed. They seemed to be happening less and less, but maybe that wasn’t as true as you once thought.
Your footsteps down the hallway were an unusual sound for this time of night… nightmares or not, once you went to bed you weren’t seen until the following morning and it was enough to stir Jake from his slumber. You on the other hand, were completely unaware of what was going on, still stuck in a dream, stuck in a fluorescent lit hallway with tears streaming down your face only you weren’t… you were in your living room, walking straight into the console table and falling onto the broken glass of the picture frames and vases you’d knocked over which was enough to jolt both of them out of bed.
“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Bradley asked, crouching down beside you as you came to.
“Mav- Maverick?” you asked, voice hoarse as you struggled to place where you were, the images from your dream still fresh in your mind. He looked at Jake confused who was on the other side of you and carefully pushing glass aside.
“No, it’s Bradley… Honey, what happened?” You blinked a few times, finally recognizing you were on the floor of your living room and the searing pain of broken glass in your palms and knees.
“I don’t- oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you winced as you tried to stand but Jake was quick to scoop you up, holding you tight as he walked to the kitchen and carefully placed you next to the sink while Bradley grabbed the first aid kit. “I- I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m okay, you can go back to bed.” He just frowned at you and when Bradley returned he started pulling the shards from your palms while Jake worked on your knees. Silent tears were still streaming down your face and they were both trying to figure out how to ask you what was wrong, but one thing they knew for certain was no one was going back to bed until they got to the bottom of what was going on with you.
“Sweetheart, do you want to tell us what’s going on?” Jake asked softly, looking up briefly to meet your eyes before gently running his thumb along your cuts, making sure there weren’t any pieces he missed.
You shook your head as you wiped your cheeks, “nothing, I just… I don’t know, I guess I was half-asleep? I’m really sorry I woke you,” you said and they both looked at you like they didn’t believe a word of it.
“Alright, I was willing to maybe let it go before but you could have been seriously hurt tonight. Something is going on with you,” Jake said, voice firm as he stopped what he was doing to wipe a few of your tears.
“Whatever it is, you can tell us. Why did you say Maverick’s name when you woke up?” Bradley asked and you closed your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before letting it all out.
“I uh… there’s something I never told you about me.” you started, taking a moment to breathe as you felt your throat tighten. They stayed quiet, both carefully dabbing at your cuts with a damp cloth or rubbing aquaphor over them before bandaging them. “I wasn’t a teacher before realizing I liked bartending more, I was a pilot.”
“Wait, what?” Bradley asked, shock evident in his tone and Jake elbowed him, eyes silently pleading for you to continue.
“My callsign is- or was Flash… like the superhero,” you chuckled but there wasn’t much humor in it and both of their eyes widened. “I was on a mission that went south really fast, we were outnumbered and outgunned, we ran out of resources quickly. I was hit, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t save it, I couldn’t save him.” you choked out.
“Who?” Bradley whispered, you were all cleaned up now and they were both focused solely on you. Jake was rubbing reassuring circles on your thigh as Bradley held one of your hands in his own.
“My wizzo, we called him Genie… we both got to our squad at the same time, and on our first night out his icebreaker was if you had three wishes, what would you wish for?” You laughed again, but this time it was genuine.
“I’ve heard of him,” Jake said, noticing your breathing quicken just at the mention of him. “Both of you, actually, from what I’ve heard you were a hell of a pilot.”
“He couldn’t eject, something went wrong with the handles… I’d already pulled mine when I heard him say they were stuck and the next thing I know the jet is crashing into a hillside below me. I thought the dreams were getting better, and that I was maybe starting to move past it… I don’t think I really registered that it was happening again, or maybe that it never stopped.”
“Honey, why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” Bradley asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and you focused your gaze on your hands.
“I just… I didn’t want you to know that I failed my wizzo,” you choked out. “Or that the last time I was in a cockpit I nearly crashed again and Mav had to talk me through landing a plane I’ve landed thousands of times before because I panicked. I didn’t want you guys to censor yourselves when it came to work stuff out of pity for me being a failed pilot, and I guess… I just didn’t want you guys to look at me differently.”
“Hey, what happened wasn’t your fault,” Jake said, squeezing your thigh gently and prompting you to look up at him. “And we would never look at you differently for that, we understand.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that… and just know that we don’t think of you as a failure. We’ve both heard about that mission, there was nothing you could have done. Faulty equipment and being outgunned is not your burden to bear.” Bradley added, running a hand along your back.
“What is it that you say sometimes? It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot?” you asked, sadness seeping into your tone and he just pulled you into his side and pressed a kiss to your head.
“There’s not much the pilot can do if the plane fails them.”
“You went through a trauma, we would never fault you for not flying again after that.” Jake said and you smiled softly.
“Mav could… god, he tried so hard, he was really there for me after it happened, but… when I finally got back into a plane I just couldn’t shake it. It was like I could still hear him in my backseat even though he wasn’t there.”
“Just because Mav could, that doesn’t mean you’re a lesser pilot or a lesser person for not being able to, if anything I think it makes you stronger. You knew your limits, and instead of pushing through it when you couldn’t trust flying again you took a step back. I know a lot of people who wouldn’t make that same choice.” Bradley said, nudging Jake and you let out a laugh as you wiped your face again.
“Yeah, I thank my lucky stars I never crossed this one’s path when I was still flying,” you said and Jake’s face twisted up in shock.
“Hey, why are we ganging up on me now?” he asked and you laughed again.
“You make it so easy,” you teased and they both smiled, happy to see you coming back into yourself a little.
“We’re here for you, okay? So is everyone else,” Bradley said, pulling you into him again and you let yourself wrap your arms around him as you laid your head on his chest and Jake kept rubbing circles into your skin.
“No matter what, you can always come wake us up if you need someone.”
“I love you guys, you know that?”
You could hear the smirk in Jake’s voice as he said, “oh, we know.” He wrapped himself around the other side of you as the two of them squished you between them. “We love you too.”
taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @djs8891 @Genius2050 @stargazer-88 @chloeforde @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi (if your name is struck through, it means I couldn't tag you - sorry!)
#your honor I love them#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin x you#jake hangman seresin fanfiction#jake hangman seresin fan fiction#jake hangman seresin fluff#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin fan fiction#jake seresin fluff#hangman#hangman x reader#hangman x you#hangman fanfiction#hangman fan fiction#hangman fluff#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw fan fiction#bradley rooster bradshaw fluff#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fan fiction#bradley bradshaw fanfiction
146 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twd Daryl Dixon A world of our own Chapter 4: About last night
Feeling the warmth of the sun and seeing the orange glow of the morning behind your eyelids would’ve been the perfect way to wake up today if not for the pounding headache you woke up with. Sitting up to rub your eyes you noticed you’re all by yourself in Rosita’s living room yawning and stretching your feet to the floor as you stand up she pops up from the dining room “hey chica I made some coffee and there’s two aspirin on the table there” you let out a sigh of relief “aww girl you’re the best my head sounds like a game of Jumanji right now” she chuckles as she folds up the sofa and bedding “so after this you wanna head over the the greenhouse to meet up with Eugene?” “Sounds good” drinking your coffee together you both head outside towards the crops where many people are already at work for the day. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Daryl on the front porch feeling his eyes on you nope not giving him the satisfaction say good morning for what he doesn’t like me right so why bother with pleasantries. The day was hot but your really enjoyed working along side Rosita making you laugh all day helping the time pass but even as upset as you were your eyes just couldn’t help but steal glances no matter where he went. You and Rosita go to pick the ripe vegetables for the day filling a nice size basket when you see a large shadow tower overtop of you both looking up to see a man you’ve seen around but don’t really know “morning ladies” Rosita rolls her eyes “I’ve don’t think we’ve met I’m Spencer” sticking out his hand to you which you hesitantly shake “scout nice to meet you?..” he grins at you leaving you with an unsettling feeling “we’re having a little get together tonight hope to see you there” he winks as he walks away you shiver in disgust “something about him gave me the willies” she makes a stink face “yeah he’s kind of a creep” you snort “definitely not my type” you laugh. She looks up at you “so is there someone here that is??.. Come on chica spill” smiling at you “uh… I don’t know?..” “yeah you sure?.. that sounded more like a question then an answer” laughing it off you both finish up the days work reporting back to Eugene to let him know how much was harvested today to keep track for future reference for summers yet to come. Afterwards you and Rosita are walking around Alexandria talking “so is everyone going to this thing tonight because if not I’d rather not go alone with that guy around” she laughs “yeah he doesn’t give me a good vibe either never has & we’re all gonna be right there with you no worries they do these things every so often so we can discuss plans on how to run this place a little better” both nodding “cool well I hope i have something that isn’t covered in dirt or blood to wear” “we’ll find ya something chica don’t worry”. Heading back to hers she digs through what she has “we seem to be about the same size… well except for those huge boobs of yours” you swat at her “shush I can’t help it all the women in my family aren’t any smaller than a C cup” “holy boobs” laughing and getting ready she gave you a nice pair of fairly new black jeans and a lilac v neck top. She let you do her hair after she saw the single side braid you gave yourself before curling your long locks. Going into your bag you pull out the dusty cigar box pulling out a decently aged preroll “hey girlfriend you partake or no?” “Oh hell yeah you got a light?!” You whip out your zippo tossing both into her lap as she picks it up inspecting it nodding her head in approval before flicking the flame to take the first pull. By the time you were stubbing it out you were both all giggles heading outside looking like you were both heading out to a ladies night at the bar. Shoulder bumping each other and cracking small jokes approaching the house where everyone gathered to head inside. What you didn’t see was Daryl watching you from the shadow of a nearby tree smoking a cigarette drinking you squinting to get a better look watching you be the most carefree he’s seen you since met. Carol spots him & walks over
“There you are… come on let’s go get ourselves a drink” they walk in together. You’re having a blast talking to Maggie Rosita Glenn and Abraham feeling the affects of both the weed & the wine as you body starts to feel warm and fuzzy. The night seems to be going fairly well the packed house full of talking and laughing adults having drinks and discussing important matters. You glass being empty again you head to get yourself another drink making your way into the kitchen as you start to pour you feel a hand at the small of your back startling you as you gasp spilling a bit on the counter “hey there beautiful you come all by yourself tonight?” The voice instantly causing you to feel nauseous and annoyed. Turning to see none other then Spencer with a grin plastered on his face “no not by myself with family” you clear your throat “what no date?” Scoffing “don’t need one” he chuckles at you narrowing his eyes “wanna go for a walk or something maybe come back to my place?” You’re seeing red “no thanks I’ll pass now if you’ll excuse me..” as you attempt to brush past him but he grabs onto your wrist “hey now… where you gotta run off to so fast the night is still young” you shiver in disgust “Listen I don’t know who the fuck you think you are Fabio but if you don’t let go of me right now I’m gonna break your fucking arm!” You spat before he could get another word in a fist comes crashing into his face surprising you causing you to stumble backwards thankfully being caught by rick “you okay?” You can speak only nod as he helps you up and the guys are trying to pull Daryl off of Spencer “ya hard of hearing or somethin asshole when someone ain’ fuckin interested you don’t fuckin force them ta be!! You ever fuckin touch her again or as little as breathe in her direction I’ll fuckin feed ya to the dead you understand me?!!!” Why all this is happening the ladies are all consoling you on the porch outside. You’re hyperventilating trying not to cry it’s becoming unbearable why does he care anyway you need to get away so you start running towards the house just as Daryl comes to check on you seeing you flee he’s hot on your heels yelling your name but you can’t hear him heart pounding so fast and loud it’s like your ears are filled with water and all you can hear is the sounds of yourself. You trip falling flat hands catching the gravel before you face could take a hit “Fuck!” You’ve had it Daryl slides next to you as if he was heading for home plate placing his hands on your shoulders takes you a minute to hear him “SCOUT?!” You flinch covering your face and his face softens “Hey… hey I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare ya” you look up at him trying still to hold it all together “why do you care Daryl?? Why you don’t like me so why defend me why check on me or even bother for that matter I’m nothing but a freak and a waste of time” pushing yourself up on wobbly legs as he steadys you with confusion written all over his face “where is all this comin from i ain’t never said you were a freak or that I didn’t care” you scoff “I heard what you said or did you forget I walked in on that? I get it okay I wouldn’t wanna look at me either” you push past to go up the porch stairs but he stops you “what are ya talkin about woman yer not a freak why do ya think that?” You chuckle “really oh please let’s just save ourselves the bull shit and I don’t need your god damn pity after either” you go inside as he follows shutting the door behind him you rip off your shirt letting you back face him you hear his breath catch in his throat “yeah that’s what I thought you wanna say I’m not a god damn monster now I don’t need to be lied to I got tormented enough for it most of my life so spare me” you run up the stairs slamming your bedroom door behind you sitting against the door finally letting it all out. A bit of time goes by and you hear feet shuffling towards the door and someone knocks “go away Daryl!” Silence for what feels like an eternity “it’s Carol sweetheart I’m with the girls it’s just us… may we come in?”
You hesitantly unlock and open the door to be met with a concerned looking Carol,Rosita,Maggie & Michonne you lower your head looking at your feet and step back silently giving them permission to come in Maggie comes in last closing the door behind her as you sink sitting onto the bed with your head in your hands. Carol takes a seat next to you & the rest of the ladies find a comfortable spot on the bed to sit. They give you all the time you needed to pull yourself together before Carol breaks the silence “you know… you can tell us anything right? Us ladies here have our own little circle of trust and once your part of it words spoken in that circle stay there and none of us ever dare to break the chain… so if there’s anything at all you want to talk about we’re always here to listen”. It takes you awhile but you walk them through everything from the very beginning to up until you met the boys in the woods. Filling them in on everything that’s transpired over the years not sparing a single detail. Telling them of your fathers abuse and how he tried to take your life and how your grandparents were your saving Grace taking to away from the horrors of your home and raising you in a way that made life worth something again. Of course the pain your father inflicted on you had a lasting effect on your life bullies throughout school calling you the cruelest of names even cornering you and attacking you for simply just existing. By the time you finish you all had went through three bottles of wine and two full boxes of tissues. Carol holding your hands telling you of her late husband Ed and all the hell he put her through and her telling you that some of us have had similar experiences you’re wondering who else has fallen victim to such things. You definitely need something to clear your mind so you ask Rosita to accompany you beyond the walls tomorrow in search of something to work on as a project in your spare time so you don’t get lost in your traumas to you a busy mind is a clear one. So you made plans of leaving at sunrise Maggie & Michonne bid you a goodnight letting you know it’ll only go up from here especially now that you’ve found your place in an apocalyptic world. Carol ended up heading to bed for the night leaving you & Rosita in your bedroom “You gonna be okay chica or do you want me to stay or come to mine?” You sniffle and smile “yeah I don’t wanna be alone right now let’s head to yours let me pack a bag and we’ll get outta here” with that you pack all you need for tonight and for your run tomorrow before grabbing everything to head out being cautious as you leave not wanting to see Daryl at the moment. By the time you both get to rositas you’re exhausted and you can see she is too so sleep was something that definitely came with ease rolling yourself into the blanket like a human burrito or a caterpillar hiding in its cocoon the warmth and silence like a shield protecting you from anything and everything.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
bitch post time!!!!!! many revelations ok last night's vibes were HEINOUS but it provided so much for me and lydia to talk about and now i am gonna share with you yippee storytime
k so we plan to go to this valentines day showcase thing that the college radio is putting on last night. mind you at my place of work where i pretended that i had a family emergency and had to go home cause i didnt feel like going into work yesterday morning lol idiot... i was so paranoid my boss was there in disguise or some shit it was stupid. sorry um. yeah so ok i was largely like this could be a chance for friend groups to come together and maybe ill be able to talk to sams roommate and also like i do want to see more live music and it's free! so. anyway ok wait let me tell u abt the first part of the day
so me and lydia drive over some wine bottles to sam for him to use as props in a film. and sam and the roommate are sitting on their porch and we chat a little bit acc sam said as i walked up 'you always look so suspicious' and i was like 'ok u guys were literally just staring at me' cause they WERE and roommate was actually really nicely like 'oh no you're okay' and generally was just kind of inserting into our convo which well i had fun with naturally. um anyway and then who comes running up but teko! our buddy teko. and sams like have yall met and im like Of course and teko gives me a hug and i cant lie it was actually so sweet. i am also extremely touch starved but it was a nice hug. anyway. then i had to help roommate pick shoes alongside teko's fit and then i was like um Ok Bye. when i got back in the car lydia was like so i saw a neon sweatshirt... and i was like yeah <3 that's my man <3 sorry ok vibes get worse as the night comes
me and lydia end up getting to sam's late to 'pregame' this show and ig it was supposed be like. it was encouraged to dress formally. and i was wearing a dress that was too small and my chappell red tights and docs. kind of a serve but me and lydia were serving much more valentines day than formal. anyway. roommate does swing around to be like hi! and THEN i see my girl chloe i looooove her shes so fuckin funny and weird and we made this weird little short together in class last semester and i was kinda intimidated by her so i was so happy shocked when she was like I was so excited to see u :D WEEE shes so cool guys and has the funniest fuckin laugh and well honestly the high points of the night were us and lydia fucking around and dancing and being weird and offputting wallflowers cause again this thing SUCKED. ok
we did also smoke beforehand and i accidentally took this huge hit and then thought id be fine w a little more but brother was i feeling funny. did not eat enough and didnt take water it was atrocious. so. we get there and let me tell you if I WAS WORKING i'd have been able to fix the fact that it was soooooooooo fucking loud in there like bad bad bad audio distortion etc i wanted to kick this dude off the mixer but like what ever... it hurt so bad. and the lights were mostly on until chloe and sam duped this guy into dimming some of them but even still it was giving middle school dance. without the fun cheesy music. some of my instagram gay people are there. um but sorry there was simply no way i was going near that dance floor like the bands lowkey highkey sucked (i mean it was just a bunch of white college dudes and they did not slay. shocker. sam kept being like 'they're so good' and we were like um haha... straight face emoji)
we acc disappeared for a while to another floor for the br and just chilled for like half an hour (and security came to find us lmfaooo but ended up just leaving) and i was feeling odd and out of body and too aware of how i looked and it was just not great i was like we're the only bitches serving cunt here... um. anywho. so like later theres a slow dance and roommate is dancing with this other girl i only know from instagram till this point and i suppose if i was really feeling myself i could have tried to make a move but i was not. once again. vile vibes in this place. like i dont mean to be a pussy i typically would be much more charming and fun if i wanted to flirt and kinda felt the vibe from them but i was not really enjoying myself LMAO
then some more of the friend group shows up at the end and sam's like 'drama is actively going down' and im like Wuhhhh the fuck and i feel like a few of them r looking at me and i was just like get me OUT of here but for some fuck ass reason was still like nooooo we should go over and have pizza w sam and them. forgive me for thinking they had like frozen pizza or smth and i could get some free food out of this no we had to sit there and wait for dominos or whatever
AND THE MOST ANNOOOOOOOOOOOYING AWFUL TERRIBLE GROSS MEN YOUVE EVER MET SAT THERE AND JOINED THE BRIEF SMOKE CIRCLE AND THEN WERE JUST THERE AND LIKE YOU COULD JUST FEEL THEM TAKING UP SPACE AND US 'GIRLS' WERE MADE TO FEEL SO SMALL ON THE FUCKING COUCH I WAS SOOOOOOOO TIRED. had to get a sweater cause i felt so uncomfortable. girl i really was only there in case i could have a saving grace moment with roommate im so serious. well and for chloe but otherwise me and lydia shoulda been outta there
literally chloe was so excited to show our little video to people and sam cut us off from getting there to show us the fucking fidget spinner game he has on his tv. girl get out! oh my fucking god. finally lydias like Cool anyway so - like sams misogyny jumped out in previously unprecedented ways. it was bad. these boys were truly making me want to kill myself im sorry like it was so bad i have curated my experience so as to be away from that for so long it was really jarring. and what you need to understand about sam is that he's almost died twice and kind of has a funny little gender vibe going on and so for a while now yeah we've gotten along through silly odd things we relate through but holy shit....... that was so offputting i cant even wrap my brain around it
also sam very much walked me into like yaoi-fying him and his best friend and then was like haha noooo why r u calling us gay ur so weird bitch just fuck him already im tired and also dont care.. hes so attention seeking and not used to um not being the center of attention. sorry! oopsies anyway so
so then im like ew like i kinda need to reassess um. the people im around. and again cant stress enough how gross and judged and just kinda old i felt surrounded by these ppl even tho theyre all like within a year of age? and like roommate still seems maybe cool but since we didnt actually talk and they were off w the other roommate/other ppl i cant help but associate them w the odd vibes but like. honestly idk i might just try to uh slide into their dms rlly casually. bc. well idk how the friend group is fracturing and it wouldnt surprise me if they were annoyed with sam esp living with him but obv i dont really know. but again let me stress this friend group has been friends since their freshman year like what r yall doing yeah u do need to break up....
so i figure since they're hot (and kinda tiny i cant tell if they're shorter than me or just right around my height) (but also they kind of scared me by giving Instagram face while posing for a pic last night i cant do any more people giving off dorian gray rn. but i was also under the influence so um that didnt help) i could just yeah be brave see how it goes and worst case scenario it's not a vibe yk. and best case scenario i get to hang w them and teko. teko so gives francis. anyway
OH also sam and the friends insisted on listening to this ai generated… thing like idk guys i think i was in hell fr
also had several men yell out of their cars at me and staring at me as we walked to the bus stop :/ so men really do ruin everything btw
um. so. that was the night! thx for reading if u did. i am excited to be around other fun silly cool queer people god bless fuck these people
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Monday
Greetings, dear readers! Didn't mean to leave you hanging, we've been semi-busy (it's never truly busy around here) and I am also a lazy writer - that combination left this space blank for a few days. Oops. I'll pick up where I left you hanging. California! We had planned to go Wednesday morning, but the mister didn't sleep well Tuesday night and wasn't feeling it. We pushed it back a day and departed Thursday morning around 8am. It was a two hour drive for us, first over the bridge and then south toward Virginia.
It was a pretty drive, not a whole lot to see in that stretch between Annapolis and California. We timed it from Edgewater and it would still be about an hour from the grandgirl. I'd love to be closer, but A) real estate prices are insane there, and B) it's hard to find a place that isn't in a congested area. We like peace and quiet. The flip side of that is giving up a lot of conveniences for that peace and quiet. UNLESS...
You move to California! I brought a list of houses currently for sale in the community so that we could check out different neighborhoods and decide what we liked and what we didn't. They were all pretty, but our favorite neighborhood was definitely Wildewood. It felt like an enchanted forest, but with pools and tennis courts. The homes were lovely, everything was manicured and neat, and people were out on walking trails. Very good vibe. Best of all, just two minutes away, as you drive out of the beautifully landscaped entrance to this serene neighborhood...SHOPPING! Everything from Lowes to Ulta, five grocery stores, and a bazillion restaurants from cowboy bbq to Thai food. Even a 12-plex movie theater! I asked the mister to stop at Sally Beauty so I could stock up on hair stuff, and JoAnn so I could grab loads of paper for card making - two things I haven't been able to do for two years. Not gonna' lie, it felt wonderfully normal, another thing that hasn't happened for two years. It was comparable to our situation in Mt. Juliet - quiet living but everything you could want or need just a few minutes away. I'm sure California has its drawbacks, we were just there for one quick visit, but it's very appealing to me right now. The only fault that I could find with the homes in the Wildewood subdivision is that there were very few single story homes, and the ones that did exist were probably smaller than we'd be happy with. We need to downsize our "stuff" anyway, 40+ years of marriage, kids, and life takes up a lot of space. We don't need it all. Mickey does need an office space, and we'll always need room for family to visit - but maybe we can figure that out in less square footage. So, having yammered on about getting rid of stuff and downsizing, on Saturday we ran down the road and bought some of the cutest Halloween decor! In my defense, it was all half price. I'm willing to get rid of clothing and shoes to make room for Halloween stuff. It all started with a Facebook post...
The couple behind these creations has decided to retire from traveling around to craft shows and they're unloading their inventory at 50% off. I'm sorry, but fall decor on sale is my heroin.
They had a bunch of Xmas stuff too, but I wasn't interested. Though Santa is my homeboy, I'm still team pumpkin. This was my haul for $34!
It had to pass inspection, but it all received the witch's cat stamp of approval.
Left to right, the boo sign will go beside the front door with a small pumpkin. The welcome sign will be at the bottom of the front steps with some mums. The pumpkin with spiders will probably sit beside a porch chair, and this...
will sit on my kitchen window sill with some tiny pumpkins. I'm ridiculously excited about all of it.
In other news I finally started painting the desk/hutch combo that I picked up for seven bucks. Remember this?
It's been patiently waiting for some color. First we had 100+ degree days, then we had a stretch of rainy days - so I waited. Yesterday I cleaned it up, took off the hardware, and got busy. it's far from finished, but she's looking very feminine now.
I've barely started on the hutch - just a quick slap of the ivory in places to lay a foundation. That top detail that's still brown will get a coat too. It'll get a second coat and then I'll go in with small brushes and tidy up all of the lines and add gold details. The little scalloped edging at the top and middle will be gold and so will the finials. I'll probably buy new drawer pulls, I'm undecided. I don't like the old ones but they're also not the ugliest I've ever seen. I'm also debating whether or not to trail flowers across the ivory section. It would be gorgeous, but since I'm actually going to fill those shelves, it might end up looking too busy. Anyway, I've just started her makeover and I'm enjoying the process. Can't wait to finish it and move it into my craft room. Does anyone remember me mentioning downsizing? Yeah, it's going really well.
And while we're on the subject of makeovers (kind of), I'm very glad I made that stop at Sally Beauty while we were in California. A few weeks ago I mentioned that I'm finished with hair color. I made an appointment for a cut and asked the stylist to do some heavy highlights on my crown so I could just let the white grow in without an obvious line of color/white. I paid a big chunk of money to have that done. As far as I could see it didn't change a damn thing. She only left the potion on for fifteen minutes, and nothing works on my hair in fifteen minutes. My hair won't even budge in under 30 minutes and that's only if using powerful chemicals and sacrificing a goat. So I was a little bummed, even though the stylist kept repeating, "That lightened it a little..." the only thing lighter was my wallet. I was still yellow with a white stripe. So, like I do, I researched a bit and realized that since I was already a light blonde, all I really needed was a toner to remove any yellow. Wella T18 seemed to be the toner many online hair professionals recommended. I picked up a box at Sally and then waited until I was in the mood to handle a possible disaster. Best case scenario, it would make me platinum. Worst case scenario it might turn my whole head purple and I don't know how to reverse that. I decided to roll the dice yesterday. I figured that if it turned everything purple I'd just act like it was on purpose. Lo and behold, it worked! I hate that the only photo I have to share is a creepy one, but it's about the hair, not my face. I'd just started the drying process, so have mercy on my poofy hair.
No yellow, no white stripe! Hooray! Whyyyy did I spend money on invisible highlights when the solution was $15 and a lot less time than I spent in the salon chair? The good news is that I'll never do it again. I added sparkle to the background of that photo to make it look like a celebration, I hope no one thinks that's my bathroom wallpaper.
Raise your hand if you've had enough of my rambling.
Yeah, me too. I just crammed several days worth of stuff into one blog post and there was no flow. Probably felt like walking through a house of mirrors. Bonk! No exit! I'm trying very hard not to comment on the political climate right now, all I will say is that I have hope. 99 days.
I'm sending out gobs of love, take as much as you need and pass it on. I hope you're out there leaving a trail of love and glitter and happiness behind you. More tomorrow. Until then, stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
RO I HAVE COME BEARING ASKS: 🦊, 🥧, and 🌇 for both Rens and Oshirou please :D
Also, kinda f/ovember-y ask: What are both Ren's favorite thing about you? Like, what do you think they fell in love with first, after meeting you??? 👀✨️✨️✨️
( @verykissablepixels )
YIPPEE!! thank you so much reffie!!! 🥰 i've already answered some for ren, but i'll HAPPILY rant about oushirou for those~!
(answers + art under readmore bc i can't shut up for a SINGLE POST!!! too much juicy lore to chew on here...)
🦊 What kind of cozy animals would you and your f/o be?
oushirou has major red fox energy -- fluffy red hair / fur, extremely mischievous, has a silly vibe while still appearing very graceful, and when around the few people he's comfortable with he'll wag his tail and laugh-squeak in excitement 😭 and yet when he's pushed into a corner he can flip a switch and hold his own in a fight. i'd love to be a cat and cuddle up into his warm fur and feel safe!!! 🥺
🥧 Do you and your f/o bake or cook things for fall?
i don't think oushirou's very used to being in a kitchen... he grew up as a little rich boy, lived in a high school dorm but had his meals given to him (and was an opportunistic gatherer, as seen in the post-valentines-chocolate-hunt event lol), and then became a world-traveling journalist and photographer with little downtime. BUT! he has a sense for good food and starts picking up some skills when he brings back recipes from around the globe and gives me a Taste (tm) of his travels.
so i think if he's around during the fall, he'd want to put together something not commonly eaten here but is seasonal for other places around the world + fairly easy to put together if you're able-bodied, like lamb karahi, peanut stew, or solyanka. i could help with prep, but he'd INSIST on taking care of the rest -- instead, i could spend the cooking time ask him all about the places he'd been since i'd last seen him!
🌇 Describe your perfect fall date/day out with an f/o.
oushirou enjoys going on walks during cooler weather! going through parks, picking up pretty leaves and rocks, holding hands and snuggling close to keep warm, teasing me if a leaf lands in my hair... if we planned to go for a longer walk, he could push me along in a transport chair and i could bring some lunch to eat while we rest at a bench. he'd also enjoy shopping for cool-weather clothes together! maybe something to match each other to connect us while he's gone.
assuming he's already taken me to a number of hole-in-the-wall places in the city, doc!ren and i would rent a car and drive out to someplace more remote for a day or two. maybe a cabin? a place with a nice porch to sit on together, where we can share a blanket and Fucking Chill (especially him. god. his body'll give out on him if he doesn't fully unwind every once in a while...). we may also do the walk-and-a-picnic bit!
with r!ren... i think we'd tend to keep it simple! my family likes to go on short trips during colder months, so while they're out + as his schedule allows, he'd come over and we'd hang out together while i house sit! not TOO different from what we usually do, but the vibe is different... nobody to tiptoe around, freedom to use the kitchen and other main areas without being bothered, cuddling on the porch, no "oh you're going over to HIS place are you? 😉" from nosy family. just... normality. very cuddly normality. (ALSO also he'd like walks. all of my Guys like their walkies i guess ksdfknjsn)
----------
as for both rens' first / most fav thing about me.... i'd say passion? or maybe the "gap moe" between the subdued way i normally present vs when i hear my sleeper agent activation phrase and go Special Interest Mode.
though it plays out differently for both of them -- for doc!ren he's passing through a waiting room and sees my one-winged eagle mask, and for r!ren he's helping me find something in the store and notices the beato keychain on my bag -- our first connection is:
"oh wait. that piece of merch... you're ALSO into this niche piece of queer media that's significantly longer than the fucking bible so few people have read the full thing?? AND you're a flesh and blood person i can talk to face to face??? AAAAAND the fact that you've already mentioned your fav character is [xxxx] during this 5 second convo means you're 99% likely to ALSO be queer like me in an area located in the bible belt????? 😳😳😳" kjadnjn.
that instant switch-flip from quiet politeness to GAY AUTISM-TO-AUTISM COMMUNICATION i think is endearing to them. and when they find out that passion extends into creating and collecting as well? it's Joever. neither realizes just HOW joever it is yet, but i mean... r!ren's willing to IMMEDIATELY help me to my car and hush-hush ask for my contact info (bc who else is into this kind of thing in bumfuck nowhere???), and while doc!ren waffles on it for longer, he eventually does ask if we can completely stop the professional relationship and just be straight up friends with no weird conflicts of interest (he isn't my direct doc but he's part of the team i'm seeing).
tl;dr they can't get enough of my autism swag KJEDN /J /J /J /J
(and i can't get enough of theirs.... 💕💕)
#i'm trying to think of some good f/ovember asks to send your way so please wait warmly for that!!! ^^💕#and for anyone who wanted to know what i meant by 'i want a guy who chooses to sound like a muppet' in a different post...#may i present to you suwabe junichi's silly guy voice <3 <3 my platonic ideal for 'deep voice but wants to get silly w it'#and my first realization this kind of voice does WAY more for me than just deep and suave (suwabe's usual acting voice)#[ asks. ]#🦦 [ can't escape it. ]#🍄 [ lying on the blade of an emotion. ]#📷 [ phantom hearts. ]#🐐 [ been up all night. ]#✨ [ oc lore. ]#⭐ [ canon lore. ]#long post -#food -#🧃 [ who is in control. ]#[ oomfies ; reffie. ]
1 note
·
View note
Text
GhostSpirit: Chapter 5
They sit at the table quietly eating cookies. The vibes are tense. Evan hasn't spoken a word in a few minutes. Celine whispers something to Lu, who whispers something back.
“WHY DIDN'T I KNOW ANY OF THIS!?” Evan half shouted pulling his hat over his face. “Why didn't she tell me…”
Celine gets up to comfort her new friend. “I'm sorry, I know it's-it's a lot. But trust me. I will help you get your answers.” Celine then asks if he wants a hug.
A small nod.
Celine Jax and Lu give Evan a big hug. Quiet sniffling. Too many thoughts, head full, need to go home. He tries to move and everyone lets go.
“C-can we come back an-another time, Celine?” Evan asks quietly. “I-I'm sorry”
“Hey, hey, of course. Take your time to process.” Celine leaves the room for a moment, Evan still has his hat covering his face and looks down. “Take these home, as a welcoming present!” she hands a circular box with a pentacle on it to Lu. Lu softly smiles at her while Jax convinces Evan that he needs to see and re adjusts the hat.
“Thank you Celine,” says Lu going over to the two boys.
“Thanks” says Jax.
Evan just nods quietly.
They leave the house of the witch and walk down the path leading to town.
The sun is starting to set.
Evans things are still in boxes. This thought overwhelms him to the point of crying again.
They reach their boy cave on the other side of town. The walk was quiet and the sun had fully set.
The wind starts up. Its cold.
Lu pulls out the key and walks up onto the porch the other two follow. Unlocking the door, a large carpeted room with a TV to the left, a kitchen to the right, further back some extra hangout space and some stairs.
“We can do your stuff tomorrow, you had a long day. Sorry about that..” Lu closes the door behind then and takes off his dark black boots.
“But-” Evan starts but immediately stops.
“Sleep in my room man, ill take the couch. Honest I'm not that tired. If you trust me enough I can get your stuff into your room.” Jax offers
This feels like just a big sleepover. Evan thinks.
Jax leads Evan upstairs, pointing out the bathroom also. They come to the upstairs where it leads to another common room. Evan rubs his eyes.
“Wait… I need my meds…” Evan goes to turn around but sees Jax is already holding the bottles with a small smile. Evan hugs Jax. In this moment. This chaotic night. Evan remembered a feeling.
“My room is the one with the grungy stickers on it. Ill be down here if you need me.” he playfully gives Evan a light punch on the arm. “You'll be good buddy.” He gives Evan the bottles and heads downstairs. Lu dashes his way up. No longer wearing his red jacket and now in a black tank top and shorts he speeds up the stairs and goes for a few laps around the common room. This makes Evan giggle yet wonder why is he full of so much energy.
The door has black yellow and Grey decals on it in the shapes of street signs. Evan opens the door and truest to turn on the light. Jax isn't allergic to light, he can stand in the sun, and he can see bis reflection. Growing up Jax had been bullied by others because he wasn't good enough. So he started some interesting habits. One was. No light in his room. If it was a figure that had LEDs, turned off at night. The sun was an exception. Cant turn that off. Plus its warm. Jax was always cold hence his nickname The Cold One. And his sarcastic speaking tone.
Evan uses his phone as a flashlight. The bed is made, next to the bed is table. On the table a small box sits. Evan chooses to let Jax keep his privacy. Evan sits on the bed, takes his meds, places them on the counter, and rolls into bed.
“Too many thought,” he whispers not even bothering to take off his hat. “Head full,” he says as he falls asleep.
#ghostspirit#ghostspirit:novel#fantasy#web novel#fantasy novel#novel#tapas webnovel#wattapad#chapter 5
1 note
·
View note
Text
I would love to get back into skating at some point
#i will tempt fate and skate on the road#no one can stop me#i don't live in the middle of nowhere to be exact but it's not a fuckin town either#it's just a bunch of houses/cows/that one convenience store thats on the corner#it's not a place where you go walking around but it has porch sitting vibes though and once in a blue moon community gatherings#i don't wanna drive 1 hour to go somewhere where where i can freely skate :/#it's been 8+ years brooo
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Once In A Lifetime [1/1]
Fandom: Triple Frontier (2019) Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 12.2k Summary: After circling around your attraction for hours, Santi brings you back home to wait out the snowstorm that brought you into his bar. Once there, you learn more about the lonely man who's taken a liking to you and become increasingly aware of just what you'll be missing if you walk away from him in the morning. (Sequel to “This Must Be The Place”) Warnings: SMUT (18+ only): fingering (f receiving), protected piv, oral (m receiving)
A/N: What is that, you say? After swearing that I’d never write a sequel to my bartender Santi fic, I did and it is nearly twice the length of the original? It’s more likely than you think. I’ve known that this was where their story would go pretty much since I posted the first part, but I could never quite settle on an ~emotional core~ to the story. Well uh based on the fact that it turned into 12.2k I think I found it. Anyway much love to everyone who’s listened to me yell about this fic in the past few weeks and an extra special thanks to Tegan for quelling my pacing anxieties and to my irl pal Jaime for watching Triple Frontier and talking with me for literal hours about what the hell is going on in this weird man’s brain. I recommend that you read “This Must Be The Place” before reading this fic but I’m not your mom.
PREVIOUS PART | AO3
——
“This is your house? But it looks so normal.”
Santi lets out a laugh, simultaneously surprised and affronted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Just with your whole…” You gesture vaguely up and down. He’s raising his eyebrows at you, you can see it faintly thanks to the dim light of his porch, but you try your best to maintain a neutral expression. “Amiable but solitary vibe, I’d’ve pegged you as more of an isolated little rundown cabin deep in the woods kind of guy. But this is…”
You hesitate, peering out through the windshield again. It is only one story, but it’s fairly large and well-maintained, with what seems to be a set of steps lit up by the headlights and leading down to the lake below. Undoubtedly it would feel pleasantly secluded in the summer, but the bare trees make you all too aware of your proximity to the highway, just back down the small driveway.
“Normal,” you conclude at last.
It takes Santi long enough to answer that you turn back to look at him, which means that you are now confronted by a very serious expression indeed as he says, “I don’t usually go for any sort of pegging on a first date.”
“I’d hardly call this a date.”
His lips curl up into a smirk. “Fair enough. Now let’s get inside my very normal house, it’s freezing out here.”
You navigate the snow in his driveway alright, but his house sits atop a slight incline and you find yourself hesitating at the stairs leading up to his front door. Admittedly, less snow has accumulated on the steps than on the ground surrounding you, but it still seems plenty treacherous.
“I promise I’m better about getting sand down before a storm when I’m actually expecting company,” Santi says, voice quiet beneath the whistling wind as he reaches you. And it’s a little tricky to see him clearly – his porch light casts only the faintest glow on the spot where you’re standing – but you think he might be genuinely nervous about the possibility that you’re judging him for the lack of courtesy.
So you reach out to take hold of his arm at the elbow. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me steady.”
He doesn’t look worried about your impression of him at all, then.
There’s the slightly awkward lull as he fusses with his keys, unlocks his door, and beckons you inside, but then you’re glancing around and even before he finds the light switch, you can’t help letting out a laugh.
“Okay, clearly I was wrong. This isn’t a normal house at all.” You turn back to look at Santi, grinning wide at the sight of his narrowed eyes. “This is a little old lady’s house.”
“Yeah, yeah, very funny.”
It’s not even that you’re trying to be funny. You just don’t know any other way to describe the furniture – undoubtedly well-maintained but certainly dated – or the trinkets and tchotchkes that sit scattered across his living room—some of it is sports memorabilia, a scuffed signed baseball and a few framed magazines and trading cards hung up on a far wall. But there’s also all manner of other things—a hanging shelf of miniature snow globes, a bookshelf with some sort of peculiar figurines instead of bookends.
Frankly, the only thing that makes it not feel like a little old lady’s house is that the whole thing doesn’t look remotely cohesive.
As you unzip your coat and set it into his outstretched hand, you say, “Next you’re gonna tell me that you have five cats.”
He gives you a stern look before turning away; you make note of the closet where he tucks your coat in amongst his own vast collection. (Because yes, clearly he’s been in the Midwest long enough to accumulate a coat for any weather.) “I’m not really a cat guy.”
“Really?”
Santi seems to detect genuine surprise in your voice, because he pauses in the middle of toeing his boots off to look at you. “Do I… seem like I should be?”
“Oh, maybe a little bit, but no, I was just…” You kick gently at the edge of his sofa, leaving a small clump of snow in your wake that quickly dissolves into a puddle on the hardwood floor. “Something scratched this up pretty good.”
A little smile spreads across his face as he returns his focus to his boots, like maybe he’s pleased that you’re bothering to pay such close attention. “I think Eddie had a cat or two. That’s the, uh, former owner of Pope’s. The bar wasn’t the only thing he needed to get rid of when he moved. And you’re welcome to stand here as long as you want, but you know you don’t have to just hang out in the doorway, right?”
It only strikes you when he says this that that’s what you’re doing, and you feel a little bashful as you go to remove your boots as well. “Sorry, you bring me back here and I just start picking apart your life.”
“Hey.” Santi crouches down and settles his elbows on his thighs so that he can meet your gaze while you’re stooped over. “Pick apart my life as much as you want. It’s refreshing. And besides.” He smiles wide enough to show teeth, which immediately softens his features and makes your heart pound. “I think it’d be more accurate to say that you started somewhere around the moment you said I bought my bar to become someone different.”
“I didn’t… quite say that,” you reply carefully.
“No, you were nicer about it.” When you return to your full height, Santi joins you. “But you’re probably thinking it now, too, aren’t you?”
You purse your lips to suppress a smile. “Only a little.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement, and he gives your arm a gentle but intentional nudge and gestures further into the house. “I’m gonna get some water, can I get you anything?”
“Water would be nice.”
You trail after him, taking a closer look at the rest of the room as you go. This side of the house has a fairly open layout, the living room bleeding into the kitchen and a wide doorway leading from the kitchen to the dark dining room beyond. Enough light is cast from the living room lamps that Santi doesn’t bother to turn the overhead light on as he peers into one of his cabinets and collects two water glasses. “He sold me the glasses, too, before you ask.”
Although your attention had been drawn to Santi’s back – to his shoulder blades shifting beneath his shirt while reaching up to the shelf – your gaze shifts and you take in the offending glasses.
Mickey Mouse is smiling back at you.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, but amusement saturates your voice and he looks at you with raised eyebrows.
Rather than contradicting you – as much as you think he might want to – Santi asks, “Ice?”
“Nah.” You glance over his shoulder at the window above his sink, through which you can still make out snowflakes flitting through the air. “I feel like I’ve had enough of snow and ice for a lifetime.”
He hums sympathetically. “I can turn up the thermostat too, if you’d like. I’ve been told I keep this place a little chilly.”
Frankly, you hadn’t even noticed; a pleasant warmth has been coursing through your veins ever since you kissed him back at the bar, a persistent reminder of the quiet anticipation hanging over you no matter how much you might be volleying back and forth about how Santi has constructed his entire life here around other people’s things.
Meeting his gaze with a soft smile, you tell him, “That’s okay,” and claim the offered drink before moving past Santi – maybe grazing against him – to take a peek in his dining room while he fills his own glass.
From a quick survey in the dark, you’d take a guess that this room is the most Santi you’ve seen so far, largely by virtue of the empty walls and the lack of clutter from the furniture—nothing but a table, six chairs, and a liquor cabinet. After a lengthy period of time during which he hedged around his own hobbies, Santi had finally admitted to you back at the bar that he picked up woodworking after extensive nagging from one of his friends and regulars. In the moment, he told you that he’d only made a table because his old one had given out on him (“I don’t do it for fun, it was just practical”), but from the look of things, you’d take a guess that he built everything else in the room to match.
It’s a nice piece of him, you think.
Even if he does hold it close to the chest.
“It’s nearly 1:30.”
You turn abruptly to look back at Santi where he’s leaning against the doorjamb, backlit by the warm glow from the living room.
“Already?” You take a sip of water, watching his silhouette over the rim of the glass. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Santi hums and takes a few steps closer, but he hesitates short of truly getting into your space. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t…” He hesitates, looking you up and down. “You’ve had a really long day. If you just wanna pass out… my bed’s pretty comfortable. As is the couch, despite the cat scratches.”
The offer nearly makes you laugh in its inelegance, but you suppress it, instead giving Santi an amused little smile as you reach behind you and set your water on the table. “As opposed to picking up where we left off.”
“Yes.”
You give it a moment’s pause before reaching out a hand and capturing his wrist, the leather of his bracelet pleasantly warm against your fingers. “Honestly, I don’t think I could sleep right now if I tried.”
Even with these words hanging in the air, Santi doesn’t move right away. It’s not until you gently tug him toward you that he closes the distance, so much slower than the hungry kiss he initiated back at the bar. Almost timid.
No, not timid—his eyes meet yours as he leans in and it almost makes you heart stall how firm and steadfast his gaze is before his lips settle against yours and your eyelids fall shut.
If anything, you think – as Santi presses his tongue past your lips to taste you again, as he presses in close to you and sets his drink down before resting his free hand against the table where his fingers just so happen to graze your ass – if anything, you think that he is remarkably sure of himself. And as you open your mouth to him, you feel it in the way he inhales sharply through his nose and leans in closer--
He’s decided to trust that you’re sure of yourself, too.
Good, you think, reaching up for the buttons of his shirt.
Time to pick up where you left off.
Santi smiles against your mouth and he lets you—he even puffs his chest out a little bit and leans into your touch, giving you better access. To your surprise, though, he doesn’t follow suit. He grins and nips at your bottom lip as you ease his sleeves down his arms, but when the flannel drops to the floor, he doesn’t tug at your shirt. Instead, he clutches your waist tight and presses you harder against the table as he leans in.
Distantly, you’re aware of the edge of the table digging into your thighs, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Santi is wonderfully close, he’s tasting you so eagerly and there’s his thigh, nudging between your legs.
You think back to your impression as you straddled him on the floor of his bar, that Santi might just kiss you forever, and it seems now like he’s of a mind to do precisely that.
His tongue traces languid and patient against yours, and you think you might let him.
But you certainly take the opportunity to touch him, too; a little sigh escapes your lips as you run your hands over his torso before settling one low on his back and the other up higher, where his muscles are pulled taut from holding you.
He groans, soft but eager, when you dig your nails into his skin and urge him closer, urge him to press flush against you.
The lingering hint of whiskey has mostly faded on Santi’s tongue, covered up by the earthy taste of what you think must be well water. It suits him—is intoxicating like him, overwhelming you as the still, late night hangs over the room and makes you all too aware of each shaky inhale through your nose and each time your chest falters tight against his.
It’s not until Santi shifts his weight that you become abruptly aware of his arousal as his groin settles against your hip—not that he seems to be making any efforts to do anything about it, seemingly still too preoccupied with learning each inch of your mouth and drawing soft whimpers and moans from the back of your throat by sucking at your tongue just right and tugging at your hair.
When you respond by opening your legs more, there’s no intentionality behind it, even though – in retrospect – you probably could’ve guessed that it would encourage Santi to nestle his own leg further between your thighs.
You don’t really intend to grind against his thigh, either, but you like the way Santi chuckles into your mouth when you do.
“Looking for something?” he murmurs.
You, too, giggle, shifting to lean your forehead against his and take the first full breath you’ve managed in you’re not sure how long. “Some place to wait out a snowstorm.”
But your breath falters when Santi inches his hand along your shirt’s hemline until he finds purchase at the button of your jeans. When he speaks again, his voice comes out husky and heart-wrenching. “Is that all?”
“I thought it was,” you concede, softly. Fuck, you’re all too aware of each of Santi’s shallow breaths across your cheek, his skin hot beneath your hands, his fingers trembling at your waist where your shirt has ridden up, and it’s frankly a wonder you can think right now. “What’re you looking for?”
When he deftly unfastens your pants with only his thumb, you expect a joke. You expect him to be flirty and perhaps a little crude.
“I have no fucking idea,” Santi says instead, in a moment of alarming honesty that makes you pull your head back to truly look into his eyes. Even in the dark, there seems to be a gleam to them. “And for once that doesn’t scare the shit outta me.”
You’re not sure if you could have said whether it’s this declaration or the ensuing kiss that sends goosebumps down your arms, but regardless—when his fingers trail into your jeans and over the thin fabric of your panties, you’re already shivering, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
Santi’s touches are fleeting at first—teasing touches paired with teasing kisses that have you rocking your hips forward to seek more friction and clutching at his neck to keep his lips firmly on yours. Even through your underwear, you’re hyper-aware of the calluses on his fingers, sending a jolt to your core and making you sigh into his mouth as he slowly caresses you. His knee nudges yours, urging you to open wider for him, and you oblige unthinkingly.
Anything to sink deeper into the feeling of him closing in around you.
It’s not until Santi swipes your panties aside that you become abruptly, overwhelmingly aware of how wet you are, the fabric pressing damp between his knuckles and your thigh. But then you feel it in earnest, the ease with which he swipes through your folds, and you let out a whimper and tug at Santi’s hair in the same moment that his breath catches and he ruts up against you, just once.
Oh.
So he likes knowing that you’re turned on.
Maybe he likes a little affirmation of precisely how aroused you are.
When he hesitates with a finger at your entrance before slowly, patiently tracing back up to your clit, you pull his hair a bit harder and draw out a low moan from the back of his throat, and yes.
You think that’s exactly what he likes.
By that assessment, Santi also likes it when you dig the nails of your other hand into his back, and when you make a noise of disapproval in the moment you chase his mouth after he pulls away but before he ducks his head down to kiss your neck. He groans and you clench around nothing, needing him more than anything.
You tell him as much, exhaling a fractured, “Santi,” but faltering for a moment when his teeth graze your skin at your pulse point. “I need--” His free hand, cradling your back so carefully, curls into your shirt and grips tight to pull you closer at the same moment that he increases the pressure on your clit. “Need more, Santi.”
He makes a pleased noise that goes straight to your core. “What do you need?”
From the way he’s hesitating just shy of pressing two fingers into your pussy, now, you daresay he knows precisely what you’re asking for.
But you like the vague, haphazard way he’s rocking his hips against your thigh and the heat of his breath, his tongue on your neck as his stubble burns your skin just so. So you humor him—albeit tugging his hair hard for good measure. “Fill me up, please.”
Santi follows through in an instant, wrenching a whimper from deep within you.
“Like that?” he whispers. As if on cue, the pads of his fingers swipe over a spot that makes you buck against his hand.
Nodding, you hum weakly. “Just like that.”
Just like that, Santi begins to ease his fingers out of your cunt before pressing in again, deeper. He takes on a slow, leisurely pace to fuck you on his fingers, a leisurely pace which he mirrors with a patient exploration of your neck and your jaw—finding each tender spot that will make you gasp or moan or dig your nails deeper into his skin.
Only his shallow breathing and the press of his arousal against your thigh can betray how worked up he truly is.
In a frantic moment, you try to reach between you – a near impossible feat with how desperately close Santi is, pressed flush against you – with a mind to stroke him over his pants. Perhaps try to reach inside and get him off in earnest.
(The very thought of getting your hand on his cock makes you thrust against his hand a little harder.)
But he nudges his nose against your jaw and says, “Lemme wait.” Maybe he anticipates that you’re going to ask why – after all, you know that you’re not the only one who’s been craving this for hours – because he elaborates, just a little, as he traces his thumb through your folds before circling it over your clit. “I want to see you come first.”
The thought makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you clench around his fingers automatically, and Santi lets out a sweet chuckle.
“Shut up and kiss me, then,” you instruct him, or beg him—you’re not sure which.
He obeys, or gives in—you’re still not sure which. But you relish in the feeling of Santi’s tongue slotting against yours again as he fucks you with his fingers over, and over, and over.
You feel your climax building steadily, filling your lungs and your veins, and it takes everything in you not to race toward it head-on. Instead, for an instant or for an age, you sink into a very particular feeling--
A feeling of a small hint of scar tissue at Santi’s neck where you’re gripping it--
A feeling of his knuckles, slick with your arousal as they drag across your thigh--
A feeling of the quiet, early morning hour almost ready to engulf you--
And it’s then, with your head swirling and Santi’s teeth on your lower lip, that you feel yourself unravel.
Santi coaxes you through it with tender kisses, continuing his ministrations with his fingers as you thrust, stuttering and clumsy, against his hand. It’s not until you falter and duck your head away that he wavers, his fingers still in your pussy to the knuckle.
The still, heady darkness hangs over you both for a moment until you let out a soft laugh and breathe, “Fuck.”
Santi seems to let out a breath he was holding as he chuckles. “Is that a good ‘fuck’?”
You lean back far enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Mostly.” Santi’s mouth falls open slightly, but you elaborate before he has any need to be generally affronted or ask a follow-up question. “But also a ‘fuck, I’m starving’ sort of ‘fuck.’”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs harder, and involuntarily, you clench around him again just once. “I think we can do something about that.”
Although you hum approvingly, you also clutch Santi tighter when he moves to pull away. “In a second.”
While you have him here, holding you so close, you might as well steal another kiss.
*-*
Evidently, Santi is a weekly meal prep type of guy—at least judging by the number of Tupperware containers full of some sort of rice and veggie dish that you get a glimpse of when he opens up his fridge. He grabs just one, at first, before hesitating and retrieving another and bringing them both to his microwave.
“I hope I’m not throwing a wrench into your meal plans with this.”
He turns around and leans against the counter with his arms crossed, which draws your focus for… just a moment. Because his shirt is still lying discarded on the floor in the other room, leaving Santi shirtless.
From the way his lips quirk up, he clocks your wandering gaze, but he says nothing about it. “Don’t worry about it. I always end up getting tired of this recipe before all of the servings are gone.”
You laugh, more than a little bewildered. “Why do you keep making it, then?”
“I don’t know, because it’s easy, I guess?” A thought seems to occur to him, then, and he points at you accusingly with a fork. “Don’t read into that.”
“What would I read into that?” You smile pleasantly before sipping at your water.
Santi glowers momentarily, but there’s no real bite to it; regardless, he seems unable to quite hold a stern expression while looking at you, and honestly, you can relate.
“You’re not throwing any wrenches into anything,” he reiterates once his expression softens.
When the microwave goes off shortly after, Santi hands you the first reheated bowl, and you find that you can’t quite bring yourself to sit down, either at the dining room table or at the smaller, more functional kitchen table which – judging by the used coffee mug and the overturned copy of a battered paperback – seems to get more day-to-day use.
Instead, you begin to meander through the space as you eat. You take a closer look at the snow globes you’d spotted on the way in, the framed sports magazines and trading cards and suddenly you realize you’re halfway down the hall that leads deeper into his house, looking over a number of photographs containing what you think must be Santi’s family and friends.
“That one’s my mom.”
His voice startles you, enough so that it’s a good thing you were holding your Tupperware tight or you might have been in serious danger of dropping it. You glance away from the picture in question to take Santi in, hesitating a few feet away and chewing a bite of his food with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“This one?” You point to the frame that you’d been examining, and when he nods, you turn back and look at it closer.
It’s clearly one of the older photos on the wall—black and white but a little brown and faded around the edges, and that’s even without taking into account that the woman in the photograph looks young, probably hovering around 20 years old at the latest as she poses on a beach towel with a large body of water in the background.
And though Santi hasn’t told you his age – though you have had no particular desire to ask – you see the years in his face, so you know that this day at the beach must have been a long time ago.
“You look like her,” you tell him, squinting at her face.
He hums. “Maybe a little.”
The reluctance in Santi’s voice is palpable. When you furrow your brow and meet his eyes, he shrugs. It feels almost apologetic. “She always said I look like my dad, but I don’t… I couldn’t tell you.”
You don’t remark upon that, precisely. You cast your gaze over his tired features, then over his mother, with her bright eyes and inviting smile. “Whatever you got from your dad…” You consider it for a moment before reaching out and touching his cheek gently, just beside his eye. “I think these are hers.”
It’s only belatedly that you think to drop your hand.
Santi’s Adam’s apple shifts visibly as he swallows. “The one next to it is her with her parents,” he says.
You take a bite of food and let the subject change go by.
It becomes apparent to you quite quickly that Santi is in almost none of these pictures, though you can’t say you’re surprised. The ones that do contain Santi are nearly all from his youth, and always with family—his mom or grandparents, mostly, but he also chuckles to himself as he points out his “tío Roberto,” who he explains was his favorite growing up purely by virtue of the fact that he would pick Santi up and flip him upside-down, as captured in one of the photos.
There’s exactly one picture of Santi from his days in the army, and it’s just a polaroid, but he framed it all the same. He’s not looking at the camera, and neither are the other two men in the shot, their focus instead on the card game that they’re playing around a table. One of the strangers seems to be affronted and arguing with the other, while Santi is captured mid-laugh.
“Tom was trying to break his own house rules,” Santi says, reaching out to point at the man who’s being thoroughly chastised. His finger shifts, then, to the one who’s yelling. “Will wasn’t very happy about it.”
“And you…”
“I knew I had the cards to win that hand either way. I think Fish could tell, that’s why he took the picture.”
He has a pleased little smile tugging at his mouth when you look at him, and a far-off look in his eyes that you can’t quite pinpoint.
“Do you see them much?” you ask softly. Because as much fondness as he’d radiated when telling you stories about them back at the bar, it hasn’t escaped your notice that they were all in the past. Years and years ago.
“They’ve each visited a few times, yeah.” Santi pauses to eat, and he seems to linger on chewing, slow and precise. “Frankie’s made it up for at least a week pretty much every summer I’ve been here, but he just had a kid a few months ago, so I’ll probably have to make the trek out to him for now.”
You feel yourself bursting with… a few sentiments, really. Bursting over how lonely it sounds, bursting over your longing to ask whether he misses them and whether it’s worth it to be so far removed if it makes it so difficult to see people he clearly cares about very much.
But you also feel Santi balancing on such a delicate edge of vulnerability and disclosure, and you’re honestly not quite sure you could handle where the conversation might go if you pushed, so you say nothing about it. Instead, you glance at your Tupperware, now empty save for a few scattered pieces of rice and vegetables not worth trying to get onto your fork.
“Show me your room?”
Santi glances further down the hall, maintaining an impressively neutral expression. “If you want.”
“You mentioned a comfortable bed.” You begin to walk in the direction of that comfortable bed, but you move backward so that you can hold his gaze. “Also, I think I owe you an orgasm.”
“Hey, let the record show that I don’t think you owe me anything,” he retorts, although he certainly is trailing after you.
You give him a stern look. “Santiago.”
And he earnestly, wordlessly falters a few steps away, which almost makes you giggle.
“Take me to bed, please.”
Santi sighs heavily, as though you’ve asked something remarkably difficult of him. “I guess if you’re going to say please.”
No sooner have you crossed the threshold to his bedroom than Santi liberates the empty Tupperware from your grasp, stacking it with his own and discarding them both on his dresser before promptly getting his hands on your waist. He gives you a satisfied little grin as he guides you backward across his floor, and you match it—smiling over him, and over the way that his fists are balling into your shirt to finally tug it off again.
You lean in to kiss him as soon as you can manage, before you’ve even quite pulled your forearms free of your top and discarded it. And he smiles against your lips, giving you sweet pecks even while he mumbles, “Gimme a second to turn the light on.”
Unable to help yourself, you let out a low huff that has Santi chuckling. But you acquiesce, though your hand trails along his side as he moves around you to reach the lamp on his bedside table.
Even briefly in the dark as you were, you have to blink away the brightness for a few moments until your eyes become accustomed to the low, warm light of Santi’s lamp. His room is rather small, so in the time it takes for your eyes to adjust, he’s slotted your hands together to pull you toward him, and the feeling of his palm against yours is enough to make your pulse race.
Because you feel abruptly aware of the fact that he may have already been inside you, but you haven’t actually held hands.
With your heart pounding in your ears, you let Santi pull you close and duck his head to scatter a few kisses over your shoulder. “Let’s get these pants off,” he murmurs. His free hand toys with one of your belt loops as he speaks.
“I could say the same to you,” you laugh. Reaching up, you curl your fingers in his hair and tug—just hard enough that he lets you pull his head back to look at you from beneath half-closed eyelids that give you the perfect glimpse of his darkened eyes. “You haven’t even let me into yours yet, and I’ve been trying for hours.”
Santi looks tremendously pleased with himself as he relinquishes his grip on you to unbutton and unzip his own jeans. “What exactly does ‘hours’ mean?”
You roll your eyes – admittedly affectionate – and nudge him to sit down on the bed, which he does easily, kicking his pants away the moment he’s off his feet. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
It takes only moments for Santi to reach up and still your hand—not even long enough for you to unzip your own pants. When you look down at him, he’s gazing at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Yeah, I would.”
You swallow sharply. “Since my car wouldn’t start.”
“Just since then?”
He doesn’t sound hurt, per se, but you think it’s a valid question: you spent a whole evening with him, but it was only when you got more definitively stranded that you wanted to sleep with him?
Carefully, you begin to unzip and remove your jeans. “In another universe, where I hadn’t left my lights on when I came into your bar, I think I would have wanted an excuse to stay.” Your pants make a soft thump when they pool in a pile on the floor, and you lick your lips before stepping out of them and slowly, carefully climbing into Santi’s lap. “And when I couldn’t find one, I would have probably left, and told my friends about the sexy bartender who kept me alive, but not until the trip was over.”
Santi leans into your touch as your arms settle over his shoulders and the pads of your fingers slowly trace over his neck and into his hair. And there, arching slightly against your hand, he murmurs, “How come?”
“Because they would’ve spent the whole week trying to convince me to come back.”
These words hang in the air for several long moments.
“You could come back. If you want.”
Only Santi’s slightly too-tight grip on your hips gives any external indication that this suggestion might come from a place of genuine want. But you furrow your brow anyway, because there’s still something guarded in his gaze. As gently as you can manage, you say, “Why don’t you think about what you want, and then you can let me know?”
Maybe he doesn’t know whether he wants to see you again – or at least, and perhaps more likely, he can’t quite seem to say it – but Santi most certainly knows what he wants right now, and he shows it—pressing you into his mattress while he savors the taste of you. Now that your shirt is gone, he’s quite eager to continue where he left off in the back room of his bar, so it’s in very short order indeed that he scoots down on the bed to kiss and suck at whatever exposed skin he can reach.
You let out a gasp and arch up against his mouth as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark just above your bra cup, and he uses the opportunity to reach beneath you for the clasp to unfasten it, humming a low note of satisfaction against your skin as he slips the bra off and tosses it aside. No sooner has he left your tits bare than his mouth is on them again, making you whimper and tremble beneath his touch. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut over just how much it is, and over just how much you’re sort of willing it to last forever.
Then his mouth is gone, and his shoulders aren’t there anymore when you reach for him, and you find yourself earnestly whining his name as you open your eyes.
Santi is kneeling over you between your legs. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he looks you over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Given how wrecked he looks, you can’t imagine the sort of state you’re in, and you couldn’t care less.
But you still nudge his thigh with your knee and tease him for staring. “I’d say ‘take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ but I think that’s also definitely off-limits for a first date.”
He laughs bashfully and swats at your hip. “I’m just getting a condom.”
And he does, crawling around you to search through his nightstand, but only after taking a few more moments, and you don’t mind.
You lift your hips to shimmy out of your panties, and then you take this opportunity to check Santi out for a moment, stretched out on the bed beside you and peering through a half-full box of condoms to grab one. You take in the sight of him, his bicep flexing from the way he’s leaning on his arm for support; his toned thighs, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he leans forward; and his ass, still concealed beneath his underwear but tantalizingly within reach. A renewed sense of arousal hits you, full force, and you reach absently to touch yourself.
“Oh,” you breathe, over both the jolt of pleasure it sends through you and the lingering wetness that you sweep up with your fingers. Santi looks up in response to the sound, just in time to see you hesitate at your entrance before pressing inside.
Both of you swear in unison—you because it is something else to feel how needy you still are, your cunt hot and dripping and desperate for more than your fingers can provide. And Santi…
“Jesus,” he groans. The condoms make a soft clattering noise as he drops the box near your head, but he begins to crawl back toward you and the foil of a wrapper crinkles slightly in his hand, so you know that at least he didn’t forget to grab one. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“And leave Pope’s without an owner? I could never.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Santi settles his hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly. His expression is remarkably grave. “If you kill me, you have to take over. It’s like The Santa Clause.” He pauses a moment to consider it. “In the sense that you also turn into a lonely old man with bad knees.”
You giggle, both over the reference and over the fact that he’s now tugging his underpants off as though he said nothing out of the ordinary. “I think I can safely say this is the first time I’ve ever talked about Tim Allen during sex.”
“Does he not… come up often?” You laugh harder, kicking at Santi’s calf which in turn makes him crack a smile. “I’ll have to come up with some better pillow talk, then, I thought I’d talk about Home Improvement until we fell asleep.”
“I’d rather spend a night in the snow,” you retort. But you falter over the last word because Santi has ducked down to kiss you, soft and tender.
He pulls away after a few moments and hesitates, like that—oh so close and just looking at you. You hear him crinkle the condom wrapper in his hand again and you know he’s going to pull away in a moment to put it on, and you want that, you really fucking do, but you also feel words bubbling up in your throat that you really, really need to say now.
“And you’re not such an old man,” you add softly.
Wrinkles pull at the corners of his eyes as he smiles, and you don’t mean it any less.
Santi is slow and precise in fucking you. He’s slow and precise in the kisses he gives you as he rocks his hips, too, and the first time he sucks teasingly at your tongue while buried deep inside you, you can’t help the whimper that you let out.
Then you clench around him and he moans but can’t quite seem to say anything, in case you needed a reminder that he’s just as affected.
It would be an exaggeration to say that you lose all sense of time, in large part because so much of the night has already felt dreamlike and impossible to quite pin down. But you get the sense that Santi would gladly prolong this moment of being inside, on top of, around you, your pussy fluttering around him as your mouth moves languid against his, and the quiet winter night hanging over it all, seemingly endless.
You can relate.
So even you’re taken aback by the precise amount of urgency in your voice when he hesitates for a breath between kisses and you blurt, “Hold my hand, Santi.”
Your free hand – settled up beside your pillow while your other hand is splayed across his back – becomes the focus of Santi’s attention in an instant, and a momentary look of surprise crosses his features.
But then his fingers are intertwined with yours, your forearms are pressed flush against one another, and you become abruptly, overwhelmingly certain that you will be undone, just like that. It’s only a matter of time.
And what a rich, wonderful matter of time it is—as Santi fills you, as his own arousal gradually overwhelms him, drawing out eager moans that go straight to your core.
When your pleasure begins to overtake you, you barely have a chance to mumble a warning into Santi’s mouth before you’re tightening your grip on him and crying out. He swallows the noise easily, maintaining the pace of his thrusts and holding you close while you shudder beneath him, but you can see it in his brow when you begin to come back to yourself—he’s not quite there yet, even though he wants to be. He really fucking wants to be.
Giving his hand a careful squeeze, you breathe, “Can you come for me, babe?”
His hips stutter over the tender tone of your request, and when he finds his pace again, it’s faster, surer.
“Just don’t stop kissing me,” he instructs you, or begs you—you’re not sure which.
You obey, or give in—you’re still not sure which. You move your mouth slow and pliant against Santi’s as he chases his release, hyper-aware of each noise bubbling up from the back of his throat and each eager snap of his hips.
Distantly, you admit it to yourself, even though you don’t think you could quite say it aloud (let alone to Santi): you think it would make you happy, to do this again.
Even though you don’t say it aloud, you kiss Santi as he comes, and you wouldn’t mind if he maybe feels the truth of that, a little bit.
You allow Santi to be the one to pull away, his forehead settling against yours and his breath hot across your cheek as he hesitates inside of you.
“I’m really glad you came, because I kinda wore out my wrist back there and I’m too tired to eat you out like you deserve.”
These last words are accompanied by a low laugh bubbling up from his chest, which you can’t help but echo, even as you swat at his shoulder. “Aren’t you charming.”
“Yeah, I am,” he agrees with a smirk before giving you one last peck.
It’s irritatingly true.
What Santi said about being tired is true, too, for both of you; you watch as he disposes of the used condom in a nearby waste bin and you can see the fatigue setting in in his eyes and hanging over his shoulders. And you’re right there with him.
Because as he pointed out an eternity ago, you’ve had a long fucking day.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom while I can still move,” you tell him.
Santi hums his agreement as he rises to his feet. “D’you want anything to sleep in? It gets pretty cold, I was probably gonna…” He gestures vaguely toward his dresser.
You smile softly. “A shirt might be nice.”
He reaches the dresser first, combing through the drawers in the time it takes you to quite find your legs again. You couldn’t say who starts it, but one of you steals a lingering kiss as he hands off a faded band t-shirt, which keeps a smile on your face while you trail back down the hall toward the bathroom.
You’re only gone for long enough to pee and splash some water on your face – and perhaps marvel at your reflection as you get a glimpse at the mess that is your hair – but Santi is already under the covers when you return, lying on his side and facing the empty spot that he’s left for you. At first, you almost think that he’s actually managed to fall asleep already – you have a moment of amusement to yourself that, yeah, he evidently was too tired to eat you out – but then he mumbles, “I left the light on for you.”
Something about these words makes your breath catch in your throat, propelling you across the floor and into bed.
No sooner have you turned off the lamp and slipped under the blankets yourself than Santi has tucked his arm over your side, in a lazy sort of way. But you’re quick to lean deeper into him, and it makes you smile, when you realize his grip tightens.
For a moment, you’re tempted to make a joke. You consider perhaps asking Santi to make good on his promise to talk about Home Improvement, or tell him something absurd and patently untrue about how you’ll recount your snowstorm mishap to your friends since you did end up going home with that handsome bartender.
But words seem to fail you, and you’re glad for it, because you suddenly feel Santi nudge his nose gently against the back of your neck.
“I think I do want to leave,” he breathes.
You thread your fingers between his over your stomach and you don’t say a word.
*-*
It feels like you’ve only just nodded off when you’re jolted awake by the sound of your ringtone blaring loudly from the floor.
You sit up sharply, looking around in the dark as you parse through where the hell you are and make out… nothing, at first. But then Santi groans at your side and pulls the covers over his head, making them pull tight against your stomach, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.
“I’ll be right back,” you whisper as you slip out from under the blankets.
He can only hum his vague agreement.
The curtains in Santi’s room were shut tight when you arrived last night, but as you move down the hall and back into the living room, you’re confronted by sunlight streaming in from over the lake, now clearly visible down below and through the trees. You’re still rubbing your eyes as you answer the phone with a weak, “Hello?”
Judging by the three voices on the other end of the line that erupt into a chorus of questions and one exclamation of, “We thought you were dead!” it seems that you’re on speaker phone.
You don’t tell them much. You explain about your car, and Santi offering to let you spend the night, and the fact that you’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep, which elicits some noises of delight that you choose not to humor with a response. But when you tell them that they should expect to hear from you with a more specific ETA within the next few hours, they’re reasonably reassured and tell you to go get some more sleep.
“Or whatever it is that you’re doing over there,” you hear just before the line goes dead.
Rolling your eyes, you go into Santi’s coat closet and tuck your phone into your pocket before making your way back to his wonderfully dark bedroom to curl right back up against him and drift off to sleep.
But Santi surprises you a little bit—because he’s opened the curtains partway and is sitting up against his headboard and rubbing at his eyes a little blearily when you reach the doorway.
“Everything okay?” he asks. His voice is husky from sleep, and you’d be lying if you tried to claim that the sound doesn’t make your stomach flip.
“Yeah, they just wanted to make sure I’m not tied up in some creepy farmer’s basement.”
Santi laughs softly—a creaky, sleepy laugh. “If anyone is getting tied up in this house, it’ll be in here, not in the basement.”
“That’s what I told them.”
You let out a soft hum as you tuck under the covers again, the weight of them settling over you and making you aware of just how chilly his house truly is, now that you’re thinking about it. It makes the thought of cozying up against Santi’s side again feel very warm and inviting indeed.
“But you’re not…” He falters and then reroutes. “If you’re in a hurry to get back to your car…”
“I’m not in a hurry at all, Santi.” When his expression softens, you feel that he’s been sufficiently reassured, so you add, “Now get over here, I feel like I hardly even slept.”
As much as you mean it, though, you find that you can’t truly nod off once Santi pulls you to him again, and he seems to be in a similar position. You go from talking sporadically as you doze to carrying on a full conversation, sunlight cresting over your pillow while you tell him more about your job and your world back home.
Finally, he squeezes your hip and says, “Alright, I feel like we’re not getting any more shut-eye this morning, so I’m going to make some breakfast. Waffles sound alright?”
You hum and squeeze his wrist in return. “I’ll help.”
Santi sounds genuinely affronted. “I don’t let women make breakfast after they’ve spent the night.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” You roll over onto your other side to look him in the eye, and you see the disapproval there. But you also can see that he knows he’s not going to win this particular fight. So you can’t help it: you smile.
“No need to look so smug,” he mutters, kicking your foot under the covers. But there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Despite the fact that you argued with him, there’s not actually much to making waffles when Santi only has a pre-prepared mix on hand, so you don’t even end up doing much. You lean against the counter as he stirs in the wet ingredients, burrowing your hands into the pockets of the sweatpants that he supplied you with before leading you back to the kitchen, and you ask him to tell you what he’d normally be doing, on a day like today, if he didn’t have you with him.
“Probably waking up right about now,” he says after glancing at the clock on the microwave. “Believe it or not, I usually go to bed around the same time we did. It takes a while to shut my mind off after work.”
“Oh yeah? What does the trick?”
“To turn my mind off?” When you nod, Santi stops stirring for a few moments, briefly lost in thought. “Reading. Watching some old movie on TV. Jerking off.” You roll your eyes and elbow him, and Santi giggles before going back to his stirring. “Mostly reading. It’s probably embarrassing how many times I’ve woken up at sunrise on my couch with a book on my face.”
Embarrassing, but he’s telling you. The thought makes you purse your lips, barely resisting the urge to smirk.
“And then… Oh, let me guess.” He raises his eyebrows at his mixing bowl, so you continue. “You do breakfast and then a workout and then a second breakfast, don’t you.”
Santi falters again in his stirring, just for a flash. “Better guess than the rundown cabin thing,” he concedes.
You grin, knowing very well that he’s as good as said yes.
“I used to just eat after.” Santi points the spoon at you almost accusingly, only to look surprised when you both watch a dribble of waffle mix drip onto the counter. He points you toward the paper towel roll on your other side, and you go about wiping the counter clean as he continues. “Then I started to get dizzy and my doctor said-- Long story short, you’re only right because I’m responsible with my blood sugar.”
Bumping him with your shoulder as you move to toss the paper towel, you say, “But I am right.”
Santi sighs heavily. “Could you plug in the waffle maker while you’re over there? I think we’re about ready.”
Feeling thoroughly called out, Santi nevertheless elaborates more on his routine as you oversee the waffle maker. He briefly alludes to the set-up he has down in the basement – “for when you’re not tying up lost tourists” you tease – but he spends much more time describing his summer work-outs with great fondness, how he’ll go out swimming on the lake or even rowing, sometimes, when the mood strikes him.
“And here you spent so long last night trying to convince me that you don’t have any hobbies.”
“I guess I don’t really see those things as hobbies.” You’re pulling a finished waffle out of the maker and pouring in more batter, but when you’re finished and he still hasn’t elaborated, you look up at him with one eyebrow raised. Santi looks a little bashful as he continues. “They’re more about wasting a few hours until it’s time to eat lunch and go in to do inventory.”
It’s impossible, in this moment, not to think back to his meek confession when you were drifting off to sleep: I think I do want to leave. And your heart aches more than a little, for this man who threw himself into a limbo that perhaps he needed, once upon a time… but one that he doesn’t quite know how to worm his way out of now.
“But what a nice way to waste a few hours.”
He smiles softly. “Yeah, it is.”
From the look in his eyes, it’s as though the thought has never occurred to him.
You’re slow in eating, and you don’t say so aloud, but to yourself you have no qualms with conceding that it’s because you’re beginning to feel the inevitability of your separation. If the prospect nagged at you last night when it looked like you might actually part ways with him at the bar, then now…
Well, you’re downright dreading it.
But at least Santi takes an age to eat, too.
Eventually, though, your plates are clear, the waffle batter is all gone, and he leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I figure I’ll stick around Pope’s once I bring you back, so I should probably shower before we head out. Do you…” He points a thumb in the vague direction of the bathroom.
Though Santi is graciously not telling you that you look like a mess, you certainly feel like one, so the very idea of warm, clean water makes you perk up in an instant. “I really, really do,” you agree, rising to your feet at once. And though he did not suggest that you shower together, per se… You allow yourself to look him up and down and say, “Maybe I can take care of our plates and then catch up with you?”
He pulls his plate closer when you try to reach for it. “Hey, hey, not so fast. First you insist on cleaning up my bar, then cooking your own breakfast…”
“I see no problem,” you reply, a little glow of delight coursing through your chest over his blatant exasperation.
And Santi captures your hand, pulling you in close—pulling you in just shy of a kiss. “Not seeing the problem is the problem,” he retorts. But then he nudges your nose with his and relinquishes his grip. “There aren’t really any tricks to the shower, just let me be a good host and I’ll be there soon.”
You, on the other hand, steal a quick kiss before you say, “Fine.”
“Clean towels and washcloths under the sink!” he calls after you.
He’s right—the shower doesn’t seem particularly fussy, and as you hoped might be the case since Santi lives up here full time, it’s an absolute dream compared to the shower in the vacation cabin where you’ll be spending the next week. The water heats up more quickly than you’d have anticipated given the cold, and you let out a sigh the instant you step underneath the steady stream and feel the full and consistent water pressure.
You’re halfway through washing your hair when you hear the door creak open, followed very quickly by Santi saying, “Maple syrup shouldn’t be such a pain in the ass to clean.”
“If only there was someone else here who was willing to do it for you.” You pull the shower curtain back enough to look at him pointedly.
With his shirt only half off, Santi pauses and gives you a stern look. “If only,” he agrees dryly.
He steps into the other end of the tub as you’re rinsing your hair clean. He’s shameless about taking a look at you beneath the water, his gaze focused first on your fingers in your hair but then drifting down. A smirk is tugging at his lips, but his expression falls a little when he looks at your chest and you can’t place why, at first.
“I’m usually better about asking before I do that,” he tells you awkwardly.
You realize then that Santi is talking about the mark on your breast, which has blossomed into a deep bruise in the hours since he made it.
“Oh, that?” You graze your fingers over the bruise absentmindedly. “Gives me something to remember you by. I’m not opposed to doing the same, if you want.”
He quirks an eyebrow and inches forward enough to settle his hands at your waist. Given that you’re in a bathtub, he doesn’t have to move far. “Are you asking to bite me?”
“I’m just saying I could.”
Santi laughs softly and says, “I’ll think about it,” before leaning in to kiss you.
You exhale a sigh into his mouth as he leans in closer, close enough that you’re aware of water droplets splattering against Santi’s skin and back onto you. He’s not trying to get you up against the wall, exactly, but from the way he’s pressing in and inching you backwards it feels like he’s at least thinking about it, although you have a moment of spluttering under the showerhead as the water begins to trail down your face and into your mouth, at which point another thought occurs.
Swatting at his bicep, you mumble, “You better not be kissing me to get under the water.”
“Happy side effect,” Santi offers with a pleased little grin.
You think you believe him – mostly – but you nudge him away to gesture toward the other side of the tub. “As another side effect, I think you’re closer to the soap.”
“Oh, am I?” When Santi glances over his shoulder, you’re inclined to suspect that that part wasn’t an accident at all. Not judging by the way he smiles a little wider as he swipes up the bottle of shower gel. “Then maybe I can…”
Looking at his eager, almost goofy smile, your heart beats a little faster at the thought of Santi washing you clean. So you swallow hard and say, “Yeah, okay.”
A wave of tenderness fills you as you watch him wet your washcloth for you, bubbling over as he gently guides you to turn around so he can start with your back.
“Do you not like how much of a romantic you are, or do you actually not see it?”
He stills with the washcloth on your shoulder blade and his other hand feather-light on your waist. “What?”
“Just that you thought you had to trick me into letting you do this.”
Santi lets out a low chuckle and presses a kiss to your skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “Maybe I feel like I have to trick you because you keep arguing with me when I try to do anything nice.” You’re hyper aware of the soap lather beginning to trickle down your back as he moves the washcloth across your skin. “But I can be very romantic if you let me.”
You open your mouth to speak but let out a shuddering sigh when he kisses the nape of your neck, this time, light and playful. It doesn’t feel like there’s any particular intentionality behind it—not like his hungry kisses last night at the bar, in his dining room, in his bed, which felt in each moment as though they were propelling toward more even when his mouth moved only fleetingly against yours.
“I’m not arguing.” You’re aware of the irony even as you say it, and you flinch to yourself.
“Not really helping your case, here,” he retorts, washcloth cresting over the small of your back, now.
Inhaling slowly, you close your eyes and you hold Santi’s words close, for a moment. You feel the water from the showerhead trickling down your front, Santi tracing the cloth down your arms and back up, as soap drips from your back to the floor of the tub. You feel his breath at your shoulder as he just barely refrains from kissing you.
“It seems like you’re so busy taking care of everyone else because you think you have to,” you concede softly. “Or because it’s the right thing to do. And I don’t--” There are his lips again, making your breath catch in your throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for someone you just met.”
I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me, you don’t say, but from the way his grip momentarily tightens at your side, you can’t help but feel that maybe he hears it.
Santi hums. He rests his hands on your hips and slowly, gently encourages you to turn around. He begins washing your front when you do, sweeping over your collarbone, your tits, your belly. “Taking care of someone because it’s the right thing to do. Like making a pretty girl feel safe when she wanders into a strange bar in a snowstorm.”
“Something like that, sure.”
You’re unable to look away from Santi’s face—his gaze is so focused on what he’s doing, brow furrowed and mouth pulled into a serious line. But he licks his lips and smiles to himself as a thought occurs. “So how far does that go, exactly? Because if you think fingerbanging you against a table was something I felt obligated to do, I think we should probably talk about our expectations for people in the service industry.”
“No, of course not,” you laugh. When you do, he looks up at you with raised eyebrows, and you falter. Your smile doesn’t fade, but still, you falter. Hesitantly, you reach up and run a hand through his hair. “I think I knew you weren’t just trying to make me feel safe because you had to when you put your sandwich on my plate.”
Santi lets out a laugh of his own and says, “But you still thought I might not consider myself a romantic.”
“Okay, but how romantic is a grilled cheese, in the grand scheme of things?”
But Santi has barely let you get the words out before he’s cupping your jaw in his hands – getting suds of soap all over your chin in the process – and giving you a slow, heady kiss.
When he pulls away, he almost immediately lowers himself to wash your bottom half, saying, “A grilled cheese can be plenty romantic,” as he goes.
You’re not sure you’ve ever had someone kneel before you like this with such earnestly innocent designs—because even when Santi reaches between your legs, there’s nothing playful or teasing about it. It’s simply…
Tender, maybe. Sensual, maybe.
Both, you think.
And you’re on the verge of commenting on it – to say what, you’re frankly not sure – but before you can, he says, “You were right, that I’ve been going through the motions. Probably for a long time. But I like taking care of people.” He squeezes your thigh and looks up at you with soft eyes. “And I could’ve taken good care of you.”
You swallow hard over the heart-rending way he’s just offered up such an earnest sentiment—because you can’t tell if he means over the course of this pit stop, or if he’s referring to a world where maybe you don’t just drive away from Pope’s and leave this night behind.
Remembering the soft look in his eyes when he told you that you could come back, if you want, you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed by the fact that… Well. You have a guess.
It seems so hopeful but so final at the same time, and you don’t know how the hell that makes you feel.
So you do the only thing you can quite bring yourself to do: you try to crack a smile. “I think you took very good care of me twice.”
Santi returns to his full height, and you’re rendered completely immobile as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Alright, I could’ve taken better care of you, then.” Nudging you backward a bit, he adds, “Time to rinse.”
It is a very impractical sort of rinse, because Santi is kissing you as the water chases the soap away. Steadily, though, you feel the suds receding, replaced by wonderfully warm droplets of water.
You become increasingly aware of Santi, too, skin damp as he slots against you and the undeniable press of his erection against your thigh.
But you don’t do anything about it until he pulls away to take a breath. Only then, curling your hand at the nape of his neck, do you ask, “If I didn’t argue with you, you’d still let me take care of you, too?”
Santi presses a glancing kiss to your jaw, and then another. And another. “Mhm.”
Reaching between you, you trail a hand down his chest and hesitate just short of his groin. “Do you want me to take care of you now?”
He lets out a choked laugh and rests his forehead on your shoulder for a few long moments before conceding, “I mean. Yes.”
“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in your own voice as you graze your hand down further, reaching the base of his cock. Again, you falter.
“I really, really want that, yeah.” In illustration, Santi rocks his hips forward. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head and pull you into another eager kiss, and you give him what he wants.
Your world feels so compact, so richly oversaturated as you stroke Santi right there, the water streaming down over you both and his tongue back at home in your mouth and those sweet, desperate little noises he makes in the back of his throat. And you are slow, so very slow in winding him up, particularly when you realize that this must be what he must have felt like as he gradually made you come apart on his fingers.
The need to memorize each piece of it—that’s what you feel.
The need to notice that little gasp Santi lets out when you first trace your thumb over his head and tease his foreskin, and the sensitive skin underneath.
The need to remember precisely how he’s clinging to your hair and how his curls feel between your fingers.
No wonder he didn’t want you to jerk him off last night.
But you think there’s another piece of this pretty picture that you’d like to get a glimpse of.
“I wanna suck you off,” you mumble into Santi’s mouth, just as you squeeze the base of his cock a bit tighter.
He groans and nods in an instant. “Mhm.”
No sooner have you gotten to your knees, however, than Santi grabs for your face, fingers splaying across your cheek and your neck. “Hang on, hang on,” he blurts.
Gazing up at him – gazing up at him as he blinks glassy-eyed at you, water trickling down his chest and his cock leaking eagerly in your hand – you feel the world grow quiet for a moment.
“What was that you said,” Santi begins carefully, “about something to remember you by?”
You lick your lips and resume your slow, careful strokes as you ask, “D’you want a little mark, Santi?” A smirk pulls at his lips at this question, so you push a little further, smoothing your free hand over his thigh. “Maybe somewhere just for you?”
Quietly, he says, “Yes please.”
The moan he lets out when you get your mouth on his skin, on the other hand, is loud—you think louder than you heard him at any point last night. Santi moans as you suck a mark into his thigh and thrusts eagerly into your hand, and you hear yourself make a little noise of pleasure yourself, just over the sound of his arousal.
“Fuck, that’s--” Santi falters and lets out a softer whimper when you press another, sweeter kiss to the same spot. “On-- one more thing. Before…” You sit back on your heels and gaze up at him with a pleased smile, admittedly delighting in the fact that it seems to be just the look of you kneeling before him that momentarily gives him pause. “Where do you want me to come?”
Oh.
“Where do you want to come?” Maybe you make a point to stroke your thumb over his head in this moment, collecting the precum accumulated there.
Santi opens his mouth and then closes it again, then traces a finger faintly over your cheekbone. “I asked first.”
You purse your lips in amusement. Fair enough. Looking up at the showerhead for a few moments, you don’t miss the flash of delight that crosses Santi’s face when you meet his gaze again and reach up to meet his fingers at your cheek, holding him closer. “If we’re in here anyway… right here might be nice.”
He’s barely choked out an okay before you’re taking him into your mouth.
It should take longer. You’re genuinely willing it to take longer, trying to wind Santi up slow and render him absolutely desperate before he unfurls.
So why does it feel like it’s only an instant later that he’s tugging at your hair and pleading with you to hang on, I’m--
Even though your knees are aching from the floor of the tub, and your neck and jaw are sore as shit, so there’s no fucking way that it actually went by quite so fast.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Santi says gently.
His hand is stuck out for you to take, which you do, allowing him to pull you to your feet on the wet shower floor. Knelt down in front of him, you hadn’t been getting as much direct spray from the shower, but now, at your full height, you’re aware of how tepid the water has become over the course of the time that you two have been in here—but it still feels nice, trailing through your hair and down your cheeks, intermingling now with the traces of Santi’s cum which have left your skin warm and sticky.
Santi’s skin too, then, because he traces his hand over your jaw before cupping your cheek, looking you over all the while with shining eyes. “You look so perfect like this.”
“All credit goes to the artist,” you reply, lamely.
But he laughs before leaning in to kiss you soft and slow. He settles his forehead against yours when he pulls away, and distantly, you imagine yourselves becoming stuck like that. You’re still imagining it when he asks, “Is something going on?”
What a complicated question.
“I don’t think I want to leave,” you blurt.
Evidently not a particularly complicated answer.
Santi pulls back, gazing at you vacantly for several long moments. And those moments seem to take an eon, your heart pounding in your ears and water splashing over you all the while.
“You’re serious,” he says an eternity later.
Now that the words are out, it is unbelievably easy to say more, all of it just as fumbling. “I mean, I want to see my friends, because I’ve missed them and I know they’re worried about me and this is my one time of year with them. And I want to get back home to some place with public transportation where people don’t call a twenty-five minute drive an easy commute. But I don’t…” You furrow your brow, mulling over how to articulate something that feels so entirely outlandish. “I don’t want to get back into my car and drive away. Please tell me that makes sense.”
As you’re speaking, Santi’s expression shifts, until finally he’s smiling—a wide, open, vulnerable smile. “Yeah,” he says. “It makes sense.” His eyes flit over your features. “Should we… talk more about it?”
You swallow sharply. “Yeah, I think we should.”
“Good.” He smooths a hand over your neck before saying, “But we really should finish up in here first because I don’t think I’ll be able to think straight with you looking like that.”
It feels like an exquisite release when you truly, earnestly giggle. “If you want to clean it off for me, I won’t complain.”
Santi grins, moving at once to give you better access to the faucet. “I really, really do.”
The water streams down onto your face, and Santi wipes the traces of his cum away, and you find that you can’t quite stop smiling.
——
interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here
blanket taglist: @amneris21, @brandyllyn, @iamskyereads, @jaime1110, @justjaclin, @marvelousmermaid, @mstgsmy, @princessxkenobi, @pumpkin-stars, @trickstersp8
oscar taglist: @aellynera, @alwritey-aphrodite, @egcdeath, @genea-myers, @jitterbugs927, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @that-friend-in-the-corner, @thedukeofcaladan
triple frontier taglist: @ayrusss, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @darnitdraco, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @stardust-galaxies, @wildmoonflower
santi taglist: @dailyreverie, @disabledameron, @jettia, @mariesackler, @millllennia, @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog, @zhonglis-wine
#santiago garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier#fanfic#my fic#created
189 notes
·
View notes
Note
About that prompts list...is really hard to choose something omg
Idk what to do lol like do I go for something spooky or do I want to suffer from angst 🥴
If you can, please do Wooyoung (ateez) 122+134 since is the month of Halloween something spooky will be good
And...
Yeonjun 20+21, please I'm always weak for your angst
Thank you for doing this prompt list ❤️ and if you can't write the requests is totally fine, no pressure love 😘
Wooyoung + Spooky -Yeonjun's will be coming soon!! I like that you've decided to do both angst and spooky, and thank you for requesting spooky one!! ❤️❤️-
(Did you hear that? + Whatever you do, don't turn around.)
When your small group of friends suggested you all break into the haunted house at the edge of the woods, you nervously laughed. You're all chicken shit, so you didn't think the suggestion would ever be taken seriously. To your surprise, they all worked each other up, and the next thing you knew, you were all standing outside of the house, working up the nerve to go inside.
Your hands immediately clench onto Wooyoung's hoodie and he looks back at you in amusement. Although, you don't know why because you know the second he gets into the house, he'll be terrified. You look up at the dilapidated structure and take in the busted windows and broken porch. This is such a stupid idea. If you don't all die from being scared to death, you can always die from an infection thanks to a rusty nail instead.
Following Yeosang and Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk into the house. The inside is just as disgusting as the outside. Overturned furniture is thrown around, graffiti is painted on the walls, and pieces of glass crunch under your feet. A sound on the other side of the house reaches your ears and your fingers twist into Wooyoung's hoodie even more.
"Did you hear that?"
"It's an old house," Hongjoong tries to calm you. "They make all types of weird sounds… or maybe it's an animal that lives here."
You try to let his words calm you, but something isn't sitting right with you. This entire place feels wrong. Maybe it's because you're not supposed to be here, but you're getting bad vibes from the rickety building.
The front door slams shut behind you, and you all scream and turn towards it. There's no reason that door should've shut. There's no wind, and it doesn't feel like the place is leaning or angled weird, but there has to be a logical reason, right?
You feel Wooyoung begin to move away and you turn back to see the group moving deeper into the house. Before you can complain about how stupid this is, banging on the walls surrounds you. The sound comes from everywhere all at once, but you see nothing that's causing it.
The group takes off in different directions, scared by the activity, and because you're attached to Wooyoung, you end up trailing behind him. He runs into a room off to the side and leans against the wall next to the door. You come flying in after him and the two of you drop to the ground and hunch over.
Facing Wooyoung and the door to the living room, you see the fear on his face as the banging continues. You watch the living room, wondering where the other two went when it suddenly goes quiet. The banging stops and you peek around the corner to find the room as boring and empty as it originally was.
You glance at Wooyoung and note that he's looking over your shoulder at whatever room you ran into. "Whatever it was, I think it's over."
He doesn't acknowledge your words and when you begin to stand up, his arms dart out to grab yours and keep you squatted to the ground.
"What are you doing? Let's get the hell out of here."
When you try to stand up again, his grip tightens. You become irritated until his eyes slowly slide over to yours. The pure terror in them has you freezing in place.
"Whatever you do, do not turn around," he whispers. "I want you to stand up and run out of this house like it's on fire. Do you hear me?"
His expression, his tone, and his intensity have you gripped in fear, but you nod. The urge to turn around is now extremely strong, but you maintain eye contact with him. He nods back and asks if you're ready.
When you tell him yes, an answering growl behind you causes you to whimper. He quickly stands up, grabbing your hand, and the two of you run out of the house like the demons of hell are chasing you themselves.
#wooyoung drabble#wooyoung fic#wooyoung fanfic#wooyoung au#wooyoung scenarios#wooyoung imagines#ateez drabbles#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez scenarios#ateez au#ateez imagines#spooktober#spooky#jung wooyoung fanfic#jung wooyoung fic#jung wooyoung scenarios#jung wooyoung au
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Squish!
—how they like to hug you, and how it feels; ft. inarizaki boys
you are here! » next
→ KITA SHINSUKE
back hug!
feels like summer rain—refreshing, soothing, perfect for dancing
he always places his chin on top of your head and closes his eyes, sighing when you relax into him
sometimes he likes to let his weight fall on you just slightly, to hear you squeak and try to support him
kisses the top of your head every. single. time he hugs you, it’s basically reflex by now. it gives him a chance to bury his nose in your hair and relish in your scent
has fallen asleep on several occasion while hugging you like this
will hold your hands and compare them, letting his chin rest on your shoulders
“your hands are so small and cute. i need to take care of them. and of you”
→ ŌMIMI REN
heart-to-heart hug!
feels like standing in front of the fireplace on a winter night, blizzard howling outside as you drink a cup of the beverage of your choice
omimi gives me incredible hugger vibes. this man was born to hug and is a master of comforting, i can feel it
presses your chest on his when you try to leave, mumbling “just a minute longer”—that ends up being another half an hour
his hugs are so warm and soothing! whenever he gives someone a hug they relax instantly and melt to a puddle
likes to hold you in any way, though. piggyback rides too!
→ OJIRO ARAN
bear hug!
feels like a fuzzy sweater just washed that smells like clean detergent and lavender
this man is BIG and he knows it, so he profits
will squeeze the life out of you if you let him
whenever you jump in his arms he tightens them around you and holds you captive
likes to purposely avoid your lips when he hugs you like this (what a tease) and then asks you why you’re pouting
will kiss you properly after you whine a bit
don’t think he’ll let go—nope, you’re in for a bridal style carry. your porch is the destination and you won’t touch the ground until there
→ MIYA ATSUMU
another bear hugger!
feels like the warmth of the sun hitting your face for the first time after an extra-cold winter
can and will hug you ANYWHERE. in the hallways? pushes people out of the way to reach you. when you wait for him after school? will jump over the concrete wall and glomp you. when you’re holding things? he’ll carry them for you if you give him a hug first
will positively not let you go until you pinch his sides (thanks chuu)
smiles so bright whenever he sees you, Osamu brings sunglasses with him
will act as a weighted blanket if you need him to
→ MIYA OSAMU
side hug!
fells like a good meal with your favorite dish perfectly cooked after a hard day where you didn’t get to eat anything
he spends a lot of time in the kitchen and this is his preferred way of holding you, because you’re at a safe distance from the pan (if anything happens and oil attacks him), but close enough to him so you can see what’s he’s doing
drapes an arm over your waist when you walk in crowds so he doesn’t lose you
one of his favorite things is when you lay your head on his shoulder when he holds you, and he can put his own head over his
feeds you while you sit like that and sometimes puts you in his lap
he takes the most aesthetically pleasing couple photos
→ SUNA RINTARŌ
straddle hug!
feels like taking a dip into the ocean on a secluded beach under the moonlight
you have to sit in his lap or you’re not getting any cuddles, that’s how much of a sly fox he is
neck kisses neck kisses neck kisses—
will bury his face in your shoulder and fall asleep
if you happen to fall asleep during a hug, he’ll let you sleep and proceeds to play videogames until you wake up
will take a few photos because he thinks you’re cute
→ AKAGI MICHINARI
spinning hug!
feels like a gulp of cold water after spending an August afternoon in the sun
HNNNG best boy akagi, precious bebe, miracle boi—
i just love akagi ok, he looks very soft
he likes to catch you in his arms and spin you! spin spin spin
LOVES the way you laugh when he does it, so he does it every single time he gets the opportunity
do not understimate this man, he’s small but he’s like an ant—able to lift a few times his weight!
and he loves you, he won’t ever refuse you when you come up to him, making grabby hands with that pretty smile of yours and you tell him “spin me, michinari!”
he’s so in love with you please treat him well, he’ll do anything for you
taglist: @nakizumie; @lovelytarou; @risjime;
#haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyu x reader#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu fluff#miya atsumu x reader#miya osamu x reader#kita shinsuke x reader#omimi ren x reader#suna rintaro x reader#akagi michinari x reader#ojiro aran x reader#haikyuu!! fluff#[ minty’s kitchen treats — sugar ]
499 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Hello, I’m Harry Styles and tonight I’m going to help you drift off to sleep with some soothing words and calming music. A sleep story, just for you. With all the busyness of your day, I know how hard it can be to get to sleep. So I thank you for choosing this story, and me to help you. I wish you a wonderful night’s sleep. So make yourself comfortable. Take a deep breath in, and then out. In, and then out. And when you’re ready, close your eyes.
[Listen]
Have you ever wondered what happens when you sleep? Where you go and what you feel. The places that you seek. When you start to drift away, your mind becomes a book that writes itself, then fades away before you wake to look.
Tonight we’re gong to think about anything you’d like. So first let’s visualise some scenes to see us through the night. Settle back and clear your mind. We’re heading somewhere special, beyond the world of consciousness, to places more celestial.
I’d like you to imagine now, you’re there beneath the stars, which, when you pause to think about it, actually you are. As you focus on the darkness, right before your eyes, fill the scene with glinting lights to emulate night skies.
Think about the things you cherish most and those you love. And then allow yourself to be embraced from up above. The power of the universe, meanders through your mind. So come with me and let’s see what the two of us can find.
Let’s travel now to moonlit valleys, blanketed with heather. The kind of landscape you and i could dream about forever. Imagine lazing on the ground, succumbing to the charms of blades of grass we now caress with fingertips and palms. A gentle scent of cedar wood is floating on the breeze, a gift from mother nature and her nearby cedar trees. We’re gazing at the night sky now, marveling at infinity. So allow your mind to wander to a peaceful new vicinity.
Picture this: a rich green forest, damp with morning dew. Inhale the morning air as we explore, just me and you. Leaves create mosaics in every shade of green, as gentle birds son mingles with the babbling of a stream.
Dappled sepia sunlight cuts through branches overhead, as dew drops fall from leaf to leaf like glistening strands of thread. The dew drops finally coalesce, forming satin beads. Occasionally they kiss our cheeks. Small pleasures, quenching needs.
Holding hands, we stroll until we chance upon a brook. It’s cool clear water, mirroring our faces as we look. The shimmering reflection shows us smiling from above. The word we think but dare not speak is l-o-v-e. Love.
Now we snuggle on a raft, and drift for endless hours. As willow trees sway in the breeze and blossoms fall in showers. Gently swaying to and fro, we look up at the sky and watch the clouds above us forming shapes as they pass by.
The wisps of cloud swirl slowly, tinged with tangerine and pink. And as they fade, the sunset gives us cause to muse and think, of places we should visit and oceans we could cross. For some who wander through this world, there’s grace in being lost.
Passing by a waterfall, our thoughts sway to and fro. And time begins to fade and blur. Beneath the moon’s pale glow, a symphony of tumbling water loves and mesmerizes. Nature’s soundtrack to our dreams, assume so many guises.
Strolling on a sidewalk now, as rain begins to fall. Its gentle pitter-patter holds us deep within its thrall. The raindrops rhythm briefly slows, then intensifies. Peaceful and benevolent. A gift from moonlit skies. The fragrance that the rain creates upon the concrete surface inspires yet relaxes, and focuses our purpose. To shift our minds to neutral and allow our thoughts to drift. And recognise the rainfall as a mesmerising gift.
Sheltering beneath a porch, we watch the rain pour down. Though now the time has come to leave this moonlit town. A gentle breeze wafts through the trees. It causes leaves to stir. And then the rain relents and fades, as time begins to blur.
We find ourselves upon a shoreline, lounging by a lake. While crickets chirp in nearby reeds, it’s hard to stay awake. The scene feels like a watercolour - soft diluted tones. As looking down we see each other. Laughing, skimming stones. The stones skip on the gleaming lake and ripples start to form. And though the sun has dipped from view, we feel content and warm. Herons drift on thermals, high above a sun bleached pier. And in the trees beyond the lake, we glimpse a passing deer.
Strands of cloud unfurl like ribbons in the orange sky. Mirrored on the lake now, like a painted butterfly. In the distance, mountains beckon, capped with pristine snow. The kind of sight that dreams evoke when hearts and minds let go.
Contemplating nothingness. A scene takes shape before us, and as it sharpens in our thoughts, we hear a distant chorus. The dampened sound of silence that only snow can bring, surrounds us with its calming vibes and touches us within.
Glistening snowflakes fall in flourish, mountain rivers freeze. The powdery slopes look beautiful and fresh snow dusts the trees. Somehow now, we’re in a cabin, taking in this view. As a fire crackles in the corner, just for me and you. We linger for a moment, or maybe it’s been hours. For when we blink and look again, our vistas waft in flowers. Another destination lulls us. Closer now it seems. Perhaps it’s real, or just another chapter in our dreams.
Drifting in and out of sleep, our thoughts take us elsewhere. To an island fringed by swaying palms. Lush beyond compare. A path winds through the mangroves towards a distant beach, that underlines the turquoise ocean, now within our reach.
Eventually, we feel the powdery sand right beneath our feet. The sun above now blessing us with gentle, soothing heat. We hear the lilting sound of surf breaking up ahead. While spiral shells and pearly shards determine where we tread.
Finally, a lapping wave engulfs our sandy feet. It seems to pause and ruminate, then gradually retreat. We dig our toes in cool, wet sand, then sit and face the sea. And let the sand wash over us. Alone, just you, and me. Staring at the nothingness that stretches on forever, our thoughts dovetail and unify in tune, two minds together. As minutes turn to hours, we drift off somewhere new. And visualize a stay away, to a door we now walk through.
Imagine now a meadow on a balmy afternoon. Birds, and bees, and rustling trees create a summer tune. Flanked by fields of sunflowers, hand in hand we walk. As the gentle sounds of nature surrounds us while we talk. The sunflowers give the scenery a warm and golden hue, while hazy sunshine softens our idyllic, rustic view. As we roam past hedgerows, a farmhouse sits alone. Its open shutters pressed against uneven walls of stone. A garden winds around the house, and daisies poke through grass. A bench that’s lived through countless summers creaks as we walk past. We wonder if the house is empty. Once loved - but no longer. The thought of passing time inspires a feeling that grows stronger.
This feeling washes over us, lost between a sigh. And as the sun begins to set, we stop and wonder why. Gravity caresses us and pulls you close to me. Then the scene begins to fade, our new reality.
Deeper, gradually deeper, we drift and now transcend to unfamiliar places too surreal to comprehend. Slowly we capitulate, as sleep begins to call. Entwined in dreams and shifting scenes, we drift and gently fall.
Friendly faces, glorious places. Things we hope to do intertwine with snapshots. Some of me, and some of you. Moonlit valleys, verdant forests, gazing at the ocean. Summer meadows, tranquil sunsets, steeped in pure emotion. The tenderness we feel when we are close, two minds as one, surrounds us and connects us, but we’ve only just begun. For now, we dream together of all that is to follow. And know that sleep will keep us safe, from now until tomorrow.
Maybe all the memories that we’ve gathered here tonight, are all dreams now remembered, or wishes in plain sight. No matter what, they’re with us now, for this night and forever. And every time we close our eyes, they’re yours and mine to treasure.
Goodnight and sleep well.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
PAIRING. huang renjun x fem! reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k GENRAL TAGLIST. @danishmiilk @wownajaemin @leejunini @astroboy-lele @unknown5tar @yunoyeol @w0nni3wrld @charm-art @bat-shark-repellant @keemburley @deliciouslyyellow (pls dm me to be added/removed!)
NOTE. ah yes, the only two genres: murder and making out. inspired by the dream i mentioned earlier. different events, but same vibe HAHA. disclaimer that no matter how much you hate your academic rival, never ever turn to attempted murder! thank you and enjoy
huang renjun— with all his picture perfect smiles, prim and proper tucked in shirts, a pretty face enough to have you on your knees, and with a perfect gpa to top it all off— was someone you wanted.
wanted six feet under the ground.
“hey, congrats!”
speak of the fucking devil.
“you always do really well,” huang renjun towers over you in front of your desk as you sit down. you look up from the wrinkled certificate that have the abhorrent words second honorable mention printed on it's scented surface, only to face his fucking face instead. he beams at you with a smile. you feel convulsions wringing inside your throat. “congratulations again.”
you don't miss the first honor certificate tucked between his books in a measly attempt of concealment. it takes everything in your power to force out something of a smile.
“thanks. you too.”
with that, he quickly scurries away into his seat next to yours with red ears.
your first period teacher enters, beginning class with a greeting, but your mind is elsewhere.
it’s only midterms, you breathe out through your nose, hugging your arms above your desk while sketching out a study plan for the rest of the semester in your head. there’s enough time before graduation. the hold you had on yourself gradually becomes tighter.
still, you know that even if you worked yourself day and night until you bled cold and crimson, huang renjun would still be one step ahead. you bite down your lip, peeling off the dry skin with a sourness writhing in your gut, digging your fingers deeper into your arms. if only he were gone. you leer at the boy diligently taking his notes beside you. if only he were gone gone gone gone—
your eyes widen, ignoring the blood staining your nails.
if only he were gone.
after class, you walk up to his desk and asked if he wanted to work on the physics homework at his place tomorrow. he says yes with starry eyes in a heartbeat.
the next day, renjun couldn’t wait for the final bell to ring. you, too, couldn’t remain in your seat— albeit for a different reason. so when the ringing occurs, the both of you don’t waste a second in finally heading out of the campus.
it’s a silent walk to his place, a standard suburban neighborhood, the sky slowly turning orange in the background. every time you turn your head to look at him, he looks back with a small smile, and you can’t help your hands from twitching at your sides.
renjun unlocks the door and meekly welcomed you inside.
“you can leave your shoes here,” he says, digging his keys into the back pocket of his school slacks with dangling noises. you look at him, smiling, and with a soft hum you leave your school shoes next to his, trailing behind him into the living room.
looking around, you ask him. “are your parents home?” there was an opening that leads to the kitchen, glass doors showing the backyard. the stairs that lead to the second floor are made of sleek, dark oak. it’s a modern interior. they have a fireplace inside.
“no,” he breathes out, wetting his dry throat with a swallow before turning back to face you. “they’re out on business. i don’t think they’ll be home until the weekend.”
the both of you stop right in front of the staircase.
“i see.”
he quickly muffles a cough and leads you up to his room.
the inside of renjun’s room is neat— organized books on the shelf and sheets neatly pressed. There’s a set of candles beside his bed. you hold back a scoff. as expected from the top student.
your eyes flit over from the window above his bed to look at him, instead.
“you don’t have to be so nervous around me, you know,” you muse, dropping down your bag to join him on the floor. worksheets littered with numbers and constants, gravity and acceleration, all scatter on the floor. they blow with the wind knowing that they wouldn’t even be filled in, anyway.
“sorry,” renjun sputters out, loosening his striped necktie with two fingers. his vision is kept trained on the wall behind you. “i’m not— i’m not doing it on purpose.”
you adjust your legs on the floor, skirt riding. “is there a reason?”
“a reason?” he gulped.
“why you can’t look me in the eye.”
renjun thinks he sees the corners of your lips twitching upwards.
“i’ll— i’ll go open the window, it’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?” scrambling to his feet, his knees sink into the navy sheets of his bed, reaching for the window in a nervous flurry to let the air in. “the news said that the temperature’s slowly gonna start rising but i didn’t think it would be—”
he bumps into you when he turned back.
there’s a click from behind him.
the wind stopped coming in.
“it’s not really that hot.”
the way your breath fanned against his lips makes his head spin in circles.
you have an arm out against the glass, your sleeve’s fabric grazing his tempered cheek when you went to shut the window down. renjun feels a ghost in the air where there’s a space in between you. “i— i guess you’re right,” he says, clearing his throat. “i never expected that you’d ask to work together.”
there’s syrup at the end of your sentence. “you seemed pretty happy when i did, though.”
he isn’t sure if it’s just him or if you’re slowly getting closer. “well, that’s— that’s because i—”
“you don’t have to say it.”
your voice digs deep into his bones like chains of velvet. he can feel your chest pressing against him now, crushing the sense of rationality that he was bestowed with from birth and is replaced with a warm lush of rabid, violent waters gushing into bit of him stomach,
it comes off a whisper yet it sends him reeling.
“i know.”
renjun swallows. hard. but he’s afraid you’d hear the manifestations of a tempered restlessness that had managed to crawl its way up to the tips of his fingers— which found themselves resting onto the curve of your back. stray strands of his swair sweeps above his eyes, obscuring the closeness of your face, and he wants to ask how. how did you know that he likes you.
he never got to.
the question doesn’t even get to resurface after the first hit of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught in between yours, teeth grinding against the plush, pink skin. the second hit has his decorum slowly peeling away from his skin when his tongue traces over yours in a hot mess of delirium, when you settle between his legs, a coarse groan vibrating in his throat. the third has him forgetting his own name.
his eyes are hazy when you pull back with a rough smacking of the mouth. with a short-winded voice, you ask him.
“do you mind if i make a call?”
renjun looks at you in a fit of breathlessness.
an airy laugh leaves your lips that he can’t stop staring at. you press a kiss on his nose. “my parents need to know that i won’t be going home tonight.”
dazed, he answers. “y-yeah, sure.”
he blinks a few times before letting you go.
“take your time.”
you send him a smile before fishing your backpack from the floor and leaving the room.
just like that, a switch was flipped.
upon closing the door, you quickly twist the knob, locking it with the keys that you’d snatched from him earlier. it’s convenient that he has each one labelled— a belated thank you to your school’s ever organized golden boy who never fails to make you sick in the stomach.
at each wall you pass, you make sure to seal the windows shut and have all the doors closed. the contents of your bag make steady pangs against your back as you shuttled down the stairs. you lock the back door shut, close all the windows, turn on all the lights, and throw a match into their fireplace, waiting for the fire to come to full bloom. all that’s left is the kitchen.
there’s no time wasted in turning everything on— the microwave, oven, and the stove until you can't crank them any further. embers fly into the air. it’s getting hotter. you duck down to the compartment under the stove to reveal a white painted propane tank, taking out a cordless soldering iron to seal the safety relief valve close. you place a rag over the opening valve and twist it halfway through. a hissing sound whizzes through the air.
with that, you leave through the front door, locking it for good measure. his keys disappear into the bush nearest to their porch.
it’s only a matter of time until huang renjun ceases to be a pest anymore. if not for good, then at least lethally injured.
you head home to finish your physics worksheets that were due tomorrow.
for the first time in god knows how long, you wake up and head to school with a well rested air.
you take your things out of your backpack, humming a soft tune right before the bell rings for your first class. your other seatmate— donghyuck— notices your unusual cheery demeanor, and inquires about its oddities. you simply answer him with an allusion to finally being free. he laughs it off and turns his head to the chalkboard.
five minutes before eight. the doors creak open. you’re ready to stand and greet your teacher until you realize that it isn’t her.
it’s not.
it’s not.
it’s not.
something nauseating knocks into your lungs and stifles your throat, eyes wide and stinging. it squeezes your neck with poison prickling the surface.
huang renjun enters the classroom with his usual nods and smiles to everyone he passes.
“holy shit, dude. you look like hell.”
“i didn’t get any sleep last night,” he laughs, lightheartedly. “guess i’ll have to sleep through recess.”
your teeth grind against your lips, supple skin turning redder at each nip. your nails leave scratches on the desk as you rattle in your seat, thinking, thinking, panicking. each breath feels like choking on pulverized copper in sulfuric air. there’s a ringing in your ears and you hear nothing except your own voice screaming why is he here why is he here why is he here?
he doesn’t go to his desk. he’s standing right in front of you.
“you look well.”
it sears your fingerprints off your skin.
you don’t answer, don’t even look at him. he breaks into a small smile and leans forward, one hand pressed against your desk and the other reaching for a lock of your hair as he nears and nears and nears. “there’s something here,” he says.
there isn’t.
“you left my window unlocked, baby.”
his hot breath hits your cold cheek, tucking a strand behind with a smile. to everyone else, it would look sweet— heart fluttering. to you it was a death sentence. renjun breathes out a contained chuckle into your ear before letting his hand fall on your shoulder, a tight grip at the last second.
“better luck next time.”
© HANNIE-DUL-SET. 2021.
#NCT-WRITERS#cznnet#neowritingsnet#kpopscape#huang renjun x reader#renjun x reader#huang renjun x you#renjun x you#nct x reader#nct x you#huang renjun scenarios#renjun scenarios#nct scenarios#huang renjun smut#nct smut
268 notes
·
View notes
Text
lady
Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader
Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.
Warnings; strong language
au:// Welp lovelies I had promised you a Marko series in February that I started writing while I was manic, then after writing a good five/six chapters I fell into a deep dark hole of depression and didn’t write anything but sad, worthless poetry about a boy I’m in love with who doesn’t love me back :) But now it’s May, a spark of inspiration and happiness has suddenly hit me and I’ve come back to this series to finally deliver it to you!! I hope y’all like it cause I literally stress cried over finishing it three different times :,)
I’d also like to point out that any kind of feedback at all is so so appreciated. Most of my inspiration comes from feeding off of people’s reactions to what I write. So if you enjoy it or have any recommendations or comments at all please please don’t be shy to send me an ask or DM or even comment to let me know :( Thank you and enjoy!!
Part 2
I wasn’t exactly mad about moving, there was nothing holding me in Phoenix that I would be particularly sad about leaving behind. The only thing that struck a nerve was that it was dumped out of nowhere on me. Suddenly Mom had divorced Dad, let him keep everything, and made plans with Grandpa for us to move into his place with him. A little prior warning would have been appreciated, but regardless when we were told it didn’t change the fact that everything we knew was changing. Sam wasn’t happy about it at all, leaving his friends, leaving Dad. Michael... well Michael didn’t really have an opinion. In my view, he was just indifferent. He didn’t really care where the hell we were as long as he had a motorcycle, a job, and some hot chicks to swoon over.
But here we were, packed into Mom’s truck and driving through a town that I’d most likely have memorized like the back of my hand in a good few days. As the three in the car argued over which station to keep on, I turned my head and leaned my forehead on the window of the car. I watched the beach as we drove along the road, and admired the waves hitting against the sand.
I was ready to drift off until we got to Grandpa’s house when a short, exited yell left Mom’s lips. “Oh!” She grinned happily as Sam landed on a station familiar to her. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Oh, that’s from my era! Grooving on a Sunday afternoon!” She sung along with the song as Sam threw his head back and groaned in protest. I laughed at her antics, enjoying seeing my Mom acting so carefree and happy.
“Alright, keep going, keep going.” Mom and Sam agreed with each other at the same time, Mom leaning over to continue skipping through the stations. Finally, the next station was agreed on and my pounding head thanked the universe for the quiet that I hadn’t been able to achieve the entire drive here. “Hey we’re almost there!”
“Ugh,” Sam scrunched his nose up in disgust after taking a deep breath. I leaned forward to wrap my arms around his head-rest and pull my face closer to the open window. The pungent smell hit me, and I recognized it immediately, low tide, but it wasn’t bad - anything to do with the beach was calming to me regardless. “What’s that smell?”
“Ah!” Mom breathed in deeply and turned to share a knowing grin with me, “That’s the ocean air!”
I turned to look at the welcoming sign, taking in the colors and faded lettering. “Smells like someone died.” Sam muttered as Mom tutted at him softly.
“That’s likely.” I muttered to Michael, nudging his head in the direction of the back of the sign, where in big red spray-painted letters sat the phrase “Murder Capitol of the World.”
“Aw guys, I know the last year hasn’t been easy. But I do think you’re really going to enjoy living in Santa Carla.” Mom tried to remain happy about the situation, but a shared glance with Michael after we both read over the sign revealed there wasn’t much he was excited for.
The rest of the drive only increased my excitement. Hippies galore filled the streets, a large amusement park covered most of the boardwalk, and the rest was filled with small shops and food stands. We stopped for awhile so Mom could give some teenagers rummaging through garbage some money to eat and so Michael could unhinge his bike and ask around for job openings, but before I could even think to step out of the car and get a look around we were already heading into the backroads to get to Grandpa’s house.
Grandpa’s house was farther into the plains than expected, but still only a good fifteen to twenty minute drive away from town. Before Mom could ever fully park the car, I had already jumped out and was looking around the property. Michael pulled his bike up next to Mom’s car, and they all took a good few seconds to look around at all the wood carvings and chimes before turning their vehicles off. I took note of the horses grazing in one of the back fields before walking around the front of the truck and seeing a man laying on his back across the front porch steps.
Sam lead the way towards him before Mom cut in front and marched up the steps to squat beside him. “Dad?” She questioned gently. “Dad?” The three of us leaned closer to get a better look.
“Looks like he’s dead.” Michael remarked.
“Like... really dead.” I quipped in, raising an eyebrow at Mom.
“No, no. He’s just a deep sleeper.” She brushed our comments off.
“If he’s dead can we go back to Phoenix?” Sam remarked, earning a snort from me and a sharp look from Mom.
Suddenly Grandpa sat up, a cocky smirk apparent on his face. “Playing dead. And from what I hear, doing a damn good job of it.”
Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation before Mom laughed faintly. “Oh, Dad!”
-
That night, Mom decided that it would be good for the four of us to leave the house after a night of unpacking and explore the boardwalk when it’s at its liveliest. I could admit it looked much more enjoyable now that it was dark and a little chilly, the sweaty people that had been occupying it earlier were now less sweaty and more stoned.
Almost as soon as Mom’s car and Michael’s bike were parked, Mom sent us off on our own so she could spend some time staking out a job in one of the family-owned shops. “Do you think she’ll be able to find one?” Sam questioned as the three of us weaved through crowds, trying to find our way to the beach concert. We could certainly hear it, we were just having a bit of trouble actually getting to it.
“One what? A job?” Michael scoffed as if it was hard to believe, still bitter over the fact there was no legal jobs for him to get hired in.
I laughed, elbowing him softly in the side, knowing that this place was exactly his vibe and in time he would most likely come to love living here. Sam was the only one I was actually worried about. “She’ll probably be able to find one. What, with all these missing people, there’s bound to be tons of job openings.”
“You’re telling me. It’s like there’s hundreds of bullet-boards around every corner with dozens of people missing. This place really is the Murder Capital.” Michael remarked as the concert finally came into our line of sight.
“Don’t say that!” Sam pleaded, shoving Michael’s shoulder with his eyebrows knitted tightly.
Michael just held his hand up in surrender and with one last shrug of his shoulders he turned to me. “You checking out the shops? We’ll find you once we get bored.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed, turning sharply on my heel and blindly making my way back into the crowd. The concert was loud, sweaty, and crowded, and it wasn’t even my style of music - the last thing I wanted to do was spend my first night there. I figured it would be much more productive if I were to check out all the shops and stands running up and down the entire area, maybe find some new pieces of jewelry, or even a possible summer job opportunity.
Many places caught my eye, and I made a mental note to check them out the next time I had free money to spend, as it wouldn’t be wise for me to make an impulse-buy when I’m so close to being completely broke. Instead a small stand in the middle of the walkway drew me to it. A piercing stand. One person working on someone already sitting on the chair. There was a large wall selection of different studs, and many different kinds of disinfectants lined along the counter.
I walked closer to the wall, admiring all the different designs they had. I’d absolutely love to get a helix or orbital piercing, but I knew it wasn’t the wisest to spend money doing something like that at a small stand on a boardwalk in Santa Carla of all places. I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts when a voice spoke up directly behind me.
“It’s a scam, you know.” I jumped, hand flying to my chest, and whipping around to look at the owner. A teenage boy, my age, maybe a little older, with long curly blond hair and a grin that could have probably wooed me into his bed by the end of the night had he not literally just scared the shit out of me.
I laughed breathlessly, shaking my head. “What is?”
“The piercings. If you need one done, I could do it for you. But they use the guns instead of a needle which will definitely infect if you’re planning on doing a cartilage one.” He explained with a tilt of his head as he turned and began making his way towards the restaurants. I took that as an invite to follow, jogging to catch up and walking next to him.
“You know a lot about piercings?” I tried to make small talk, not wanting him to get away just yet.
He nodded with a confident smirk. “I did my own, and my friends. Someone had to learn.” I laughed a little at his mock-annoyed tone and shoved my hands into my pockets to appear to be doing something. He suddenly stopped and turned to me, holding out his hand. “Marko, by the way.”
“Ivory.” I accepted his hand and we both shook, hard and firm.
“You’re new.” He nodded as if finally understanding something that had been going on inside his own head. “I would’ve noticed you before if you’d been here all along.”
We dropped each other’s hand and I gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Nothing rude, you’re just too gorgeous to go unnoticed around here.” Before I could reply, another voice cut in from a few yards away.
“Marko! Marko, man, we’re supposed to meet David in ten!” I looked over to see another punk-looking dude calling out to Marko with his hands cupped around his mouth.
I laughed and look back towards the curly blond. “See you around?”
He nodded in confirmation, sending me one last crooked smile before turning to jog over to his other friend. I turned as well, making my way back into the crowd and away from the middle lane stands. I didn’t make it very far before the body of my youngest brother crashed into my side. I glanced down at him in bewilderment as we used each other to steady ourselves.
“Sam? Aren’t you supposed to be with Michael?” I laughed as he looked as though he’d just had the weirdest conversation of his life.
“Well, I was. Then he saw some girl at the concert and wandered after her so I went to check out the comic store.” He explained, shrugging before letting his eyes wander around once more in search of Michael. I rolled my eyes, of course Michael left Sam behind to go chase after some girl. It didn’t take long to find him, he was only a little further down the stretch of restaurants. He was more towards the end, walking out of the crowd near where the last building - a bar - sat in place.
We walked up behind him, and as soon as I was at his side I followed his eyes to a girl who was walking behind a small child, hand on his shoulder, and steering him in a certain direction. She was pretty - with big, curly hair and a beautiful smile that curled her lips up as her eyes grazed over all the lights of the carousel one last time for the night. I followed her line of sight, trying to place why Michael was following her instead of just walking up and introducing himself, but I immediately realized what the problem was.
She hoisted herself up onto the back of a motorcycle, accepting the help of the blond driver. He had a spiked mullet, dressed in all black, and when he realized Michael was staring at his girl, a cocky kind of smirk crossed his face. His friends parked next him all revved their engines to a start, and I tore my eyes from the platinum blond to see the others. I didn’t manage to catch a good look at two of them, because my eyes immediately looked onto those of the punk from earlier who’d started a conversation with me over pierced ears.
He was already looking at me, and when he realized my attention immediately locked onto him, a predatory look filled the black circles of his eyes and his lips formed into a boyish smirk directed exactly at me. He lifted his hand in a short wave, laughing along with the friend who called him away from me earlier as he shoved Marko’s shoulder in a teasing way. I lifted my hand in a small acknowledging wave back, but was knocked out of my small trance by Sam, who began teasing Michael.
“Come on, she stiffed ya!” Sam laughed harmlessly, gently punching Michael’s shoulder and turning to probably go and find Mom. I broke my gaze away from Marko immediately, turning to follow after Sam and not bothering to look back at all as I heard the bikes pull out and speed off down the road.
“Too bad she left with Mr. Mullet, she was pretty.” I tried to break the tension with Michael, I really didn’t want him to be upset over the lose of the girl, he still had all of Santa Carla’s teenage population of girls to meet.
He cracked a smile and nudged his shoulder into mine. “She really was.”
Once we made it home for the night, I separated from both my brothers and made my way into my own room. It was the smallest of all of ours, but that’s the main reason why I had chose it. It was cozy, and cute. I liked the way it came out once I had finished decorating it.
I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to those boys on the motorcycles from earlier that night. Marko seemed nice enough, even if I didn’t know whether or not I was brave enough to try to pursue a friendship with his more than intimidating friends. Just as I came to the conclusion that I should just get over myself and approach them, a sharp sting of anxiety wedged itself into my gut and nauseous filled my stomach and rose up in my throat. No. I didn’t need to become friends with those boys, there was something off, something I didn’t need to meddle in.
If I saw them again, I’d avoid eye contact and conversation completely. I was never able to understand my anxiety, but I always listened to it when it struck me.
#the lost boys#the lost boys 1987#the lost boys imagine#the lost boys headcanon#the lost boys poly#the lost boys david#the lost boys marko#the lost boys dwayne#the lost boys paul#paul x reader#dwayne x reader#marko x reader#david x reader#billy wirth#alex winter#kiefer sutherland#brooke mccarter#paul the lost boys#david the lost boys#marko the lost boys#dwayne the lost boys#star the lost boys#the lost boys star#the lost boys x reader#the lost boys masterlist
258 notes
·
View notes
Text
I need longer than 7 minutes ⟿ Eren Jaeger x femreader [pt . 1]
Includes : swearing, making out, alcohol, lime, consumption, insinuation of marijuana [small reference].
Word count : 3,1k
••
This’ll be a few parts, this is my lil re-creation. I tried to make it original, but I give creds to the person who originally wrote 7 minutes, she surly will be with us forever; I’ll never forget that story :D
••
You run home from your last lecture in the English building; bag swinging and hitting your back while you sprinted across campus.
You didn’t expect to be held back twenty minutes after class; all because you got a B- on group work, your incompetent ‘buddies’ who had to help- didn’t. You did it all, in a week. Thankfully your professor had kept it somewhat short with you; letting you know you weren’t going to have to redo it.
That was besides the point though; you needed to get to the fraternity house, now. You had promised Jean and Connie you would help clean the house before people arrived. As you near the house, you pant, throat dry and your chest burns from running, your leggings made you sweat like a madman.
Running up the porch and fumbling with the doorknob, you swing open the door and see Connie, frantically grabbing cups from shelves and coffee tables, throwing them in a giant black bag and he begins shouting when you’re tossing your bag on the couch and tying your hair up, “What the fuck y/n!” He whines, “you know I don’t clean for shit!” He hollers, you snag the bag from him and he smiles childishly and plops onto the couch. Little shit. You pick up where he left off, dragging garbage by the arm into the bag.
“Maybe if you knew how to clean-” you start, Jean comes down the stairs, only in a towel, you roll your eyes, looking back at Connie, “maybe if you two got off your dead asses, you wouldn’t need me to clean for you.” You growl, steam practically flying from your ears, looking back at Jean, with that silly smile on his stupid face.
“You live here too.” Jean teasingly cackles, you huff and charge towards him, shoving a finger in his face. He looks down at you with a smug smile on his face.
“Used to- it’s not my fault I had no idea college relationships don’t work out.” He sticks his tongue out at you and ruffles your hair, stepping back and strutting away in his low hung towel.
‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’ You mumbled under your breath.
He turns a head before walking towards the staircase, “pshh, you used to be over here every day with Connie! doing whatever toxic couples do. And look at you, still here for him.” He teases, Connie laughs, throwing his head back and standing up, walking towards the kitchen.
“That’s because she still loves me.” He sneers, you drop the bag on the floor and head towards your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. The boys start towards you, begging for you to stay, “I didn’t mean it! Please help.” Connie begs, you comply and place your bag down once more.
“Yeah let me get dressed and I’ll help! Don’t leave us! Please.” Jean implores, quickly running up the stairs, followed by hearing a door shut. You continue cleaning up the downstairs rooms, cleaning what needed to be disenfected so on so forth. Jean did in fact help you, while Connie prepared the bar, and drank half of it while he was at it.
Finally stepping in front of the door, taking a gander at the clean and organized house, surfaces cleaned and dusted, the garbage needed to be emptied a total of twelve times by the time you were done.
You though- you were proud at the work you’ve done, disappointed at the fact you knew it would only stay like this for not even two hours, knowing this house would be full of kids like every weekend, “let me go back and get ready, I’ll be back in a little.” Before they get a chance to say anything, your ass is out the door and walking down the sidewalk to the neighboring dorms, the sun slowly disappearing, the skin turning a milky pastel pink and orange. Students walked, groups of people skateboarding, while most conversed amongst each other. You scurried into the dormitories where you resided and headed for the elevator, pressing it a few times before quickly opening, you step in and slam your two fingers on the floor of your room.
Finally reaching your floor, your feet quickly move down the hall, unlocking your door and slipping in, Historia sits in her desk chair, doing work, “hey Historia, wanna tag along?” You’re throwing your shirt off your head followed by your leggings, you two had changed in front of each other so many times, neither payed any mind.
“No, I’m behind on an essay, I’ll come next weekend I promise.” She pleads, you smile and wave your hand in the air dismissively while standing there half naked.
“Please! You know it doesn’t hurt my feelings, I just don’t want you crammed in here all the time by yourself, it’s unhealthy.” Hands deep in your drawers, you’re looking for a dress, she lets out a sigh of relief and drops her pen on her textbook, standing and walking towards me, opening another drawer.
“I know what dress you gotta wear!” She sings, you follow her hands, fingers strolling down the neatly folded clothes within her clothes drawer. She rips out a black bodycon dress which wasn’t longer than mid knee, with a nice dip in the v-line.
Graciously taking it from her hands, a small gasp and smile planted on your mouth as you slip it over your feet and thighs, shimmying your arms into the strings. Historia had quite a delectable taste of fashion, she had worn and worked every style she’s come across, “you look hot.” She places a love tap on your ass and you stick your tongue out, taking a good look at yourself in the mirror, turning around to look at your body.
Releasing your hair from the hair tie, you shake your hair out and brush it. Being cautious you’d run late again, Historia is picking out a perfume and matching lotion, spritzing you and you take the lotion out of her hands, squeezing the sweet flower smell into your legs and arms, “thanks roomie, please, reconsider; come with me.” You plead one last time, she shoves me playfully and points to her textbook.
“Next weekend, go. Don’t make Connie mad by being late.” You groan and slipping your feet into black platforms.
“You’ll regret saying that, I don’t like Connie.” You shut the door behind you. Walking back towards that elevator.
The sky was pretty much dark at this point, the party was twenty minutes from starting, and you had just walked through the front door as Connie was swinging it open, letting people know they could come in, a few boys sat on the couch. Jean could be seen pouring drinks for himself and probably his friends. “I knew I heard y/n!!” Jean cheers, jogging over to me and scanning his eyes up and down my figure, “looking- uh, sexy.” He coughs, shaking his head and the little bit of pink brushes his cheeks, handing me one of his drinks.
Marco leaps over the couch and jumps towards Jean, leisurely throwing an arm over his shoulder, “maybe you’ll finally get a piece tonight,” he nudges, you smack Marco upside the head and he mutters swears under his breath, pulling off of his friend, Jean rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of his drink, cocking an eyebrow.
“Who says I haven’t hit already.” Before the boys can even react, your knee meets his groin, kicking him, he screeches and falls to his knees, the room stays silent for the most part besides laughing, “alright! I haven’t hit it yet- Jesus y/n!” He hissed, rolling back onto his feet and practically limping out of the room. I turn around to see if the others got the warning, but instead see two boys standing at the front door, both staring at me with wide eyes and interested looks.
Both were tall; one blonde haired which covered his forehead, keen blue eyes, the other wore baggy sweats, a black short sleeve shirt, his hair was messily pulled back. You stand there like a ditz, kinda humiliated.
“Here- Eren, Armin.” Jean is coming from behind you, handing these men drinks, patting Eren’s shoulder all ‘buddy - buddy’ as they walk deeper into the house, you shake off the intense vibe you felt from the two and drink more of the flavored vodka. Your ears suddenly perk up like a dog when you hear Jean’s loud mouth from the kitchen, “oh that’s y/n, isn’t she just a gem? my nuts still hurt.” He laughs, the slight hint of sarcasm in his remark, you swing around and walk into the kitchen, interjecting yourself in their conversation; the three chat it up, Jean’s eyes land on yours and smiles like a brat.
You poke Jean in the side and smile at whichever Armin and Eren were, “Isn’t Kirsten so peachy, this is why I love him.” You giggle, the boys in front of you laugh; both absolutely stunning bright smiles, you could get used to their faces around here. You also wondered where they came from.
“Oh, to be Jean’s nuts right now.” The dark haired one jokes, arising laughter amongst the three boys. Your eyes practically fall out of their sockets, an immediate halt of poking Jean’s side, the little ball stood out, you were absolutely thrown off any train of thought you had. People start filling the kitchen, you were so frozen in feelings you looked so ridiculous, shaking it off with a little smile, you needed to flirt back, he started it.
“And don’t I wish I was that tongue piercing.” It was now their turn to be frozen in shock, the blonde one turning his head to look at the other, a little ‘Eren’ could be heard from his lips; ‘so that’s his name, he kinda looks like an Eren.’
The loud chatter and booming music has overtaken the house, it was getting harder and harder to hear a single conversation as more and more people filled the house.
Jean wraps an arm around me, “I love it when she’s bold, she only gets worse the more she drinks, be careful.” Jean gives me a tight side hug and you down the rest of the liquid in the cup, I had stunned Eren into silence, Armin broke that silence with a small laugh. What Jean said was true, I had a small track record of flirtatious behavior when I had enough liquid courage.
Eren smiles at you, “so intense, let’s get them a room already.” Your eyes peel off Eren’s, Sasha stood there with a bottle in her hand, a huge smile on her face, “it’s like a staring contest over here, what’s happening guys?!” She hollers over the music, poking my boob a few times, you swat her finger off your tit and she giggles, hiccuping, she was much more intoxicated than yourself.
“I was just getting more to drink, gimme gimme’” you snatch the bottle out of your friends hand and pop open the cap, “I hope to see you all later, I plan on us all playing a little spin the bottle or something.” You swallow, Armin tilts his head and looks at you.
“Isn’t that for high schoolers?” He asks, a smile on his face, you lean in close, your head right between both Eren’s and Armin’s ears, they subconsciously lean in to hear what I have to say.
“With a twist.” You hum, pulling away and following Sasha towards the basement stairs, personal tequila bottle in tow and ready to drink.
An hour later you’re faltering towards the couches and sliding down onto your wobbly knees, Connie and Jean rounding up the people we are closest too in the basement, dizzy and laughing at practically every little thing in sight, Sasha and Mikasa sat to your left and right, equally or less drunk as yourself.
Our friend group sits on the floor in a giant circle and you stand, “okay my friends, I figured we could do a little something different this weekend.” You announce, the room falling somewhat quiet as they listen to you, “we’re gonna play spin the bottle, but instead of just regular old spin the bottle, if one spins and it lands on the other, they can head into the closet for seven minutes, but when your turn comes again, or that person that you went into the closet with previously, you go into the bedroom for a timed thirty minutes. No backing out.” You didn’t even catch Eren making himself comfortable next to Jean and Marco, Armin sitting on the couch behind Connie also planning on participating.
Eren had noticed you though, standing there with that half empty bottle and your tight dress, your messy makeup which he found beyond sexy. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you told him you wished he was his piercing, no girl had ever been so outgoing and bold. Although he was slightly stoned, and definitely drunk, he couldn’t rip his eyes off you; he sat on the ground intrigued, “I’ll do the first spin.” Sasha gushes, grabbing the empty beer bottle and giving it a strong spin.
It spins and spins, you sat pretty on your knees and wait for it to land on someone; an eternity later it’s pointing between Mikasa and Jean. He was jumping onto his feet in an instant, you knew Jean so well that it was impossible for him to act cool, he was freaking the fuck out. Mikasa stands and pushes Jean towards the closet, he stumbles, drunkenly tripping over his feet and we all laugh at him, they go in and I set a timer, starting it immediately.
We all talk and laugh, Connie and Marco had their ears pressed against the door like perverts, “hey pervs! Quit it you two!” Sasha shouts, they leap away from the door and soon enough the ringing plays to signify the end of the long 7 minutes, you stand and knock on the door, Jean comes out first, dizzy and face flustered, totally beyond repair. Then Mikasa following behind him, perfectly fine but with a domineering smirk plastered on her face. We cheer and Jean plops down on the ground, the boys patting and laughing, congratulating him.
I go, spinning the bottle and anticipating the stop, when it finally comes to a stop, my eyes follow the top of the bottle stopped right between the legs of Connie and Eren, seeing both staring at me, ‘ooh’s’ and laughing fill up the room, there was no way I was going into that room with Connie. “Rock paper scissors!” Jean shouts, I slap my hands over my face in embarrassment, my luck I’d be stuck with Connie who would probably just start a fight with me.
You peek your eye through your fingers and see the two boys play it out to see who would get to go into the closet with me.
Connie one- Eren two.
Your hands drop into your lap, feeling lightweight, almost like you were floating, a mixture of both anxiety and excitement flickering in your stomach, he was so intimidating and you felt tiny in front of him- in all honesty, flirting was one thing. You stand up hesitantly and walk towards the closet, his body blocking you from being able to see your friends one last time. He shuts the door and wastes no time looping his arm around my waist, pulling me into his rock hard chest, looking up at him and begin to gnaw on your bottom lip as he cops a feel of your ass; his strong hand groping your ass, hand rubbing and squeezing, “eager are we?” You tease, he hums and continues.
You were spiraling under his strength. He walks both of you backwards until your back is hitting the wall, dipping his head down to your ear, “what happened to the tough guy act?” He purrs, you shiver, his hand moving from your ass and down your thigh slowly, “you wanna kiss me?” He asks quietly, forehead pressed against yours, you respond with a little nod, his lips instantly meeting yours, your eyes shut and it only becomes more messy as seconds pass, his hand that was once on your thigh was now separating them, sliding his thigh in place between your legs; pinning you. While his thigh sat between yours, you could feel the growing erection poking your leg; which he paid no mind, this was about you. His left hand behind your neck, thumb caressing back and fourth on your jawline softly whilst fixing his right hand back on your ass, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
His body was warm, nose drinking up his vanilla scent, he tasted good, vodka completely soaked your tastebuds, the faint aroma of weed could be tasted in your nostrils from his clothes. Your hands loosely around his waist feeling up his back muscles only slightly.
The metal bud on his tongue keeping you enticed, colliding with your own tongue, it was like a little magic ball that could instantly have you on your knees; sparking these new and mysterious sparks within your body which you wanted more of. It was fun to play with.
He slowly pulls away, a string of saliva dragging from his lips to yours, he licked his lips, you kept your eyes on that piercing like an owner holding his pets treats in his hand, “I need more than seven minutes.” He grunts, your swollen lips begging for his again.
You were going feral, the tips of your fingers teasingly touching the hem of his sweatpants, feeling his boxers underneath, “you’re a good kisser Eren, wonder what else you’re good at, hm?” You whisper in his ear, he was tense, body still latches onto yours so you could feel the flexing of his muscles.
“I would tear yo-” our heads snap to the side, the knocking on the closet door, that was seven? Already? He pulls off of you, immediately feeling cold, your hand coming to your mouth so you can wipe it and somewhat look composed. Like nothing happened, he’s swinging the door open and cockily walking out, you walked out beside him, the girls overwhelmed with cheery grins and jaws hitting the floor, the boys ‘oohing’.
“Was it good?” Mikasa questions, tugging at your arm so you could sit in your spot, you look at her with devilish eyes.
“I’m taking that as a yes, he looks high and mighty don’t he?” Sasha chuckles, you glance at Eren who is looking at you with low, seductive eyes. You gulp and explode, looking at the floor and feeling like all eyes were on you.
“Next person!” Jean shouts. We all prepare for ourselves for the next round.
Fifteen minutes later, after Marco and Sasha had completely demolished each other’s necks in the closet, plus Connie and a random girl spending an odd eleven minutes in the closet after we all pounded on the door to get them out; God knows what they did in that closet. You look for who’s turn it was next; it was finally Eren’s turn to spin.
You were rather... irritated; he was gonna get to please some girl with his mouth the same way I was so blessed to have bestowed upon me. You drink from the bottle, drowning your new attitude. Now everyone is shock, leaping to their feet and jumping around like teenagers, you look around and Eren is walking towards your sitting body, your messy and drunken eyes looking up at him confused, “looks like we get our thirty minutes.” He smirks, your eyes bulge and you quickly stand to your feet, what luck!
Walking down the small hall of the basement, your back only barely touching his front side as he’s pushing himself through the doorframe, you push the door shut with your foot and pick up right where you left off.
“I’ll need more than thirty minutes.” You stand in shock at him ripping his shirt off his head. His finger touching your chin before being able to stare at his body, “get on your back princess.” He starts, gently pushing your back onto the bed.
“I need to taste you, please.”
293 notes
·
View notes
Text
next door neighbours!SF9
A/N: Read more here~~
Youngbin:
The grass on his lawn is neatly trimmed, no weeds in sight and the tiles are sparkling white
Definitely stands on the lawn in the morning with his hands behind his back, probably in contemplation of life or whatever wearing those white jeans and stripped t-shirt as he did in their Into The Night performances
Dad! Youngbin vibes
Says ''Hi'' to you the first time around but says nothing and even though you shouldn't feel the need to affiliate, it feels very awkward.
Turns out that the inside of his house is a chaos, his kids are running everywhere first thing in the morning, there's probably also some scribbles on the wall and it's like, you finally understand why he needs a break (kids are a handful)
Will give you a ride to school if you don't have a car, regardless of how close the school is
Inseong:
You don't see this guy all that much and when you do, it's mainly the back of his head as he leaves for work.
Works so hard that he comes back sweaty and out of breath and you can hear it because he's loud about it.
If you have thin walls, I'm so sorry because you can hear him practice his singing.
At first you think about how beautiful he sounds and sometimes you still enjoy listening to him but at important times like on a zoom call, your colleagues hear him singing and because of this, you are frequently interrupted when you speak.
You are so frustrated that eventually you wonder if you should just ask him to sing in your ear while you sleep because that's what it feels like
One day you meet him in the elevator and you wonder, 'He's that tall?' and he's all awkward with his shy little smile and bow
Takes you a little while to notice that he's just like that with the suspicious puns and laughs but yo eventually grow over some drinks.
Jaeyoon:
The one that all smiles, you can immediately tell that he's a loving guy but he'll be shy about it.
When's he's around you, he tends to smooth his hair down a lot even if it is okay. There's also a faint pink tinge on his cheeks when he speaks to you (it's because he ran to get the elevator, nothing else)
He works as a florist, arranging flowers and writing cards during the day and when he's done, he works out at your local gym.
He has got good endurance, even when he's tired and his muscles are begging for him to stop. Is an admirable person considering how much effort he has put in to keep himself fit, even when he doesn't feel like it sometimes, he always shows up.
He likes to hold hands, especially when he's tired, or link arms evens and really, it's kind of cute.
When he's drunk or just tired from whatever he's come from and he sees you, he always puts his hands in his pockets, stifling the overwhelming urge to hold yours.
Dawon I Lee Sanghyuk:
You'll instantly become friends with him and he'll invite you over to the parties he has.
When you are there, he'll show you a side of him you haven't seen before. Somehow he's more confident when you aren't meeting near the stairs, outside your apartments or in the elevators.
Then he's shy with his hands together, fingers fumbling around and pressing the wrong buttons when he's only trying to press it for you and he's an exceptional character.
He smiles as if he's over the moon and he's journeying with you, hand in hand when you two are only neighbours and he's not sure what you know about his feelings for you.
When you are at his apartment, he's doing things like kissing you on the cheek, giving you hugs, staying close to you and occasionally looking for where you are in the party.
Sings when he's drunk which serenades the life out of you
Rowoon I Kim Seokwoo:
On most nights, he comes home drunk and you can hear him stumbling into his front porch as his friends drive off after he makes it past the door and closes it.
He fumbles, almost landing into the garden, array of plants screaming in disgrace at their owner and you have to hold back your chuckles as you see this scenario from the window, as if he can hear.
On cue he turns and before he can completely see you, you dash behind, heart racing.
Next day, when he's sober, with his hair looking suspiciously clean, he tells about his drunk self encounters with you staring out of the window which you deny and he says, ''Yea, I've been dreaming''.
The ultimate contrast is when you both leave at the same time and walk to the same stop and he's dressed his best self, he's attractive
He starts a conversation and you settle into this routine of waiting for one another before leaving and telling each other that you aren't coming the day before.
You've become accustomed to his reasons, they are the same time and time again, as a result of what occurred the previous night.
You've also slipped into this routine of calling each other, at dawn and having this little snippet of conversation about your day, laughing at each other's encounters. At the end, you say whether you'll be coming, just to affirm.
However, when you take an off, it's rare. He's concerned, by the fact that his voice had raised a little
He guides you on what medicine to take and leaves you sleep and the next morning, you are woken up to him standing at your door with food in one hand and some DVD's in the other.
Zuho I Baek Juho:
Can only start a friendship by coincidence, like purely
Always tired, stretching his limbs when he takes a short break by walking outside.
The type to leave his keys outside and then wonder how they got there when you come from out and knock on his door to tell him
Very thankful, will pay you back in courtesy through some form, carry something heavy for you
Maybe, he might just point out how heavy it is and then realise that he could help you with it. But it's over the fence so he's struggling, you are struggling and you just wonder why he's doing this in the first place
Soft soul will play with your kids if you have some
Yoo Taeyang:
The neighbour that you won't speak to, ever
Smiles at people and greets them in the hallway, so he's cordial, but other than that, it's a full dash till he's in the safety of his house where he can bake what he's going to be eating
Carries like a hundred bags and you and your neighbours think he's going to drop but then he grows an extra arm and unlocks his door, safely tucking his groceries away.
Extra awkward at gatherings, hesitates to say anything, looks at everyone cautiously and you don't even know what he's seeing when he's that tall
One day you see him bopping his butt along to some song called ''Wild Wild West'', definitely is a good dancer but why he's dancing like that is beyond you and your neighbours.
Kind soul, bless him, he tries
Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun:
He's shy around you, not used to speaking to new people every now and then but he comes around and when he does, he's the cutest friend you've met in a while.
Occasionally, you go over or he comes and you drink beer or whatever, having conversations in your living room or balcony.
He loves sitting, drinking something and watching the light fade away into colours of purple and red or what's on today.
He listens to music or sings and you love to hear his voice, albeit he's a bit shy at first so you join in and there's days where you don't have to join in anymore, he'll sing if he wants to because he's that comfortable.
Otherwise, you put in earphones or air pods and sit there, playing your favourite songs for one another
If you're restless, you can dance with him, he'd do it with you but stop because he's shy and wondering why you're staring at him like he's good at dancing.
Pulls out the funniest moves though, very easy to feel comfortable around
Will take you along to buy groceries with him because he wants to know what you want to eat, a fan of barbeque but can't grill to save a life.
Chani:
Doesn't like to be disturbed, works extra hard so takes plenty of rest on the weekends
Is a very quiet neighbour, only sounds you may hear is when he accidentally trips over himself
Thinks he had bad knees because of it, you always see him clutching his knee in the same way that someone clutches their pocket because they think that they've forgotten something
A real sweetheart though, his smile is pretty enough to generate electricity for the whole hallway and his walk is broad enough to separate the Pacific Ocean, which he'll deny because he's humble
Has some wild friends that make horrifying noises when they come over and he tells them to keep it down but then falls asleep and they take over his apartment like those creeper plants.
He'll carry stuff for the elderly or volunteer somewhere cause he's cute like that
Won't tolerate if you are loud, he'll tell you off, ''Think you are the only one who lives here?'' but in that really nice way that will make you respond with, ''No, hehe''
#sf9 headcanons#sf9 writings#sf9 fanfic#sf9 fluff#sf9 fantasy#sf9 imagines#sf9 scenarios#sf9 x reader#youngbin#inseong#jaeyoon#dawon#rowoon#zuho#yoo taeyang#hwiyoung#chani
79 notes
·
View notes