#This has been going on for a while and frankly I'm not even surprised by much anymore but
Text
Toothache
How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"?
Synopsis: Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?
Apologies to this mess of a lyricfic, I couldn't help it even though this was supposed to be a relationship analysis..
MEN WRITTEN BY ANA HUANG ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. Alright back to our original programmed schedule with Hozier. ALSO SURPRISE! THIS CONTAINS 3 HOZIER SONGS as an apology for not posting these past two weeks due to me enjoying holidays, reading, prom dress picking and wanting to stab myself because of life, there's the added bonus 👀
My CoD Masterlist
My Simon Riley x You Playlist
Also reader in this one had a lot of characterization, she's me fr, so AFAB?Reader, Fem!Reader, Short!Reader, Reader is VERY feminine with fashion, soft-girl-sunshine!Reader and Chubby?Reader. Y'all have no idea how hard it is to write without a personality and physical intimacy in romance, I tried but failed 😭
Warnings and Disclaimers: Mentions and details on sexual content ahead (is this considered smut? Idk anymore). Not detailed smut but vivid memories of sexual intercourse (especially the dialogue) with Simon. Again, this is a safe account for all ages because I'm not a MDNI acc, you are responsible for your own media consumption. DO NOT GO ON MY DMS, INBOX OR REPLY TO MY CONTENT TO TELL ME YOUR AGE. I don't need to know that and let's strive to not make each other uncomfortable. Mentions of questioning of religion or rather belief on afterlife??
Pink, bold and italic: Lyrics
Italic: recalling past events
Little snippet of an image of how I imagined he'd hold you, courtesy of the one and only @ave661
"It can't be said I'm an early bird, it's 10 o'clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?"
Simon Riley was never a man to live the life he was taught to in the military, it was out of habit for him to not leave his room until around noon. Then there was you, his roommate, he didn't exactly calculate how much it would affect his personal life to save money through rent by willingly letting someone within the same living space.
He'd find himself with not even a wink of sleep, hearing your footsteps through the thin walls, hearing the lock on the windows outside click open.
"You kept telling me to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. But then you wake up from the sunrise."
He'd always hear you, quite frankly it was like nagging on the constant.
"Simon you shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself"
"Simon please go get some rest"
"Simon.."
He'd swear he'd rip his own ears out every time his name falls from your lips from how sweet and chirpy it sounded and yet deafening silence would consume him whenever you aren't around.
"You don't gotta pretended, Baby, now and then. Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake? Smellin' lika bonfire, lost in the haze?"
Something about you makes it so tempting for Simon to give in, I mean it would be a one time thing, wouldn't it? So soft, so pliant, he set himself up for an addiction. It wasn't healthy, he knew this, he'd convince himself of the fact that he would end up hurting you.
Just too different, it repeated like a mantra in his head. He was bitter, brooding and didn't find any sense of pleasure in living. Why'd you think he has the job he chose? It's all he knew, till you skip your way into his life, giving him the sweetness he was deprived of.
"If you're drunk on life babe, I think it's great. But while in this world, I think I'll take my whiskey neat"
Drowning himself in alcohol, a trait Simon promised himself he wouldn't ever do when he was young, setting his glass down with a small thud from the wooden table. But what would the kid version of him know about life. He didn't have healthier options of coping with what seems to be his dilemma.
But then there you were, sweet little thing coming home at the late hour in that skimpy dress of yours. Revealing too much to the eyes of those who wish to have you for themselves with just one look. Where did you go that night?
"My coffee black in my bed at three, you're too sweet for me"
Desperately trying to keep himself awake and at bay from his thoughts of you. Drowning himself in now two cups of straight black coffee to help him focus.
It was odd, you got used to the scent, was strong with a lack of sweetness but it calmed you down knowing he was around.
How he'd corrupt you, he wanted to shatter that rose tinted glasses of yours to save you from himself because being with him would change you. Selfish but he doesn't want that, you were utter perfection..
Simon further delved into his feelings, what the fuck was wrong with him?
"I aim low. I aim true, and the ground's where I go. I work late where I'm free from the phone and the job gets done"
Grumbling, Simon walks back into the apartment in the middle of the night. You heard a thud, you come out of your bedroom, yawing from you incomplete sleep.
"Si..? Are you hurt? What happened?" You asked in a soft tone, careful not to agitate someone would could possibly be pissed off.
Simon stays silent, glaring at you as his eyes was only thing visible because of his balaclava. Your soft gaze intimidated him, because why would he feel that squeeze in his heart?
"But you worry some, I know but who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate. The rest of you like you're the TSA, I wish I could go along Babe, don't get me wrong..."
The only thing Simon heard was a sigh from you and nothing more, you walk up to him, each footstep feeling louder than that last.
Something Simon didn't expect you to do was wrap you arms around his waist, tiny thing you are that your head only goes up to his chest. Your body against his, basking in the warmth in contrast to the cold weather he had to deal with coming home.
"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. If you can sit in a barrel maybe I'll wait, until that day.."
You took care of him that night, to his reluctance and stubbornness. Despite refusing, he had no choice, he wouldn't want a soft thing like you on his ear the whole night till he agrees. You were persuasive in your own irritating way.
Sitting on the edge of the tub of the warm bath he's in, washcloth in hand. Touch was so gentle, why was it so soft? Why's it so warm? "It's the water you fucking idiot" his subconscious screaming at him. In denial.
Why is his heart beating so fast..? He wants to stab it to stop the feeling..
"I'd rather take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"
Using both your hands this time around, one gently holding his chin with your fingers while the other wiping away at the eyeblack he had. Every scar on his face felt the graze of your finger.
The slow blinks, your eyes on his. Before any conscious thoughts consume Simon, he lifts his arms from the warm water and wraps them around you.
Your nightgown was now damp but you couldn't care less, now with the man you were pinning over, foreheads against the other.
"Si.." you softly whisper. That nickname will be the death of him, you'll be the death of him. He crashes his lips on yours, not wanting to let go till you both were panting. You were too fucking sweet, your lips, your skin, everything. He wanted a taste and he got it...
"My lover's got humor, she's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner"
Another sleepless night wasn't uncommon for someone like Simon.. however this aching feeling wasn't, he doesn't know where it's from or what it's about. Not until he heard you in the kitchen, letting out a giggle even though you knew better.
"If the Heavens ever did speak, She's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week "We were born sick"
That sweet fucking voice, like the angels speaking to him themselves. "Oh- I'm sorry Si, did I wake you up?" You asked, turning around to the sound of his footsteps.
That tiny nightdress of yours, a reminder of the night you spent together, that morning you slept in his bed.
Lashes beautifully displayed on the delicate skin of your under eyes. Soft noises while your chest was peacefully moving up and down with every breath.
"She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom". The only Heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well. A, Amen, Amen, Amen"
"Simon.. Ahh~" you moan out softly, your body writhing underneath him. It felt hot, sweaty despite the well ventilated room, so intimate from something that was supposed to be the farthest thing from domestic.
"Shhh, you can take it sunshine.. You don't want the neighbors to hear us, do you?" Simon whispers, callous hand covering your mouth with as little pressure possible, you whimper at his words.
Closing your eyes to lose yourself in the pleasure you've never felt before. Your body being worshiped with gentle hands and soft kisses that leave marks by the very same man who kept distancing himself from you, now he'd stop at nothing for your pleasure.
"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."
"Simon.. no more–" you whined. Scratching his back hard enough to leave marks without being aware, he'd always imagine what those pretty pink nails could do to him.
"Just one more, please sunshine.. you remember our safe word right?" Simon asks for you to nod softly, you didn't have energy to take anymore. "I told you I'll make you feel good, didn't I? So be a good girl for me and take it, hmm?"
Your eyes roll back at his praise, your legs shake with one after another wave of pleasure running through your body. This man was starved.. insatiable.. who would be able to resist such a request? Not you.
"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny"
It took everything in Simon not to worship the ground you walked on that night, he wasn't trying very hard, was he? Because always.. at the end of the night, you're in his bed, his mind, his life.
Was it really a sin? To want something you don't deserve? Simon stayed up that whole night, not a wink of sleep while thinking of whether this arrangement should continue. Every bone and organ in his body telling him to be selfish, take what was something that wasn't his to take.
"Something meaty for the main course, that's a fine looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work"
Simon's gaze, never faltering on your sleeping figure that he refuses to go anywhere but his own arms. He tries to close his eye to compose himself, free himself from the emotions you emit from him.
His efforts were to no use, all he saw was the image of you, sweetly smiling, those doe eye staring right through his soul.
"No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness, in the soil of that sad earthly scene. Only then I am human, only then I am clean"
You were getting too close for your own good, Simon knew that, he'll be damned if he let's himself hurt you. So he does what any stupid man would do, avoid you like the plague. Did it mean nothing? Were you just some fling, never to be talked about again?
Fuck you Simon Riley, he made you feel loved in bed like no man ever has or ever will, completely ruining your chance of ever thinking of anything else and that was just a hook-up session? Maybe this one time you can let yourself be delusional, was there really something more? Only one way to find out.
"Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen, Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life"
You caught him, fucking finally, after days of waiting and trying to get him at the perfect time. "Si.." you whispered softly, you didn't know where to start. He took a quick glance at you before looking back at what he was doing.
"Simon Riley, don't fucking ignore me. Not after everything that happened those nights" You said, it was stern but he needed to hear it. It made him stop, think about what had happened.
Before he could generate a response, "Why?" You asked. It was a vague question, why was he ignoring you? Why does he feel this way? Why does he love you yet refuse to act on it?
"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.."
"You don't deserve a man like me, you deserve one who is like you, optimistic, sweet, fucking beautiful and alive.. A man who's not damaged, scarred, has blood on his hands and haunted by his past. A man who's not afraid to show his love for you. A man who won't put his burdens on your shoulders and a man who will take care of you instead of the other way around. That's what you deserve and I can't give that"
Everything felt like it came to a stop, were you hearing that right?
"You have no idea how much you contradict yourself, Si. How are you so sure that you haven't given those things to me already? You might not be like me but "like me" isn't what I want.. I want you, every flaw, every beautiful scar. Not once before your silent treatment have you hurt me, it's frustrating yes, but you are worthy of that. Every struggle, frustration and mistake, every bit of your love is worth all of that. I want you to see that Si, your actual true worth rather than what some psychotic fucker decided to torture you with"
"Boys, workin' on empty. Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I'm so full of love I could barely eat"
"Si?"
"Yes, Sunshine?"
"I love you" You whispered after smothering him in a plethora of kisses. Never has anything made Simon melt more in his life than his wife say that. Doesn't matter how long it's been, how much the both of you have been through or how much frustration the both of you were going through..
It will always stay the same, the feeling those three words give him, like the first time, every moment feels that way. Familiar, finally.. Home.
"There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me"
He always thought about how unfaithfulness was such a struggle between some people, he thought about how good he has it constantly, reflecting back on what he used to have to how now this is something he never thought he'd have or deserve.
"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"
When a man finds himself in the verge of embracing death's arms, what causes the struggle? What causes him to fight that pain, to keep on going? Not once has this crossed Ghost's mind.
No. He's not Ghost, he's Simon. Your Simon.
And you're expecting your Simon home, fuck everything else, he'll give the biggest "fuck you" to death itself and crawl home to you because he'll be damned and he'll experience everything he has in his life over and over again just to hold you again.
"Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin, I woke with her walls around me. Nothin' in her room but an empty crib and I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did."
It should matter, the amount of blood on his hands. Not once did you judge him for it, what the fuck was wrong with you? Giving a monster such as him a bath like he was some innocent stray kitten, although this time around it was far more messy. The dried blood caked underneath his finger nails.
Flashing him a tired smile while you wiped off the blood that made the water in the tub a hue of brownish-red. Taking your hand in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles. The way you looked at him was enough to make him cry.
"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"
"Fucking get up" Simon repeats to himself, "She needs you, she loves you" despite how many times he's convinced himself you didn't due to the voice of his father in his head, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart imagining how it would be for you without him.
How much you cried the night he came home a day later, you told him yourself, practically sobbing while clutching your aching chest and him with your other arm how you weren't ready for Price to show up at your doorsteps holding Simon's belongings.
He won't let that happen.. he can't...
"My babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me"
Simon knew it, no one would ever love him like you do. No one would show him the same acceptance, devotion, care, concern and love. It wasn't healthy to be so attached dependently to someone in love.
He couldn't help it, it felt so right, everything with you did. Never a judgmental one, at least towards him. Always first to hold him, the first to ever take away the heavy guilt that weighed his heart and shoulders down after he'd done something he knows he'll go to hell for, if it's even real
"When I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamplight I was free. Heaven and hell were words to me"
Every inch was kissed, not a part wasn't worshiped. "So fuckin' beautiful, so sweet. All for me, hmm?" Simon mumbled against your skin, suckling on the soft sweetness that he so claims. All hickeys, no bruises.
Fuck, he'd not just survive but thrive on just you. No other sustenance, your supple thighs he adores to cover in purple, your neck, your lips and your skin that he often compares to sugar syrup in his head.
"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"
The question was, was it worth it to live an eternity of lifetimes filled with suffer to be with you in at least once? The only answer to ever graze Simon Riley's lips was the word "yes", the day that changes is the day that he'd be the biggest bull-shiter the world has ever known.
Simon opened the door to your shared home, "Daddy!" A loud squeal wakes him up from his dread of what he's seen on the field.
"How's my little sunshine been? 'Ave you been good to your momma while I was gone?" Simon asked, carrying the little girl in his arms.
"Yes! Momma said we'd go to the park tomorrow as a reward for me helping out!" Little one saying it so proudly, Simon couldn't help but smile, beaming with pride as his little girl grows up to be what he recognizes as a good person.
"Simon..? You're finally home, I missed you so much" You said, peeking out the laundry room. You walked out, quick to give him a peck on the lips.
"I love you Si.."
"I love you too Sunshine"
Also this is a very long fic.. I expect long feedback.. @connorsui 👀
Does this make sense? Idk anymore it's like almost midnight and I'm running on a few hours of sleep. GOD MY PROM DRESS LOOKS SO GOOD, I CAN'T WAIT.
Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo
Trying out new dividers as well by @anitalenia
#cod x reader#aethelwyne lia writes#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost simon riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x plus size reader#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost x you#simon ghost smut#simon riley#simon riley call of duty#simon ghost riley smut#ghost x plus size reader#ghost x female reader#ghost x y/n#simon ghost fluff#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#simon ghost#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley drabble#cod fanfic#cod fluff
381 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Prince pt.2
(Alastor x prince of hell! Reader)
Warnings: couple fight, kinda depression but nothing major, ehhh I think thats it.
Also Alastor might be a bit OOC but like who cares let me be delusional🫡
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It has been two months now since you and your dad visited your sisters hotel and you met Alastor.
Since then life has been amazing. You and Alastor continued to meet up in coffee shops and bars.
Of course you didn't tell your father since he would freak out.
However is has happened don more than one occasion that you spent the night in Alastors room at the hotel telling your father that you were just visiting Charlie.
Nothing happened of course since Alastor was asexual, and it took quite some time to get him comfortable with physical touch in general.
After he got used to it though it turned out he loved it. Only with you, but he loved it.
One of your favorite activities together is, in fact, cuddling.
Which you were doing right now as well you sitting in his lap in one of his arm chairs both of you reading books.
Alastor stopped reading for a second, and looked at you.
Since the meeting at the hotel a lot has happened. A lot that surprised even him. He has no idea he could get into e relationship let alone with someone as amazing as you.
Around the beginning of the second month into your relationship you got into a fight.
You wanted him to drop the act and open up to you because if he doesn't this relationship will never work.
And obviously he didn't want to. He has spent years building up his very carefully crafted facade. And who knew if you would still love him.
After that argument you didn't see each other for a week. Which was hell for alastor. Yes, he lived there but being away from you showed him what it was like for other people.
The pain in his heart was something he has never felt before, perhaps when his mother died but that was so long ago he could barely remember.
He woke up with that blinding pain in his chest and he thought is was just a temporary thing, so he went along his day.
Only to notice that the pain did not lessen or go away. It was there constantly and got worst whenever someone mentioned you.
After 3 days spent like this he could take it no more he went to you fathers house and requested to see you.
He knew that Lucifer didn't know you guys were together but he didn't care at this point he needed to see you and frankly he refused to do it over a little buzzing box.
Your father was of course as confused as one can be. What the fuck was the radio demon doing here wanting to talk to you.
They were about to get into another fight when you turned up.
Alastor froze when he saw you.
You were, even nicely speaking, a mess. Your hair was not as well kept the sleepless nights could be seen in your eyes, and you were wearing your pjs, which was one of Alastors shirts, from the few he owned.
Alastors didn't even spare another glance at your father he pushed him out of the way took your hand and led you to your room where you guys talked things out.
He didn't open up fully, but he stopped grinning. Which was already a huge step for him.
He promised, though, to open up to you more and more he just needed time.
And you were ok with that.
After he finished his sentence you leaped into his arm and kissed him which he eagerly returned. Missing the feeling of your lips on his.
"Alastor?"
He was staring at you. For a long time now and you were getting worried.
"Are you ok?" You asked while cupping his cheek.
He took the hand that was on his cheek and kissed your palm that put that hand on his chest where his heart would be if he had one.
"Oh, I'm quite alright dear, just thinking." He answered than leaned in for a kiss.
Your lips met and this kiss was not quite like the others.
Alastor but all the feelings he couldn't say into that one kiss stealing your breath. You felt the things he was to closed off to share and you understood why it would take him time.
After you parted you gave him another quick kiss which made him chuckle.
"WHERE IS THAT RADIO DEMON SON OF A BITCH"
Oh, yeah when Alastor visited you, Lucifer found out about you two, and since than...well lets just say Alastor enjoys tempting him with it to no end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
YOU GUYS ASKED FOR A PART TWO, AND I DELIVERED😎
No cuz in all seriousness my hazbin fics have gotten so much love and I just wanna thank you guys so much😭🧡🧡
I hope you enjoyed your reading Ladies, gentleman and other, good afternoon good evening and good night.🦖🧡
584 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gala Gal ft. Blackpink Rosé
pairing: Rosé x male reader
rating: Explicit
wordcount: 2.8k
prompt: a young journalist gets a chance of a lifetime with Rosé at a recent event.
Being a writer for a celebrity magazine has its advantages, such as getting to attend grand events like the Cannes Film Festival, or in this case, the MET Gala. Now you might think, where's the fun or excitement in that? A bunch of rich people dressed in overpriced clothing and posing on the red carpet while you have to ask them redundant questions that no one truly cares about outside a small niche of fans.
That is a reasonable question to ask, and a fair point to make. Hell, there are times when you wonder to yourself just how legitimate of a job this is. You certainly hear that question from your parents enough. But the answer to all of those questions comes from the woman currently walking towards you.
"Thank you for your time," you say to the current girl in front of you.
You have been interviewing some girl who is apparently 'the next Olivia Rodrigo,' which is a wild title to have, but you digress. As you bid her good-bye, a sudden chorus of "Rosé! Rosé over here!" erupts from the group of photographers, followed by a series of flashing light bulbs.
Your eyes flick over to the red carpet area near you to see none other than the 26-year-old starlet, Roseanne Park. Otherwise known as Rosé from Blackpink.
You have never crossed paths with her at any events you have covered; which you just toss up to bad luck or god punishing you for some crime you can’t remember. Either way, it seems like you will finally be getting your chance. Judging from this distance, she is just as beautiful as she appears in all her photos.
Her blonde hair is flowing down her back while loose bangs frame her face as she smiles for the camera. She is wearing a black dress that is form-fitting at the top, held together by two thin straps, and flares outwards at the waist. Frankly, she looks stunning. It is a classy dress that still manages to spark arousal in you. Though, you will keep that last part to yourself.
It is only a few moments later that you have to compose yourself as the press woman directs Rosé towards your vicinity. Adjusting your stance, and growing erection, you cough and put on a friendly smile as she walks over.
"Hi, I'm with Eros Magazine," you introduce yourself, managing to remain composed.
"Rosie, it’s nice to meet you," she says sweetly. She is even more beautiful up close, and that smile is practically paralyzing. Given that you don't trust your tongue at the moment, you decide to keep it simple.
"So how are you tonight?" you question, knowing how many times she must have answered it already.
"I'm great! It's a little cold tonight, but I'm excited to be here," she starts in her accented voice. "I love the Museum of Arts and supporting a good cause is always great. There are so many beautiful dresses and people here. So it's all feeling great right now!" she says, remaining smiling and bubbly throughout her answer.
For your part, you merely nod your head and smile, holding the recorder up to get every word. You go through the litany of typical red carpet questions: what projects are you working on, how's the music coming; all the typical things you could hand in to your editor when a story is due. You can see the press woman getting antsy though. Typical. Figuring you only have one or two questions left, you decide to venture out a bit.
"So, you're going to be going on tour again soon, that must be exciting..."
"It is! You're actually the first one to bring that up all night," she says, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"I do like to do my homework beforehand," you joke with a grin before continuing, "That being said, how do you manage to have fun and unwind? Even at these events, you have to keep a certain image, right?"
Rosé is quiet at first, and for a moment, she glances around as if to check that the coast is clear before she answers, "Oh, you know the girls and I find out ways to have fun. And this is actually my third year at the Gala, so I’ve found the little tricks and ways to have some fun."
There is something about the way she looks at you as she speaks that screams there is more than meets the eye to her words. Maybe it is the coy tone to her voice or the glint in her eye as she smiles. Whatever it is, you suddenly find yourself wondering exactly what ‘some fun' entails.
"By the way," Rosé says, interrupting your thoughts, "Eros Magazine...as in the Greek word for erotic love?"
Again she fixes you with that mischievous grin.
"Uh — yeah. Nice catch," you stammer, causing her to giggle.
"I like it" she says, a look you can’t read in her eye. Before you can ask anything further, the press woman begins to nudge her on to the next reporter. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too, have a good one," you reply, watching her intently as she walks away.
If that is your first and last interaction with the K-pop star, then you can say it has been interesting if nothing else. You get the feeling there is more to that little minx than meets the eye, you are only disappointed that you’d likely never get the chance to delve a bit further.
Covering the event means that you gain access to the party but hardly anyone does any real reporting. After all, these kinds of events are meant for the rich and famous. To cement their status as celebrities, they then sneak off inside to where they can have their fun. For the most part, you reporters stay together, talk, and drink the free liquor that is available.
You expect your night will be spent at the bar, winding your time down until it reaches an acceptable time to call it a night. But first things first, if you are going to be here on the company dime, you might as well get your money's worth.
"I've been looking for you all night!"
You are in the middle of ordering yet another drink when a familiar accented voice reaches your ears. Turning in your stool, you lay your eyes on Roseanne Park for the second time tonight, only this time there is something a little more...loose to her demeanor. You get an explanation when you spot the glass in her hands and briefly wonder how many she had at this point.
"Me? You must be confused," you say, both amused, curious, and a bit confused, "I don't think anyone at this party has said I’m wanted."
"Well, you are!" she says, smiling as she moves towards you, "And now that I've found you, I have something to show you."
"Don't you have famous friends to entertain?" you question more than protest as she places her drink on the bar and takes your hand.
You catch a glimpse of a hint of a pout on her features, "Don’t worry, they’re occupied." Again, there is that suggestion that something more is going on. Of course, there is the very realistic possibility that your mind is just running away with crazy, erotic theories. But that potential doesn’t stop you from being any more turned on by the thought. Coupled with the fact that Rosé is dragging you through a gala to god-knows-where and you are practically dreaming. In that moment, she could take you to hell for all you care.
"You're going to love it, trust me," she assures, looking back at you as she continues leading.
"Oh, I’m sure," you reply. Your mind is racing with things from a blow job to taking her from behind, so needless to say, you are a bit disappointed when she stops at your destination.
"A photo booth?" you ask, a bit amused at how silly it seems.
Rosé is either undeterred or doesn’t register your lack of enthusiasm as she simply nods, still smiling and pulling you into the booth.
“It's fun! Come on," the blonde insists, pulling you by the hand into the photo booth. Judging by the size of it, the booth is clearly an afterthought to the gala planners, or maybe it just isn’t meant for two people at the same time to occupy it. You do your best to squeeze yourself in so she can close the curtain behind you. To your surprise, Rosé neatly slides onto your lap, her perfect, tight ass sitting right on top of where your hard-on has been growing for the last couple of minutes.
"Alright, so it takes six photos then prints them out there," she points to the deposit box under the screen. She either doesn't feel the bulge pressing firmly against her ass, or she is very good at playing naive.
"Okay," you nod, as if you are bothering to pay any attention to the pictures.
As she shimmies on your lap to get into a better position, you decide to be bold and snake your arm around her slim waist, only to receive no complaints from the pop star. A countdown shows up on the screen, and when it says CHEESE, Rosé throws her arms around you, smiling openly as you try and fail not to look too bewildered. The screen replays your photo, and you can’t help but laugh at your own expense.
"Not bad," you grin, as the counter starts for the second photo.
"Not bad, but I think we can do better!" she says with a determined look on her face. When the screen says CHEESE again, Rosé suddenly leans over and licks the side of your face. You are so surprised you don't know how you react until the photo replays.
"Oh my god! That's great!" Rosé laughs.
You take the next few photos in the same fashion, going for ridiculous and silly in each one. After every photo, Rosé would shift her weight on your lap, rubbing against your erection each time. You are certain that she has to be well aware of what she is doing, and by the time the countdown for the last photo appears, you have made up your mind.
When the screen flashes, you turn Rosé's head to you and push your lips flush against hers. To your surprise, it takes less than half a second for her to respond, her hands moving up to cup your face. You kiss passionately like that until the simple need for air breaks you apart.
"I was starting to think all my work was for nothing," she says, a devilish grin on her face.
You raise an eyebrow at her; apparently, all your theories have just been confirmed. "You planned all this then?"
"I told you we know how to have our fun at these things," she comments, twirling a strand of hair in her finger.
"We?"
Mischief gleams in her gaze for a moment, “Maybe later. I know you’re a reporter, but you shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
She places a delicate finger to your lips as she gets up off your lap. The low ceiling of the booth doesn't allow her to stand up fully, but she doesn't have to as she crouches and reaches under her dress and begins pulling down her panties. "Fuck...these things are definitely ruined. I practically soaked them."
Her comment is more to herself than you, but your cock only grows harder at the revelation. You watch as she slides her thong down past her ankles, and her eyes fall to your crotch. With nimble fingers, she works on your button and zipper, springing free your aching cock.
"Oh wow..." she mutters, eyeing it with an animalistic hunger. "I would love to wrap my lips around that..."
"You're more than welcomed to," you groan, starting to get that sense of teasing with the amount of anticipation that is building. You are tempted to just force her head onto your cock, but you stop short when she speaks.
"Later. We don't have a lot of time."
Your disappointment at that statement is short-lived as she stands again and turns around. Rosé lifts her skirt and hovers over your lap. Grabbing hold of your member, you let out a groan as she positions it at her entrance, rubbing it for a second in her dripping juices. Unable to hold out, you thrust your hips slightly upward, causing your tip to pierce her folds.
"Mmm, somebody's anxious," she purrs, her accent coming out thick.
"Can you fucking blame me?" you say through gritted teeth, reaching out to grab her waist. Before you can yank her down, she beats you to it and spears herself on your rod. "Oh fuck," you let out, feeling how tight her petite body is.
"God, you feel fucking amazing," you mutter into her shoulder.
"Ah~...and you're...much bigger than you look," she says, clearly trying to adjust to the size she just filled herself with in one go. Apparently, the discomfort isn't so bad as she soon begins lifting and dropping herself on your cock slowly. "Try not—ooh— to get too loud," she moans out, her ass rocking against you.
"Speak for yourself," you grunt, your hands gripping her waist firmly as you start to move your hips to match the movement of hers.
You can't wrap your head around the fact that you're fucking a member of one of the most famous girl groups in the world in a photobooth at a gala with hundreds of celebrities. Thankfully, you don't need to wrap your head around it, as long as you keep fucking her. With that in mind, you take control of the pace, gripping her waist and forcing yourself up into her. Each time you spear her pussy, it's like another piece of heaven. Her pussy is squeezing you like there's no tomorrow, only increasing the pleasure you get with each thrust.
"Shit, yes, yes! Fuck me," Rosé chants in a loud whisper as she puts her hand on the console to steady herself as you thrust up into her.
"God, you're fucking tight," you moan, continuing to pound her Australian pussy. "Someone could look in here at any second."
"Oooh, I know," she lets out a shuddering breath.
"You're getting off on that, aren't you?" you continue the dirty talk, sliding a strap off her shoulder so you can push her top down to fondle her pert breast.
"Yes, yes! It fucking turns me on," Rosé pants.
For a moment, you fear she has given you away, but you're too far gone to truly care at this point. Her hands slide down the console, and you're only aware of what happens when the shutter of the camera makes you look up. Looking over Rosé's shoulder as she bounces up and down, you see your photo displayed, Rosé's mouth opened in pleasure.
Grinning to yourself, you increase the speed of your thrusts, determined to get her orgasm face by the last photo.
"OH!" she squeals, surprised by your sudden turn of action. "Oh fuck, right there. Keep going," she pants, her hand covering yours and holding it firmly against her breast.
You squeeze firmly, shoving every inch of your meat deep into her snatch. Her lithe body arches back into you. She's panting heavily, each thrust causing her to take a sharp breath. You turn her head towards you and kiss her, her hand gripping the back of your head. It's sloppy and passionate, perfectly fitting the current heated moment that is occurring.
"I'm close. I'm so fucking close," Rosé chants, continuing to grip your head as she moves her hips to yours.
A few moments later, you have to cover her mouth with your hand as she shrieks her orgasm. Her walls clench around you as she comes, her juices flooding your cock.
"I'm going to cum," you warn, knowing you aren't going to last through her orgasm.
"Mmmph," Rosé says, until you remove your hand, "In me! Cum inside me!"
You don't take a second to question it, instead thrusting your hips upward, your cock pushing into her one last time as you empty rope after rope of your seed into her womb. You continue unloading into the star for what seems like eternity until you both finally collapse in the booth. Her body heaves on top of yours as she tries to catch her breath.
"I don't think I've ever cum that hard before," you pant, causing the Blackpink singer to giggle.
"Don't speak too soon," she says, leaning back and kissing you softly on the lips. Thinking of what she could have planned only causes your cock to twitch inside her with anticipation.
One thing is for certain: this girl certainly knows how to have fun.
BUY ME A COFFEE - if you enjoy my stories considering buying me a coffee! always appreciated, never required.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
*hides behind hands* I KNOW HOW LONG ITS BEEN YALL I AM SOO SORRY :(((( uni has been kicking my ass for a while but im back and still deeply in L word with miguel!!! here's an apology 4 being gone 4 SO LONG, a lot of y'all rlly wanted body worship so here that is!
not proofread! contains; chubby! fem! reader, insecure thoughts, body image, unprotected sex, praise, public sex, body worship, mirror sex, creampie, sir kink if u squint, rlly soft sex, WAY longer than it needed it to be.
it happens during your off day. you're out shopping with miguel at the mall, dragging him here and there to get cute little outfits and other things miguel swears you don't need. you're at the end of your list of stores, and quite frankly the store miguel's been looking forward to the most, the lingerie store.
you're excited to try on all the cute pieces you see! you're grabbing anything that catches your eyes and miguel looks alive for once as he watches you do so, even going so far as to recommend a few sets.
you take all the sets you're interested in, thank the pretty lady lazily watching over the dressing rooms, and head inside. you were excited at first, you really were. who doesn't love to try on new clothes? but once you get in one of the farther dressing rooms to try on the cute lace sets miguel had suggested, your confidence is shot.
you turn in the mirror, uncomfortable with what you see in the reflection. you're chubby, that was a fact that you wore proudly. you've always loved your body, never thought it was something you needed to change or be ashamed of, until now. you feel gross in this set, the lace not fitting right and not flattering your curves the way you hoped. you try on the next few sets, feeling worse and worse each time.
you're on the verge of tears when you try on the last set, a pretty red mesh one with a bow right between your breasts. you look at yourself and feel nothing but disgust, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you frustratedly tug at the material around your body. you hated feeling like this, like your body was less than it was, but gosh, you couldn't help it.
maybe it was the way your flesh peeked from the fabric, maybe it was the way your rolls showed themselves on the sides of the set, but either way, you hated what you were looking at. you hated it.
a knock on the dressing room door has you jolting in surprise, whipping your head around to stare wide-eyed at the closed door. "honey?" miguel's deep voice calls from the other side. you don't respond, and miguel, concerned by your lack of response, knocks once again.
"you in there, cariño? it's been a while, is everything alright?" miguel asks. when he doesn't receive an answer again, he starts to push the door open. "is it okay if i step in? i wanted to see how you looked". you can hear the smile in his voice and you panicked. god, you hated the mall sometimes. the doors don't close properly ever.
"wait!" you say, voice shaky. you clear your throat and try again, "don't come in." you're a mess right now and the last thing you want is for miguel to see you like this. "why not?" miguel says, clearly confused. his hand rests against the door as he respects your wishes and waits for your reply,
"is everything okay, honey? did you rip that one with the strings?" he lets out a deep chuckle. "that one looked like it would be difficult to put on anyway, mama. let's just leave it there and run out, yeah?" he attempts to joke and it pull a quiet giggle out of your mouth.
"no— it's not that. i'm okay, baby, really. i just…" you trail off and glance at the mirror again, the insecurities you're feeling rushing back at full force, "i don't like it". you're not lying, you don't like any of the sets. they made you feel like shit.
"the strings?" miguel asks dorkily and you smile sadly at the mirror. even when you felt horrible, he knew how to make you feel better. "no, baby, not the strings." you take a deep breath. "i just don't like the way i look in these sets, that's all." you finally conceded, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
you knew miguel was persistent, though, and you wouldn't be surprised if he tried to get you to tell him exactly why you didn't like how you looked.
you didn't hear anything for a few moments and you started to hope that miguel had given up and left, but then, you hear the door handle shake and watched it twisting open in a panic. "no, wait! miguel—"
the door swings open, miguel's big body blocking the entrance. your hand falters at the failed attempt to keep the door closed and you shamefully take a step back, turning your body away from him and crossing your arms over your chest.
"cariño", miguel steps in and closes the door behind him. he walks closer and gently grasps your hips, moving you so that your back is facing the mirror and your front is pressed up against his body. "tell me what's wrong, why are those beautiful eyes of yours crying, hm?" his large hands move up your back, resting at the base of your neck and stroking the nape.
"do you not like the color? the patterns?" his eyes rake over your body. "because i think they're all very pretty".
you bite the inside of your cheek and avert your gaze, not wanting to face him. "nothing at all like that, they're all beautiful". you admit. you can feel his eyes boring into the top of your head, waiting patiently for a real answer, but you stay quiet.
"then, enlighten me for a moment", miguel starts, taking one of his hands from the back of your neck and using it to tilt your chin up. "what is it about these outfits that you don't like?"
"because, miguel," you huff out and push at his chest lightly. "they don't look good on me, okay? they just make me feel… not good. like i'm— ugh, like they just don't look good on my body." you admit, a tear falling down your face.
the sight of it breaks miguel's heart and he wipes it away with his thumb. "oh, my love," he says. he kisses your cheek. "what makes you think they don't look good on you, mama?"
"they just… don't. i'm not saying they aren't cute, they're just not for my body, i guess". you shrug and try to turn away from him again, but miguel doesn't let you.
"how could you say that about such a gorgeous body, hm?" he says, hands slowly making their way down your body. "you look stunning, cariño. borderline irresistible, and you don't like them?" miguel clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disbelief. "you have to be crazy".
you scoff, rolling your eyes. "yeah, right." you make eye contact with him and miguel's heart breaks with how broken you look. "how could you love a body like mine? it's just so— i don't know, not sexy".
you move to turn around and slip the lingerie off your body, but miguel grips your hips again, holding you in place. "look at me", he says. his voice is hard and demanding and you shiver under his grasp. "i want you to see what i see, honey girl, don't push me away." he murmurs and slowly guides your body to turn around.
"keep your eyes on the mirror, understand?" miguel says softly. you nod and keep your eyes trained on the reflection, watching him slowly caress your sides. "good girl." miguel compliments. you can't help the shiver that runs through your body at his words and his smirk widens. he loves having this effect on you.
he slowly moves his hands up and down your sides, taking his time in tracing your curves. "see that, baby?" he says and cups your breasts. "this beautiful, soft body of yours. it's fucking perfect." he squeezes them and leans down to suck a kiss into your neck. "it's made just for me." he murmurs against the skin.
you squirm in his grasp but don't take your eyes off the mirror. miguel pulls away and gives you a stern look, "are you gonna watch or do i have to make you?" he asks. he raises an eyebrow when you don't reply, and you whimper.
"n—no, sir." you stutter out. you're turned on, the feeling of his hands all over you and his dirty words not helping the growing arousal between your legs. miguel nods and returns to touching your body. he slips his hands around your waist, squeezing your love handles before bringing his hands down to cup the bottom of your tummy. he massages the flesh and sucks another hickey onto your neck.
"all of you is breathtaking, my love". he says and moves one of his hands back to the front of your body. "this tummy", he groans, one of his hands moving to squeeze the flesh of your sides. "these curves", his hand moves again, gripping the meaty flesh of your thighs and lifting the leg that isn't on the floor. "these gorgeous fucking thighs." he sighs, shuddering in pleasure as he practically gropes you.
"all of it is gorgeous, 'n' all of it is mine. can't have you talking down on what's mine, can i?" he smirks at you through the mirror. "it's just not right, honey girl."
"no, sir, i'm sorry." you whisper out. miguel smiles sweetly at you through the mirror, leaning down and pressing chaste kisses against your neck. "my sweet girl, there's nothing to apologize for. i know you get lost in that little head of yours". he says, his hands moving back up to squeeze at your breasts. "how can you not think of the way i feel about you, though? i love this body. i'm obsessed with it. would stay home 'n' play with all day if you'd let me, you know i could do it".
you did know. miguel didn't have any problems spending the whole day worshipping your body, playing with it until you were a mess, begging for him to fuck you. his favorite pastime, if he had one, would be spending the whole day in bed, making you cum on his fingers and his tongue. he's done it before, and he'd do it again if you asked.
"m'sorry, miguel." you whimper, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. you didn't know what else to say, all the praises and kind words were getting to you. you can't remember the last time someone made you feel as good as he does.
"don't apologize, baby." miguel murmurs and kisses the side of your head. "you don't have to apologize, jus' let me make you feel better, hm?" he squeezes your breast again, tweaking a nipple and grinning at the small moan that falls from your lips.
"i'll make sure all the nasty things in that head of yours go away, yeah?"
and that's how you ended up being pressed against the wall of the dressing room, miguel's hand over your mouth and his free hand groping every area of your body he can. tears of pleasure prick so prettily at your eyes and miguel revels in the fact that he's the one who caused it.
"this is what you should be crying about." miguel whispers, his lips right by your ear as he presses his hips further into you. he's relentless, his thick cock stretching you out so deliciously while he plays with your body. "should be cryin' about being fucked open on my cock, should be sobbing over how good you feel." he emphasizes his point with a hard thrust and his hands squeeze the flesh of your breasts.
"god, look at you, mi amor." miguel murmurs against your lips. "you look so fucking perfect like this, all fucked out on my cock. 'm so lucky." he presses a quick kiss to your lips and leans back up, a hand gripping your neck and his thumb stroking the underside of your jaw. he turns your face carefully to the mirror, holding you in place.
"watch me", he commands, his freehand moving down to rub tight circles around your clit. "watch me worship this perfect body. watch yourself get fucked open on my cock, and don't take your eyes off of us." his eyes are trained on the mirror, too, a dark lust swirling in them.
you nod, small whimpers and pants escaping your mouth as miguel takes his hand off your mouth. "m—miguel, baby." you whimper and throw your head back. "'m close, please, let me cum." miguel shakes his head and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. "not yet, baby," he whispers and bites the soft flesh.
"gotta see what i see, 'n' then, i'll let you cum. sound good, honey girl?" he smirks. you whine and shake your head, but you can't help but follow his command.
he's making it hard for you to keep your eyes on the mirror, the way his cock is thrusting into you and the way his thick fingers are playing with your clit have your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
"look, baby, watch how well you're taking my cock. so perfect, 'n' all mine. look at that beautiful body of yours, taking me so well." miguel groans and kisses along the back of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.
"that's it, baby. 's what i see when i look at you." he says. he brings his free hand up to rest against your cheek, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. "see how beautiful you look? see how sexy you are? fuck, i can't even put it into words, honey. you're perfect. every single thing about you."
your eyes start to roll into the back of your head again and miguel's hand moves back down to your pussy. "keep your eyes on me, understand? 'm not letting you cum 'till you do." he grunts and slows his thrusts, not wanting this to end just yet.
"please, miguel, i need—"
"i know what you need, baby. i know this body." he whispers and strokes his thumb across your cheek. "just a little longer, honey. you're doing so good." he praises. you do as he says, keeping your eyes on the both of you in the mirror.
you feel yourself starting to cry, and the tears are falling faster now. "that's it, baby." miguel encourages, his fingers starting to work faster against your clit. "there's that beautiful girl. see how stunning you look when you're taking my cock like the good girl you are?" he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips, and the tenderness of the action has you breaking out into hushed sobs.
"fuck, miguel." you whine, his lips and his words and his hands making you feel like you're on cloud nine. "thank you, thank you s'much, love you— fuck! love you, love you, love you!" you cry, the feeling of his fingers and his cock driving you insane. you're so close, just one more push and you'd be gone.
"i know, honey. 'm right here. i love you too, you and this body. love every single part of it." he murmurs. his thrusts get harder and his fingers press impossibly deeper, the feeling pushing you over the edge.
"you can cum, honey girl, 'm right here." he says, his eyes fluttering closed as he feels you tighten around him.
you let yourself go, and the feeling of miguel's body surrounding yours and his words have you spiraling into a blissful orgasm. you cry out, slapping your hand over your mouth as your body twitches, and miguel moans lowly in your ear. "there you go, that's it, cariño." he coos. he pulls his hands away from your body and pulls your hips towards his, gripping the plush skin tightly.
he thrusts his hips harder into yours, chasing his own high. "so fucking good, honey, such a perfect body." he praises. he bites your neck and comes inside you, his cum filling your cunt as his hips still against yours. "perfect," he groans out. "all of it, perfect."
the two of you are breathing hard, the air around you feeling hot and humid. miguel's sweaty body is pressed against yours, his softening cock still inside you.
and when he kisses you again, helping you settle on the bench of the dressing room while he assures the worried employee outside that everything's fine, you're left with a new mindset.
you don't mind the lingerie sets that much, they're really pretty and yeah! they do look good on you, real good.
when miguel makes a move to slip the underwear off your body and press his tongue inside you, whispering praises and warnings of silence into your body, you don't have a problem with them anymore.
not at all.
okay wow yeah this one was crazy, i rlly rlly hope u all enjoyed this one bcus i tried my very VERY hardest to do the body worship requests justice! im so sorry 4 leaving yall for practically months on end w RADIO SILENCE but i hope u all can forgive me w this teehee
#✧ ― liyah's loves#chubby reader#atsv smut#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x reader smut#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara x chubby! reader#miguel smut#fem! reader#miguel x reader#miguel x reader smut#spiderverse#LONG ASS DRABBLE MY GOD#gave up on italics 4 the dialogue if u could nawt tell#im so lazy yall IM SORRY
636 notes
·
View notes
Text
ー ★ !! STRANGER
pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader
synopsis : having been dared to kiss a random stranger, you're the first person matt choses to approach
a/n : guys ive been needing to write another fic so badly that i got this prompt off of pinterest and i'm completely winging it (this is a cry for help. pls send reqs bc i'm running low atm.)
i hate how this is written & this is prob the worst thing i've done on this app but i need to post something so ur gonna read it anyway !
wc : 2.5k
nick, matt, chris, nate, and madi are currently on an expidition to the mall. they hardly ever hang out as a complete group, so everyones moods are sky rocketed from the simple fact of them all being together. it honestly doesn't matter what they're buying or where they are. they'll all have smiles on their faces regardless.
"i'm surprised nick isn't trying to record a video right now." chris says as the group enters a random clothing store. "it's one of the very few times we're all together and everyone is in good moods. nick would normally take advantage of that."
"just say you want to record and move on." matt grumbles, walking over to one of the racks to flip through the t-shirts on display.
"i don't want to record! i was saying nick probably would!" chris tries to defend himself, earning weird looks from everyone due to this very clearly being a lie. chris lets out a sigh when he realizes that nobody is believing him. "whatever. i'm just saying that i don't think we should waste the opportunity to make good content. the fans love nate and madi."
"woww," madi says sarcastically, feigning offence, "you're just using us for content?"
"oh, shut up." chris replies, dramatically rolling his eyes at her teasing. madi giggles and takes a sip from the cup of lemonade she got from lunch earlier today at the food court. everyone else already finished their drinks, she's the only one with anything leftover from the meal.
"i didn't bring the camera anyway." nick says with a careless shrug, causing chris's jaw to drop with shock. "i wanted this hangout to be authentic. just everyone laughing and smiling together as a group. no cameras. no new friends. just us."
"since when did you ever leave the house without your camera?" chris asks him with his jaw still hung loose on its hinges. "it's practically glued to your bag at all times."
matt finds himself zoning out of the conversation as he looks around at the clothes. their argument about recording is only relevant to him if they decide that they are going to record. otherwise, it's unimportant and frankly quite boring. and now that nick admitted that he didn't even bring the camera, the conversation is no longer of interest to him.
they continue to stay near the front of the store, nick and chris arguing about the camera predicament while nate and madi laugh at them from the sidelines. but matt strays away from the group. he has about eighty bucks he brought with the intent on spending it all today. well, at least half of it or more. so he begins to get distracted with the task of finding new clothes to add to his wardrobe.
he made a mental note before leaving the house that he wants more hoodies since the weather is started to get colder. knowing this, he wanders over to the back of the store. he's been here enough to know that there's a rack of jackets and long-sleeved shirts in the right corner beside the employee exit door.
matt flips through the clothing. he wants more bright colors in his closet. most of his hoodies are black or dark grey. nick said that his wardrobe looks like a funeral home and he needs something more lively. but nothing here seems to catch his eye.
"need help finding anything?" a random female voice asks him. he turns to face the sound and sees a worker standing to his left. you. and lets just say you definitely catch his eye — unlike any of the clothes you're selling. he likes the style of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your face, the bridge of your nose, all of it.
damn! matt's never been this whipped for a random stranger. it's normal for him to find random girls attractive in public, but something about you is making him unable to take his eyes away yours.
"okay? i'll take that as a no." you say before turning on your heel and leaving. as soon as you walk away, matt feels the urge to call out and stop you, but he doesn't know your name. he was too busy admiring you to read the tag on your uniform.
he lets out a sigh before walking back across the store and rejoining the group, his mood now soured completely. when he walks up to his brothers, nick turns around with a camera in his hand, recording.
"what the hell?" matt says. "i thought you didn't bring it."
"he lied so he didn't have to film." chris says with an eye roll. "but i didn't believe him. so i dug through his backpack and guess what! i found it sitting on the very top, fully charged."
matt just nods, not having anything to say to that. plus, now that he's in a bad mood it's be best to stay away from the camera so his bitchiness doesn't ruin the video. he feels guilty for being like this while everyone else has such high spirits, but he can't help it. he embarassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. there's no coming back from that.
the group exits the store and they begin to wander around. they're looking for a sunglasses store for nate so he can buy a new pair seeing as he broke his last ones while leaning out of the window of the van. the slipped off of his face — never to be seen again. but nate claims he needed new glasses anyway due to how old and scathed those ones were.
"you okay?" nate asks. the fact that he noticed matt's fatigue takes him by surprise. matt wants to continue sulking in his soured mood, but when he looks at nate's genuine worried expression, he can't help but confide in his friend about the events from earlier.
matt tells him about how he was looking for a jacket when you approached him. you came up so casually as though it meant nothing to you, when it meant everything to him. matt describes you, accentuating your beauty to paint the picture as well as possible. he tells nate that he feels like he's being dramatic, but he can't help it. i mean, you're a complete stranger whose name he doesn't even know. and yet he can't take his mind off of your guys's short interaction.
"i wish i had some wise words of advice for you, but i don't." nate says. "but judging just by the way you talk about her, you need to get her number or something. i've literally never heard you talk about a girl like that. you're fuckin' whipped, man."
"i agree." matt says. "but how the hell am i supposed to get her number when she's a literal stranger? i don't know anything about her."
"you know where she works." nate points out.
matt thinks about this for a moment before deciding that nate's right. he knows where you work and that's more than knowing nothing. someones job says a lot about them — how much money they make, what means a lot to them, etc. i mean, he's not the type of guy who gives a shit about your income, but if he wanted to know something about you, he could easily find out a lot.
"lets buy your sunglasses." matt says, confidence slowly overtaking him now that he doesn't feel like this whole thing is hopeless. "then, we can all go get a snack at the food court so i have some motivation to go talk to her."
nate agrees and hurries to catch up with the rest of the group. matt does the same, rejoining everyone now that his mood is boosted once again. they go to the glasses store and nate picks out a pair that he likes. the whole time, matt is back to normal. everyone notices the shift in his demeanor, but they decide not to point it out.
after nate purchases the glasses he chose, matt tells nick that he's hungry. madi agrees with matt, saying she could eat something seeing as it's been a few hours since they had lunch. not thinking much of it, nick agrees to go to the food court.
"fuck." chris says, sitting in the plastic chair beside matt. "i didn't know they had mozzarella sticks! if i'd known that, i would've gotten them too!"
matt just shrugs, eating another bite with a smug look on his face. chris shoots him a glare and scoffs, turning back to his cheesy fries with a frown. just as chris is about to insult matt, nick and madi come over to the table with their food. nick is still carrying the camera around, filming everything for their next blog. most of what he's filming will be edited out, but he's still taking the footage just in case.
as they all begin eating their food, nate — who had been using the bathroom for the past few minutes — comes back with a slushy and a small grin. he sits on the other side of matt with a weird look on his face. matt gives him a strange look and nate just giggles and looks away.
"i'm bored guys." nate says. "we should play truth or dare."
"okay." chris agrees easily. but nick shakes his head, not thinking this is a good idea. but chris insists. "c'mon, it'll be good content. plus we're not gonna do any stupid dares that will get us in trouble or anything."
when matt and madi take chris's side, nick has no choice but to give in play the game. his only condition is that he gets to ask chris first, and he has to pick dare. chris agrees to his terms.
"i dare you to say yes to everything i ask for the rest of the day." nick tells him with a sarcastic smile. chris rolls his eyes, but has no choice but to do as he says.
"can i go next?" nate asks excitedly. it's supposed to be chris's turn next since he was the one who did the dare, but nick answers dow him. he nods, letting nate go ahead. and chris can't argue since he has to say yes to whatever nick wants. nate grins widely and continues. "matt, truth or dare."
"dare." matt says without hesitation.
"i dare you to kiss a random stranger." nate tells him with a grin. "they have to be in the food court, though."
"what the fuck type of dare is that?" nick shouts. "we're not bringing random stranger into this! plus, isn't that against some kind of law? kissing random people can't be fucking legal."
matt is about to agree with nick, saying it's a horrible idea. but he notices nate flicking his eyes back and forth between matt and someone over his shoulder, gesturing for him to look at them. matt turns around and follows nate's gaze to find you sitting alone at a table. you're wearing your work clothes, sipping on a smoothie while scrolling through your phone.
matt changes his mind in an instant. "it's my dare, nick, not yours. so fuck off and play the game like everyone else."
with that, matt stands up from his seat, causing the legs to scrape against the tiled floor beneath it. he awkwardly approaches you with a giddy smile. god, he feels like an idiot. he feels like he went back in time to when he was a child, getting nervous to talk to literally any girl on the playground.
he stands in front of your table and clears his throat to get your attention. you look up at him and raise a brow in confusion. "mind if i sit down?" he asks, pointing to the chair beside you.
"go ahead." you tell him. you're still confused about who this guy is as he sits down at your table. he's attractive and seems sweet, but who is- oh. as he runs a can through his hair, you remember who he is. "you're the guy from the store. you were the one who stared at me instead of answering."
matt feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. that's not the first impression he wanted to make. but at least you remember him! it's better than you not knowing who he was at all.
plus, you're not talking to him in a weird way. you're smiling as though you find his awkwardness amusing rather than strange — which it is.
"that's me." he says. matt glances over his shoulder at his friends only to see that they're all staring at you guys intently. chris waves him on, urging him to hurry the hell up.
"they're nosy." you say with a laugh. "i'm assuming they're your friends. otherwise, i'd be extremely creeped out."
"uh, yeah." matt says, looking away from chris to refocus on you. fuck. every time he looks at you, he's taken aback by your beauty. like time seems to slow when you guys make eye contact. "listen, they sent me over here as a dare. i'm supposed to kiss you."
you laugh at him for a second. but then you realize he's not kidding. he's being serious. "god, take me on a date first." you tell him sarcastically. matt laughs, but is still pretty serious about the dare. you feel weird agreeing to kiss a stranger, but it'd be even weirder if you were to say no.
not to mention, the boy beside of you is insanely attractive. it wouldn't be such a bad thing to kiss something this hot. "i'll let you kiss me if you agree to give me your number afterward." you tell him.
"i would have asked for it anyway." matt says with a teasing smile. knowing you have an interest in him as well gave matt a boost in confidence. and you honestly think that his confidence makes him even more attractive.
he leans forward and you do the same. you were expecting a small smooch the way little kids kiss at recess, but this guy went all in. he places one hand on the back of your head to tangle through your hair while the other hand cupped your cheek. the kiss was passionate and needy. and you fucking loved it.
when he broke it to catch his breath, you felt deprived of something more. you were practically craving this guy you met only a few minutes ago.
matt smirked at you before you guys exchanged numbers. you were still distracted by the fact that you guys nearly made out in the middle of the food court to process what was going on. as your confidence left, his was refilled.
"i'll come back to your shop before i leave the mall." matt says. "maybe next time i'll actually catch your name before we make out in the storage room."
@kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @lovelysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518 @slaysturniolo @sturnlover @tcvazq @ifilwtmfc @poopydroopt @cl0esblogg @ellaynaa @itzdarling
#luvsturniolo!!#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader
332 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Can I request cornflower blue with Aaron, where he's just really into chubby!reader and she's so sweet to him and acts kind of similar to bombshell!reader, but is surprised and ecstatic when she finally notices that he's been flirting back?
tysm♡
You walk into Hotch's office feeling pretty and ridiculous. You know you look cute today, hair done pristine, skin dewy, your outfit one that accentuates the slopes of you (and this is all without mentioning the frankly gorgeous pair of shoes you're wearing).
"Hello," you say. Something about Hotch makes you feel prettier. You couldn't put your finger on it, maybe it's the way he doesn't seem bemused at your flirting ('cos, oh, there's the flirty fat girl, how funny! like being sweet on people is weird when you do it). "How are you today, handsome?"
"I'm good," he says, with a real, authentic, sticker of approval smile. "How are you?"
"Better now I'm seeing you," you say, neatening the edges of your papers on his desk before offering them to a big hand.
"I could say the same thing," he murmurs, looking down at the papers you've passed him with that boss look about him. He has to check your paperwork before it's submitted, of course, and this batch is a little late, so that's probably why he's happy to see you.
"Charmer. Do you need my help with anything while I'm here? I'm free."
"You, free?" he says, still looking at the papers, one held above the pile, grabbing for a pen blindly. "In what world?"
"This one, if you can believe it! Hotch, you understand me like nobody else does." You put on a saccharine, movie star tone, silky and smooth as you sit in the slippery leather chair in front of his desk. Elbows on the desk, you place your chin in your hand and watch him correct things you've written with a dreamy expression that isn't even really fake.
You quite like turning Hotch's innocuous comments into flirtation, if only to see his smile, but today the smile seems different. Almost like he knows something you don't know. You press your pinky finger over your lips and try to work it out.
… Is Hotch flirting back? There's nothing to do but test it.
"How do you make paperwork look good?" you ask. And it's important to note that you mean what you say, even if your compliments are said in a teasing, sunny manner. "Is there anything you can't do?"
"Careful," he says, turning a page. Well, maybe he isn't flirting– "You might get something you aren't looking for."
Your heart is a bat out of hell, leaping from your chest. "I'm always looking for something as long as you're the one giving it, Hotch... I've been thinking I'd quite like a new moniker, if you're up to it."
He places the paperwork down into a tidy tray and leans back just a touch in his chair (what the fuck). "What would you have me call you?" he asks quietly.
"Any Sweetheart will do." Is this real? Is he really giving it back to you? "Puppy love, angel, valentine. You could take your pick."
"Why don't you choose one for me?"
You stand up from your chair and shake your head at him, fizzy energy with nowhere to go. "Handsome, you're in a mood. I'm going to do a lap, okay? Before I combust. Think you can get this," —you gesture to his chest in a big circle— "under wraps, or shall I start picking out colours for our engagement party invitations?" you ask.
Hotch laughs and opens one of his desk drawers. You consider the joking over, and while you're disappointed, you're not surprised. That is, until he says, "I like eggshell white over cream, but I'm sure you'll make the right decision, angel."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#luveline's 40k party
731 notes
·
View notes
Text
excerpt from the one where Tim Drake goes to an alternate reality and decides to get his other self laid via the local Kon's bisexual awakening:
"Hey, remember when you saved my life earlier?" Tim asks.
"Yeah, kinda," Kon replies in amusement. "Seeing as it was about two point five seconds after you rigged the evil alien robot army to self-destruct and helped save our entire literal reality's life, so I was definitely paying attention."
"Flatterer," Tim says with a smirk even as he waves him off. The self-destruct function wasn't even that hard to hack, comparatively. That time he'd downloaded Lex Luthor's active IP files from his personal office while the asshole had been on his damn computer–now that'd been tricky. Interdimensional alien invaders barely compare. And the Brainiac incident still gives him stress migraines when he thinks about it for too long.
Metropolis sucks and Tim frankly has no idea how his own Kon can stand the place.
But like, getting off-topic here.
"Well, I was gonna say you should let me pay you back for that," he continues. "But since you bring it up I'll also accept a show of gratitude on behalf of your reality, whichever gets you off harder.”
Kon laughs, because he is apparently adorable enough to have assumed that was a joke. Precious little moron, Tim thinks fondly.
"You know, you're a lot less uptight than our version of you is," Kon says, grinning down at Tim before flashing Tim's other self a smirk. "No offense, Rob. Dude's clearly just doing more yoga than you or something. Maybe drinking more tea? Taking the occasional bubble bath?"
"Silly me, if only I'd invested in more bath bombs in my life," Tim's other self says dryly.
"It's probably my sex life, actually," Tim himself puts in with an easy shrug. Turns out when you stop pretending you don't have a ridiculously high libido and actually just indulge the thing, a lot of life's little annoyances become a lot easier to handle. Go figure. "Plus my boyfriend Bernard is really great, just his entire existence does wonders for my mood in general and he also makes me eat real food on occasion and monitors my caffeine intake much more reliably than I'm capable of doing on my own. The man is a living antidepressant and I don't even mean that in a fucked-up way, he's just that good."
"Boyfriend?" Kon blinks at him, then puts on another grin. It takes, Tim cannot help but notice, exactly two beats longer than his real grin would've. "Ohhhhh, okay, so the problem is just that you're not getting laid hard enough?"
"It is not," Tim's other self says dubiously, watching Kon just a little bit warily and obviously worried about his potential reaction to the word "boyfriend". Well, Tim never claimed to be emotionally intelligent about Kon, so no surprise his other self is also a dumbass there.
"It kinda is, actually," he tells his other self. "I was tracking my cortisol levels the last time I went on a solo away mission and let's just say they were . . . concerning? Like really concerning. Like by the time I got back I was kiiiiind of convinced I was going to need to go on anti-anxiety meds again. But then I jumped my Kon in the Titans Tower med bay instead and that pretty much solved the problem."
Kon . . . pauses, sort of. Tilts his head. Tim's other self looks a lot warier.
"'Jumped'," Kon repeats carefully. "Like . . . what, you dragged him to the gym to spar or something?"
"Like I blew his back out so hard that when he came his TTK fritzed out and disassembled my recovery bed," Tim clarifies helpfully. "It really helped with the cortisol levels issue."
Kon blinks. Tim's other self looks pained, but also desperately envious. Tim would also be desperately envious if their situations were reversed and so does not blame him for said envy in the slightest.
"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?" Kon says after a moment, sounding a little odd in a very telling way. Or at least very telling to Tim, anyway.
As is the way that he's not looking at Tim's other self at all anymore.
"Open relationship," Tim says. "Also Bernard thinks you're stupidly hot and really likes hearing about the kind of stuff you let me do to you. I've actually been debating inviting you over for his birthday so he can watch us live for once but I haven't asked you yet."
"What, so your Kon is the side chick?" Kon jokes, awkwardly putting on another just barely belated grin.
"More like my kept boy, functionally speaking, but he's having a 'weird about commitment' phase right now so I've just been making a lot of sugar baby jokes to soften him up," Tim replies with a shrug. It's only sort of been working, but it has been working, and he's willing to take his time on it. It's not fair to expect Kon to only be easy, after all. "Long-term goal is to marry Bernard and ideally get Kon to 'live-in boyfriend' status somewhere in there, but that would also require him not being weird about commitment and also figuring out how well he and Bernard get along in the same space, so we'll just have to see how that one goes."
"Uh," Kon says. "Why?"
"Because you are incredibly important to me and also look like a very horny Renaissance sculptor made you out of calacatta marble," Tim tells him matter-of-factly, gesturing meaningfully at him. "Frankly it's criminal that you ever put clothes on."
#timkon#tim drake#dc robin#kon el#conner kent#superboy#rinfic#wip: interdimensional whoring for timkon#long post#somehow I still haven't written any sex scenes for this fic#just a lot of Tim terrorizing his alternate self and flustering alternate Kon#'Tim'-orizing his alternate self?
363 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)
Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?
Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?
Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.
Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.
Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.
Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!
Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).
Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)
You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.
“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.
The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.
“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”
Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.
“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.
“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.
“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.
“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”
He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.
Speaking of mistakes...
“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.
Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.
Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.
Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.
You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.
“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.
However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.
“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”
“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.
Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”
No comment.
You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.
Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.
“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”
“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.
You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.
“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.
You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.
“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”
“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.
Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.
Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.
Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.
Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.
Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.
You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.
Too much.
You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.
“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.
“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?
Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.
“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.
You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.
“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.
The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.
“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.
You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”
“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.
You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.
“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.
“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.
“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.
It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.
You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.
“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.
You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.
His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.
Will be hard.
You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.
You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.
Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.
You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.
“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.
“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.
“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.
He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.
He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”
“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.
“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.
Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.
“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.
“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”
Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.
You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”
Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.
You are done waiting.
You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.
***
Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.
The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.
“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.
Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”
“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.
“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.
Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”
“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.
“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.
“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”
Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”
Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.
You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.
“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.
Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.
“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”
“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”
“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”
Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.
Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”
Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”
“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”
Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”
Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.
“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.
“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”
Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.
“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.
Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.
“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.
“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.
“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.
There is a beat.
Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.
“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”
There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.
“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.
Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”
Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.
His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.
It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.
Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.
Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.
The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.
To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.
***
There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.
“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.
“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.
“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.
“You,” he says plainly.
Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.
“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.
“I want you.”
You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.
“Bye, Santi.”
“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.
“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.
By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.
You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.
Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”
Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.
“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”
You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”
“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.
The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”
“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.
“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.
As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.
“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.
Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”
Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”
It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”
You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.
You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.
“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”
Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.
“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”
A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”
“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.
He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.
“Where?”
“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.
“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”
You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.
“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”
You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.
“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”
“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.
“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”
Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”
He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.
“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.
Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.
Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.
Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.
You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.
“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?
“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”
Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.
“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.
“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.
Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.
“I see you, baby.”
Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.
“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.
His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.
“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”
“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.
Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.
He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.
You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.
With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.
“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”
“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.
“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”
His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.
You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.
“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”
You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.
Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.
“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.
In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.
“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.
“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”
Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.
He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.
At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.
Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.
You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.
For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.
“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”
When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.
Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”
He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”
“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.
The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.
“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.
“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.
Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.
It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.
“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”
You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.
Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.
“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”
“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”
You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.
You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.
“It’s a hard out, Santi.”
He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.
“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”
He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.
“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”
He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”
An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.
Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.
You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.
“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”
Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.
He doesn’t know how to stop.
He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.
He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.
Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.
He just has one more mission to go.
And then the next.
And the next.
And the next.
219 notes
·
View notes
Text
I'm Looking For My Husband || Kakashi Hatake x reader
A/n : And here is a non requested fic. As always I take time to answer to requests but I spare time for my own imagiantion. So here is an idea I got a LONG time ago 😂
Masterlist ⚜
Warning : Fluff, heavy make out session, getting caught ??
Summary : You've just arrived in your husband's village to settle in, and once you've finished settling in, you set off in search of him. You meet Naruto, who helps you find him. Little does he knows he DOES know who your husband is
I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it
Words count : 2193
Kakashi Hatake was a man of many secrets. So few people knew who you were. Of course, there was Guy and Jiraiya, but otherwise no one else in the Hidden Leaf Village. The reality was that on one of his long missions he was paired with a ninja from Suna, aka you. You got along so well that you were entrusted with all missions concerning the common interests of your two countries. Over time, you grew much closer, and Kakashi ended up spending his rare vacations in Suna with you.
Of course, he was far, far from imagining that he would have the emotional capacity to open his heart to someone in this way, and to become romantically attached to them. But it happened, and when he realized it, it came as a shock. Without lying, he wasn't at all happy at first, wondering how he'd react if anything happened to you. Eventually, when all he could think about while lying on his bed at night was you and what you might be up to, and that spread to the whole day, he soon realized that his fear was not going to stop him from doing anything in his plan to keep you close to him.
And what a surprise it was when you told him you reciprocated his feelings fully. He thought he was going to cry, but he didn't have time to do so when he saw your face close to his. His body acted alone and he lowered his mask, letting you taste his lips. A few months later - knowing that you'd been working together for years - you got engaged. Before getting married in a hurry when your time off allowed it. Of course, Tsunade and Gaara - a close friend of yours - accepted the wedding, albeit inter-village.
Very few people knew about the wedding, and frankly no one could have guessed it, with Kakashi's ring hidden behind his protection gloves ( I myself practiced martial art but even in other sports rings are the first thing one has to take off but not here lmao ). And you weren't living in Konoha yet, but you will soon be. Yes, you'd chosen to move in with him rather than the other way round, knowing that the strong ties he had there meant you'd decided to follow him without following his decision to move to Suna instead, what a thoughtful lover he is.
So that's how you found yourself with a suitcase containing all the belongings of a shinobi, a straw hat on your head to protect you from the sun of Suna ( either you see this as a reference to One Piece or to the scarecrow Kakashi ;) )
However, there was a shadow over the picture : while you knew all the important points in the village, you didn't know the hell where your apartment was, though your ninja techniques enabled you to find it rather easily. Apartment check, Kakashi... not check. So you began to wander through the village under the curious gazes of ordinary inhabitants who didn't know who the hell you were, ninjas though knew since Tsunade preferred to tell them a ninja from Suna was going to settle there to save you from trouble with the police, thanks to her for respecting your privacy.
Suddenly a golden-haired boy you'd come to know, thanks to your now husband Kakashi, as Naruto, the jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails, leapt in front of you.
"Hello miss, are you new around here ? I don't remember seeing you before ? What are you up to ?"
"It's incredible to talk so fast" you thought "He's really as energetic as Kakashi told me and he looks taller than in the photo frame" you thought before speaking aloud "Wo we don't know each other, I've just moved to Konoha and I'm looking for my husband"
"Oooh he's from Konoha I see ! Well welcome then. Perhaps I can help you ?"
At these words you smiled "Yes, I'd like that", thinking it over you added "He's probably training, but I've no idea where exactly"
"I know this village like the back of my hand, I'll probably be able to find it easily dattebayo ! Follow me !" he shouted before starting to run in one direction before stopping and looking at you sheepishly "Let's take a walk instead, I'm sure you've come a long way"
( He could have asked your husband's name before running off 😂 )
You nodded, laughing "Indeed, walking sounds more restful" and with that you made your way to the training area Naruto had described to you. He did disappear for a short moment telling you he needed to talk to someone before leading you to the training areas.
A long stretch of open ground, with what looked like a man-made waterfall and a forest below. Speaking of sunken, here was your husband, reading his book on a wooden bench not far from the foot of the waterfall.
Naruto, unaware of this detail, continued "Hey look there ! That's Kakashi sensei. He's going to help you find your husband. But as he's still reading his pervy book, we're going to have trouble moving him"
"Hhhh Jiraiya's books, they're pretty good"
"You know Jiraiya from where you come ?"
"Of course who doesn't ?!?” you said proudly before Naruto continued.
"Well then, you'll get along just fine" he said as he jumped off the waterfall, leaving you chuckling to yourself for a moment before you followed.
Even lying like that he looked hot.
"Kakashi sensei ! Kakashi sensei ! I have with me-"
"Naruto we are on a break, you'll start training again in half an hour" he said in a monotone yet commanding voice without lifting his nose from the book.
"But this lady is looking for her husband and I thought you might be able to help her"
Before he could even lift his nose from the book, you snapped back, "Can you even see daylight with that in front of your eyes ?"
The mere sound of your voice made him lose his composure, and he dropped his book, which came crashing down on his face as he struggled to get up from his lying position to look presentable, almost slipping in the process. As he finally managed to stand up, his book lay face down on the floor.
His dark eyes widened as he met your mischievous ones, a light red settling on his cheekbones, visible on one side of his face. He didn't know you'd be coming so soon "H-hey-"
"Kakashi sensei she's looking for her husband, that means she's no longer to be seduced"
"That's quite true" you said, holding back a laugh at the young boy's clueless state.
Kakashi smirked beneath his mask : "You're right, Naruto, her husband will probably do just fine. Go back to training, I'll help her"
"Ah, at last ! Good luck, miss !" shouted the boy before setting off for the training ground with a cheerful step.
Turning his attention back to you, Kakashi spoke more confidently, "So you're looking for your husband huh", bringing his hands to his hips.
Out of earshot, you seductively replied "Yes, I've had a long trip and I just need to spend some quality time with him"
"Oooh is that so ? "he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he took a step towards you, careful to keep his distance if anyone was watching. You hadn't yet discussed whether it was safe enough to make your relationship public. But living together, it would eventually come out.
He turned quickly, picking up his book and putting it in his back pocket. Then he raised his arm in the air, gesturing to another ninja a few yards away, before pointing at you. The other brown ninja, wearing a forehead protector, saluted you before giving Kakashi a thumbs-up, taking the time to give him a knowing look.
"Don't worry, that's typical Tenzo, he's always making funny faces" you chuckled at his words before greeting the boy. Then you started walking away from the training area.
"I hope you had a good trip. You didn't get lost on the way" he said, his voice much softer and giddier, with a joking tone, now that you were out of earshot.
"How could I have gotten lost knowing that my needy husband was always bringing me to Konohagakure to secretly spend time with me" you replied, making him chuckle nervously while scratching the back of his head.
The more you were walking and chatting the more he wanted to get close to you, he was itching to have his mouth pressed against yours. But in the middle of the village it was impossible. "Where are we going by the way this isn't the way home"
"No it isn't, we're a bit far from there. So I just thought- here" and with that he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you towards an alleyway out of sight.
"You just have to tell yourself it's an aperitif of what is to come" he said in a husky voice, lowering his mask before pressing his lips against yours, pushing you harshly against the nearest wall, his hands resting on either side of your head. Pouring into this kiss all the effect of the lack your absence has had on him.
"Ooh getting risky I like it" you said, wrapping your arms around his neck "What is going to come next ?"
"Keep this up and you might soon find out" and with that he grabbed your hips before lifting you up and as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He put his mouth back on yours, this time directly going to French kiss you ( French like me lmao ). His tongue caressed yours over and over again until your legs tightened around his waist.
That's when you both felt another chakra close to you. Its source was unknown to you, but the same could not be said for Kakashi. As he stepped back, Kakashi instinctively pulled up his mask, before gently placing you on the ground. As you gently resumed your breathing, your eyes lifted to the source of the chakra.
"S-sorry I didn't want to disturb you but Naruto told me earlier that she was looking for her husband I-I d-"
“Oooh so that’s were he went” you thought before exchanging a glance before kakashi interrupted him "Don't worry she found him"
Iruka's mouth opened and closed like a fish, his index fingers pointing at you and then at him repeatedly "you- erm eh ?" ( yeah that mean "You're married ?" )
You took a quick step before reaching out to shake his hand, "I'm Y/n Hatake. Kakashi's wife" you smiled widely, you've been dying since forever to say that. Kakashi under his mask was smiling too because he too was dying since forever to hear you say that. Hotter than any Icha Icha he has read.
Iruka stretched out his hand towards you, a genuine smile coming over his face which a few seconds ago had been totally embarrassed "Nice to meet you under that name" he chuckled nervously, still embarrassed by the situation before. Indeed, you have the brief opportunity to cross paths one day in the hokage's office during your travels on missions defending the interests of Suna and Konohagakure.
Suddenly as if he remembered with full force what he had stumbled on he spoke again " I-I-I'll leave you now, you're in good hands" "I bet she is " Kakashi said under his breath, as Iruka waved at you both before disappearing as fast as he appeared ( Naruto wasn't near going to hear the end of this, well I mean Iruka is going to slap the back of his head without ever telling him why )
Kakashi whose hands were encircling your waist from behind spoke up "So were were we my beautiful wife ?"
"We were about to go home because I'm not gonna get caught twice in the same day during my first day here"
"At least they'll know who you belong too" he chuckled a hint of possessiveness in his tone
"Well if I were the one hiding under a mask I'd say the same. But everybody sees my damn face so it's without me" you said as you made your way out of the alley "If you want it you'll have to get it" you said seductively before jumping and disappearing out of his sight.
For a second he was stunned, a smirk plastered on his face. Oh you wanted to play. Fine but should be careful because he is a hell of a player. You'd challenged him, so he was going to find you. He could still smell you trailing a track. Better be ready because he'll find you very quickly and he won't need to ask anyone if they've seen his wife. It's your game but here you're on his field. You won't be able to escape him. But you wouldn't have it any other way.
~
~
A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🍩🥗 Again my requests are open 🥯🍮
A/n 2 : In the original version Naruto was supposed to think Y/n's husband disappeared and he was going to tell the whole village if they saw her husband. Y/n would have been so stunned by the way Naruto handles it she would have just followed to see what he was gonna do. At the end they would have eneded up at Tsunade's office and Kakashi would have been there and Y/n just goes : "Thank you for helping me" and she goes to stand next to Kakashi and Naruto is like 😃🤠🤡
But then I wouldn't have been able to add the French kiss scene 👀🤣😭
Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff
#naruto#naruto imagine#naruto shippuden#naruto shippuden imagine#kakashi hatake#kakashi hatake fluff#kakashi hatake x reader#kakashi hatake x reader fluff#kakashi hatake imagine#kakashi fluff#kakashi imagine#kakashi x reader#fluff#miri-writes
812 notes
·
View notes
Text
see me | chapter four: together (final)
pairing: choi beomgyu x you
summary: after another failed relationship, you're ready to accept your fate as hopeless. choi beomgyu has other plans, though. or, beomgyu s your best friend's little brother and he's tired of you treating him like a kid.
genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending, best friend's brother au
word count: 3.4k (whoa)
notes: hi friends! happy easter to all who celebrate!! sorry this took me a bit to get out. i just love this story and this beomgyu so much i didn't want to rush it. i hope you're all satisfied with how this ends. see end of work for more notes :)
you're so out of it jia can't fucking take it anymore.
"hello? come back to earth, please," she says, waving her hand in front of your face. "are you ever gonna tell me what the fuck happened with doyoon?"
it's been a few days since your return from the beach. suffice it to say, one painfully awkward drive was spent with you trying not to openly stare at beomgyu and him focusing intently on the scenery outside.
you're actually a little surprised by her question. you genuinely haven't thought about your conversation with doyoon since you had it — you've simply been too preoccupied by the revelation that beomgyu has feelings for you.
"nothing much, really. he apologized to me and asked to get a drink sometime."
"what the fuck?! what did you say?!"
"i said no," you reply simply. she's quiet for a moment before her face contorts into a deep frown.
"why do i get the feeling that that's not what's bothering you so much?"
"because it's not," you admit with a sigh.
"then what is it? you've been weird ever since we got back."
you're torn for a while. how do you explain to your best friend that her kid brother is in love with you? or says he is, at least.
"... it's about beomgyu. he—"
"oh, so he finally told you, huh?" she interrupts with a knowing look and you're absolutely flabbergasted.
"t-told me what?" you try feigning ignorance. maybe she's got it wrong?
"that he's been in love with you ever since he first saw you."
"how the fuck did you know that?!" you ask incredulously.
"you're my best friend and he's my brother. i know you two too well," she shrugs.
"so you knew this whole time and didn't tell me?"
"well, to be honest, it was painfully obvious, but i didn't wanna embarrass either of you and it's, frankly, none of my business."
"i... wasn't he just drunk? i don't believe it…” you trail off.
"what do you mean?"
"i mean, he can't really mean it. he doesn't know what he wants. he's just a kid and—"
"i'm going to stop you right there," she says sternly. "you may be oblivious, but don't you dare dismiss his feelings to make yourself feel comfortable. his feelings are real and he doesn't deserve to have you completely disregard them just because you can't face them." you flinch at her harshness.
"b-but he's never even hinted at it!"
"never even hinted at it, my ass. that boy was all over you," she snorts. "did you really not notice anything this past week?" your eyebrows knit in confusion as you think back to all of the times the boy (man?) had interacted with you. suddenly, the unassuming touches and glances beomgyu shared with you hit you at a mile a minute. oh god, he was flirting? he was, wasn't he? and you just ruffled his hair and called him cute.
but you're not done denying, denying, denying.
"i just don't understand. how could he like me when he's always with somebody new?"
"has it ever occurred to you that that's because he wants you to see him as a man and not the child you're so convinced he is?" you fall silent at this. no, it has never occurred to you, but now that she's said it, the puzzle pieces are starting to fit together in the most gut wrenching way.
"so he's been fucking around for years because he wants to prove something to me?"
"more or less, yeah." your head is spinning at this. so his feelings are sincere?
"i... i don't know what to say."
"i figured you wouldn't," she hums.
"what do i do?" you ask with a newfound sense of panic. this is real. beomgyu actually love, loves you.
"well, what do you want to do? it all depends on how you feel about him."
"to be honest, i've never seen him as anything other than a brother," you sigh.
"and what about now?"
"i... i don't know. i'm just confused," you whine, digging your face into your hands and slightly tugging on your hair. when you think of the kiss you two shared, your heart skips a beat and butterflies arise in your stomach. well, that's new.
"honestly, i'll consider that progress. it's better than being brother-zoned."
"jia!" you exclaim exasperatedly. "you're not helping. the boy i've thought of as a literal brother is in love with me and i've unknowingly treated him like shit for years."
"yes, but i know and he knows that you didn’t mean it. look, even if you don't like him at all, don't you think he deserves a proper rejection at the very least?"
"you're right," you relent. "you’re always right.”
“well, i know,” she muses. “but before you decide anything, i want you to think about who’s been by your side all these years. when you didn’t have anyone else, who could you count on?”
“i —” you begin.
“don’t answer yet. just think about it.” and think about it, you do.
-
the more time you’re left to think about what happened with him, the more confused you feel. beomgyu isn’t a child anymore, that much is clear, but does that mean you can undo the near decade of thinking of him as one? he’s handsome, sure, and that kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet, but can you really see him as a partner? as a man?
you’re not really sure. plus, what would happen if it didn’t work out? the choi’s are like family to you. they’re more of a family than your actual family ever was or ever will be. is it really worth gambling such an important piece of your heart for something that could easily end in heartbreak? but then, it’s broken, either way. can you really face the choi family again when you know beomgyu is in love with you and has been for such a long time? no, you can’t. not in good conscience. you’ve, intentionally or not, ignored beomgyu’s feelings for years now and you can’t ask him to bottle them back up for your own comfort.
you decide it's best to just talk to him.
-
beomgyu doesn’t think that this is a good idea at all, actually. but his friends told him that rotting in his bed and crying like he has been for the past few days is even worse. when they put it like that, it didn't seem right to refuse their suggestion to have a double date with yeonjun. even still, he told them he wasn't ready to see someone new, but they said he was never seeing you in the first place. that sure shut him up. either way, it would be casual and yeonjun just needs a friend for his date's friend.
his "date" is nice enough, but she seems to have not gotten the memo that he's here as a wingman and not much else. she's trying to draw his attention by not-so-discreetly placing her hand on his thigh. gross. he genuinely thought about pretending to have a stomachache to cut the date short, but yeonjun had the bright idea of inviting the girls over after dinner. so now, as he sits on the couch of his and yeonjun’s shared apartment, he prays for god to intervene and end his suffering.
a knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts. please, god, let it be the maintenance man telling them they have to evacuate because of a gas leak. he almost jumps out of his seat to get to the door first, but yeonjun is closer and he says he’ll get it. fuck. before he can catch a glimpse of the mystery person at the door, his date speaks again.
“gyu?” the girl asks tentatively.
“mmm?” he says, turning back around to face her.
“do you like me?” she says while, once again, putting her hand on his thigh. alright. enough is enough. usually, he would tell her to beat it and leave it at that, but ever since you told him he doesn’t treat girls the nicest, he’s decided he’ll try to be better. he takes her hand from his lap into his and opts to just be truthful.
“to be honest, i —”
“beomie?”
oh, he’d recognize that voice anywhere, even in his sleep. his head whips around almost comically fast and he unintentionally yanks his hand from his date's as he stands straight up.
“w-what are you doing here?” he asks, incredibly flustered.
you should say something, but your eyes can’t help but linger where his hand was joined with the hand of the very lovely girl sitting beside him, even after he’s pulled away. oh my god. you’re interrupting, aren’t you? he’s moved on, but you’re standing there like an idiot. you need to say something.
“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to intrude,” you choke out. you don’t know why, but you feel like you’re about to cry. you feel so embarrassed. why did you even for a second think that this would play out any differently?
“everybody out,” beomgyu says firmly.
“what?” his date asks, genuinely in shock.
“i said, everybody else needs to get out of here. right now. besides you,” he says while gesturing to your pitiful frame.
“gyu, i live here,” yeonjun argues.
“out,” beomgyu repeats. yeonjun lifts his hands in surrender and leads the bewildered girls out of the apartment.
now it's just you and beomgyu.
after the door shuts, the silence is as unbearable as it is palpable. beomgyu is staring at you with the same intensity as he was the night he confessed to you. you feel so vulnerable — so seen — you honestly kind of wish you had just snuck out with everyone else.
“beomie, i’m so, so sorry. i didn’t mean to ruin your date. i can go, i just —”
“do you know what i've noticed about you?” he quietly interrupts. you’re so taken aback, you’re stunned into silence. he sighs before he continues. “the way you say things are okay when someone fucks you over. it’s okay to be mad at me, you know?”
“beomie, i’m not mad!” you insist. “you’re single, after all. i’m the one who —”
“i’m single, but i still told you i loved you a few days ago. why wouldn’t you be hurt?” once again, you’re left speechless at his maturity. when did he become more mature than you? or was he always this way, and you just never noticed?
“or is it that you just don’t care enough about me to be upset?” he's the one who looks small now and you worry you have the power to break him. he deserves an honest answer, so you think about how you felt when you saw his hand intertwined with that girl’s and your heart feels a nasty pang.
“i… i am upset,” you pause and process that ugly feeling. “really upset, actually. but not angry.”
“i’m sorry,” he says, not without conviction. “yeonjun needed a date for his date’s friend, and i planned on rejecting her, but i’m really sorry i hurt you.”
“... it’s alright,” you say carefully. “i understand. and i still think you don’t owe me anything, beomie.”
“but i want to owe you,” he says quietly.
“what do you mean?” you can’t help but ask.
“i want to owe you. i want to make it up to you, and i want you to make it up to me.” you think you understand what he means. he wants you to make it up to him for not seeing him as he truly is all these years, but you just can’t understand his thinking.
“why?” you ask softly.
“why would you ask when you already know why?” he answers quietly with a sad smile. because he loves you.
“but why? why do you like me? you could have anyone. i’m wishy washy, i’m insecure. i’m just a mess, beomie. and i don’t want you to waste your time with me.” you hate the way your voice shakes. you wish, for once in your life, that you could be brave enough to say what you need to say without hesitating. you feel as small as a child, and in front of beomgyu of all people. but the dynamic you’ve always thought you had is becoming more and more twisted as you realize you’ve been very, very wrong about him, and maybe about yourself, too. beomgyu is not some kid. his feelings are not so easily written off, and that becomes even clearer when he says his next words in a haste.
“don’t talk about yourself like that,” he says sharply, and his seriousness immediately derails your train of thought. “i’m not looking for anybody else. i… i don’t want anybody else. and i would never, ever feel like my time is wasted with you. every moment i spend with you is important to me.” you don’t mean for your eyes to get hot. truly, you don’t, but the boy’s words are so kind you’re unable to control yourself.
“you really love me?” you ask at the risk of seeming annoying. you just have to be sure.
“i do,” he says patiently. “i always have.” he isn’t sure what to make of you asking this. he has no hope now, but if it makes you feel better to hear him say he loves you a million times over, so be it. you’ve been hurt enough all your life, from your parents to your partners, if he’s able to comfort you even just a little bit, even if it’s never reciprocated, it’s enough for him. so he continues.
“i’m… i’ve always thought about how to say this, so i’m sorry if it’s just too much for you. if it is, then just stop me, okay?” you can’t help but nod. “i just have to say that, to me, you are the most beautiful person in the world. i’ve wanted to tell you that since i was 14. i know you’re sad and i know you’ve been hurt before, and i wish i could take it all away. i’ve always wished i could take it all away. i know you think you deserve everything that’s happened to you so far, but i want you to know that that's not true, and it kills me that you’ve ever felt that way. i love everything you say you hate about yourself, because you’re you. i know you want to change, and i want you to know that i see how hard you’re trying. those flaws that make you a mess, or however you put it, only make me love you more because i can see how hard you’ve worked to get where you are. and if you don’t love me, even if you never do, that’s… it's okay. i just want you to be happy. and if i can be selfish, i want to be the one who helps you get there.”
you don’t try to stifle your tears anymore. they are now flowing freely and your breath is heavy in your throat. he understands you. he sees you for everything that you are and were, and everything that you’re trying to be. has anyone ever made you feel this safe before? has anyone ever made you feel this loved and understood?
you think back to what jia asked. when you didn’t have anyone else, who could you count on? if you didn’t trust any man in the world, you could trust beomgyu. that’s just how it is. you realize, even from the first night you met him, you’ve always been relying on him, in a way. why else would you feel so comfortable telling him about your anxieties mere hours after you spoke to him for the first time?
things were one way then, but they could be different now. beomgyu loves you in a way that previously seemed inconceivable to you. what did you do to deserve this boy — this man? not a fucking thing, in your opinion, but now that you know how he really feels, is it possible to accept anything less than the love he is now presenting to you? maybe he’ll wake up one day and regret everything he’s said up until now, but you’re far too selfish to give up the heart he’s begging for you to take as your own.
you don’t know why, but you fling yourself into his arms, reminiscent of how you did all those years ago when he was just a teenage boy and you were just a heartbroken girl. he holds you like he did before, with an overwhelming sense of patience and security. he traces his hands lovingly up and down your back.
“okay. okay, i want to try. i can’t promise that i’ll be perfect, i can’t even promise to be good, but i’ll try, okay? you’re so, so good, beomie. and i'm sorry for not realizing it sooner.”
he pulls away from your embrace and your cheeks feel hot when you catch his heated gaze. he looks down at you and if his look wasn’t enough, his next words certainly are:
“can i kiss you?”
“yes, beomie,” you whisper.
"call me gyu," he says hoarsely. you gulp and pray he doesn't hear it.
he softly, reverently, pushes your stray hairs behind your ears and you realize he’s done so many times before. mainly when you were sad, but this time is… different. when his lips lock with yours, you're stunned into oblivion. there's so much fire behind it, but still, there’s a gentleness you’ve never known. as if he’s afraid of breaking you, he holds you like you’re a precious gem. usually, kisses are take take take from you, but he gives you so much love and care you feel like you’re floating. is this what love is supposed to feel like? so safe and so, so warm?
he parts from you far too soon for your liking. his breath is labored and his cheeks are flushed. you look at him in confusion.
“i-i’m sorry, i just can't. if we keep going, i won't be able to control myself. i'm gonna —”
“it's okay, gyu,” you whisper. “we can keep going.” he understands what you mean without you having to say anything more.
“are you sure?” he asks, just to be safe.
“i'm sure,” you answer without missing a beat. his lips curl up and he leads you to his bedroom, hand holding yours so tightly, it’s almost like he’s afraid to lose you.
-
the night is spent with beomgyu praising you like he’s never seen anything quite like you before. you feel his devotion with every passing moment and you can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing all these years. you’ve never felt so good, so cared for, in all your life. when you’re finished, and he’s cradling you in his arms, you’re both struggling to catch your breath. he looks at you like you hung the moon, but what you don’t know is that you’re starting look at him like that, too.
-
you’re so anxious. as you pull up to the choi’s family home in the passenger’s seat of beomgyu’s car, you can’t help but wring your hands together. this could be very good, or very, very bad. you can’t help but feel like you’re… betraying? the choi family by dating beomgyu. they’ve taken you in as family, but you’ve taken beomgyu as your own. do you regret that decision? well, you can’t say you do when beomgyu grabs your restless hands and comfortingly squeezes them before telling you “hey, it’s alright. don’t be nervous. i love you. they love you. everyone here loves you. just be yourself and i’ll take care of the rest, okay?”
“okay,” you say shyly. you and beomgyu have been working on your self esteem. it was pretty slow going at first, but you’ve been pushing through. now, after three months, you’re a lot better, but there’s still room for improvement. beomgyu is nothing if not patient, though. after all, he’s been waiting for 8 years. how could he not be? and so he patiently coaxes you out of the car and into the house.
you two find your way inside and are greeted by his parents, jia, and yijun. nobody bats an eye at you two walking in together — they just greet and hug you as per usual, but their smiles drop and their faces turn serious when beomgyu announces he has something to tell everyone.
“guys, uh, we have something to tell you all,” he says, lacing his fingers with yours, “we’re together now.” you could hear a pin drop with how quiet the room is. mrs. choi is the first to break the silence.
“h-how long? how long has this been going on?”
“three months,” he says cautiously. again, the room is silent.
“... only three? damn it!” mr. choi exclaims.
“i told you guys it hasn’t been very long,” jia sneers. “now pay up.” beomgyu’s parents grimace while pulling out their wallets and stuffing cash in jia’s hands.
“pleasure doing business with you,” she teases with a shit-eating grin.
“um, guys? what’s going on? i’m kind of pouring my heart out over here,” beomgyu says irritatedly.
“oh, honey. we know. we’ve known you liked her since she first stepped foot into our home. she was the only one who didn’t,” mrs. choi replies with a wave of her hand and your cheeks can’t help but heat up to an impossible degree. beomgyu finally pieces everything together while you’re still scrambling to understand what’s going on.
“oh my god, did you all make a bet to see how long it’d take for us to get together?!” beomgyu exclaims.
“more or less,” mr. choi says nonchalantly. realistically speaking, you and beomgyu should be angry, but all you two can do when you lock eyes with each other is laugh.
“so you’re okay with it?” you ask meekly.
“of course we are!” mrs. choi says. “we couldn’t ask for a better match for our boy. we were just waiting for you to see that, too.” you can’t help but feel your eyes go sour. you hug his parents and they rub your hair. why would you think they’d do anything other than accept you? they always have.
that night, after all the board games and movies and laughter, you go out for some fresh air. you aren’t surprised in the slightest to see beomgyu sitting on the back porch steps, almost as if he’s been waiting for you.
“there you are,” beomgyu says with a grin blooming on his face. you sit next to him, so close your thighs are touching. you lean your head against his shoulder and you sigh in contentment.
“that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks.
“not at all,” you smile, “but did everyone in the world know about us besides me?”
“pretty much, yeah,” he giggles and you playfully smack his chest. after your laughter dies down, beomgyu senses some hesitation from you. it feels like you want to say something to him.
“what is it?” he asks. you pull away from him and stare into his eyes. they look especially starry tonight.
“i have to tell you something,” you say, voice trembling slightly.
“mhm?” he nods.
“i think… actually, i know i love you, gyu. and i’m sorry it took me so long to get here, but i really do.” your eyes water when you see beomgyu’s doing the same. he looks so relieved, as if your words in particular are the ones he’s been waiting for all his life. and they are.
“i love you, too, if you haven’t guessed that already,” he says softly. “and i’d do everything all over again if it meant i’d get to be with you like this.” his eyes close and he leans in. you meet him halfway and press your lips together in a chaste kiss.
notes pt. 2: and that's it for them! i actually wrote a bit of smut for this, but i don't think it'll ever see the light of day i fear. as always, feedback is appreciated! i'd love to know what you all think :)
masterlist
#niningtori#see me#txt angst#beomgyu angst#beomgyu#txt beomgyu#beomgyu x reader#beomgyu x you#beomgyu fic#txt#txt fic#tomorrow x together#txt imagines#txt scenarios#txt headcanons#txt fluff#beomgyu imagines#beomgyu scenarios#beomgyu headcanons#beomgyu fluff
152 notes
·
View notes
Text
⚣ It's Not A Competition 🥇
⚣👊🏻 A/N → SURPRISE! double post today! I've been wanting to do a Clark Kent post forever but never had any good ideas. Then, this popped into my mind. Also, I'm really trying to clear out my drafts and any old requests.
WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Jealousy | Established Relationship
⚣👊🏻 Summary → Dark Knight this and Dark Knight that. What about Superman?! He's also a great hero! Better than Batman, at least. The guy doesn't even have powers. But that's what makes him more interesting and cool, according to Y/N. And frankly, Clark has had quite enough and intends to show him why Superman is way better than Batman.
⚣👊🏻 Words → 4.7K
REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛
⚣ ENJOY 👊🏻
Clark just didn’t get it.
Why was it that Y/N was so obsessed with Batman and not Superman? All the young reporter ever talked about was the Dark Knight and how he was so cool and mysterious. Going on and on about his awesome gadgets and the fact that he had no powers, which made him so interesting.
Clark very much would beg to differ.
“You know, Superman can shoot lasers out of his eyes, and I heard he can move faster than the speed of sound,” Clark pointed out while walking with Y/N down the sidewalk. They decided to go out for lunch and since the Daily Planet was so close to one of Y/N's favorite restaurants downtown, he figured, why not just walk together?
“Clark, not this again,” Y/N chuckled while sipping his drink.
“I’m sorry, you just always talk about how great Batman is, and I’m not saying he’s bad, but I don’t get how he’s better than Superman?”
“You know, you’re starting to sound like Lois with all your Superman praise and comparison.”
“Well, she’s not wrong. I mean, come on. What can Batman do that Superman can’t?” Clark asked, looking down at his boyfriend while waiting for an answer.
“Batman’s quicker on his feet. He thinks of solutions faster and more creatively than what I’ve seen from Superman. Plus, he’s resourceful. The guy’s got a freaking jet. The only people I could think of that own jets and planes and all the crazy gadgets he has would probably be Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne.”
Clark tried not to react to the irony of that statement, rather focusing on how he could combat that logic even though it was true. He had to admit that his comrade, whether in the field or in practice, was very good at analyzing a situation and using whatever he had around him to his advantage.
Still, it didn’t mean he was better than him.
“Well, Superman can also fly, and as many have witnessed, is crazy strong.”
“Yes, he is. But if Batman can afford a jet, I’m pretty sure he can afford a jetpack, too. Plus, we all know how strong Superman is, some more than others. Their insurance claims can definitely speak to how strong he is.”
That last line Y/N said was more so to himself than as a statement to Clark. However, it didn’t take away the slight sting from his words, considering how true they were.
“So you’re saying Superman is reckless and bad at his job or something?” Clark accused.
“What? No, I’m not saying that at all. Why are you getting so defensive about this? You’re acting as if you know the guy. Wait, do you know him?” Y/N asked, now looking up at his giant of a boyfriend.
Sometimes, he wondered what kind of genes ran in Clark’s family. It was a bit of a puzzle to Y/N why the six-foot-something man was in journalism rather than something that seemed more his speed, like fitness or athletics.
“No, of course not. I just don’t think it’s fair or even logical to compare Superman to someone like Batman, considering what each of them has respectfully achieved, not to mention the state of their cities and everything. I mean, have you ever been to Gotham before?” Clark asked, doing his best to not draw any more curiosity or suspicion out of the younger male.
Not that he was doing a good job of that in the first place.
Clark just wished he could’ve shown Y/N why Superman was better than Batman. They’d only been dating for a few months so it wasn’t reasonable or even smart for the Kryptonian to consider revealing his identity to him, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Clark, it’s not a competition. You know that, right?” Y/N said, placing his hand on Clark’s arm.
They paused in their steps, Clark looking down at the gentle hand lying across his forearm before looking up into the eyes that always put him under a spell. He smiled to himself, thinking of the fact that even if Y/N favored Batman over Superman, Clark was still the real winner, because he had him.
He took his hand in his own, doing his best to contain his excitement pulse at the feeling of his larger hand surrounding the smaller one in his grip. Y/N was still a male, so his hand wasn’t dainty or small by any means, but compared to Clark’s, it might as well have been.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I got a little bit crazy.” Clark apologized with a small kiss on the shorter man’s hand causing a slight blush to appear on the smaller male’s cheeks.
“It’s ok. Besides, I like a little bit of crazy. Keeps things interesting.” Y/N said before continuing their walk towards Clark’s place of work.
‘You have no idea,’ Clark thought to himself as he followed behind, letting himself be tugged along.
They returned to the Daily Planet to find everywhere in a buzz, chattering excitedly with each other as various individuals were either running to the bathroom with pouches of makeup and skincare and others at their desks touching up their hair and clothes.
“What’s going on?” Clark asked aloud as he strode into the office while still holding Y/N’s hand.
“Was it like this when we left?” His boyfriend asked, chuckling at the comical movements and gestures of the rushing to get re-ready for whatever was happening.
“No, it was actually the opposite,” The reporter stated before eventually spotting Lois at her desk, who was also touching up her makeup and hair. He made his way over to the desk area, narrowly avoiding multiple people rushing while pulling Y/N closer to him to keep him from getting bumped into.
“Lois, what’s going on?”
“Oh, hey, Smallville. Hello, Y/N. Didn’t you both get the emergency email Perry sent to everyone earlier?” She said in her usual fast-paced, business tone while curling her eyelashes.
“No, We were at lunch. What was the email about?”
“Oh, Clark. Must I always have to save your butt?” Lois said before handing her phone over to the man, Y/N chuckling behind him at the comment.
Clark threw him a look while Y/N did his best to keep a neutral face before reading over the email.
“Bruce Wayne is coming to the Daily Planet?”
Y/N's eyes went comically large at the mention, immediately jumping to read the email for himself, “No way!”
Lois smirked to herself before grabbing her phone back from the man, while Clark just stared at his boyfriend in jealous shock from his excited outburst. “Yep. Wayne Enterprises has announced its support of various major liberal movements and is donating large proceeds to different organizations calling for massive change in the nation. And with this being an election year, many political figures and business entities are feeling a little uneasy at this sudden new support from the tech giant. And yours truly, landed the exclusive interview with him to get all the nitty and gritty details .”
Y/N’s eyes were almost bugging out of his head, before he ran to the bathroom himself, snatching his hand from Clark’s who looked desperately after him.
“Dammit, Bruce.” The reporter growled under his breath.
“You say something?” Lois asked while powdering her nose.
“No,” Clark responded gruffly, an irritated glint in his eye before walking to his own desk.
After everyone has ridiculously made themselves extra presentable, including Y/N much to Clark’s annoyance, the pair stand outside the room with a few others, watching through the glass pane walls as the interview is broadcast live to the entire nation. Lois asked Mr. Wayne various questions, ranging from his real intentions behind his charitable donations to whether he was looking to begin any political endeavors and win the favor of the public.
Bruce answers every question with confidence and suaveness, leaving no room for questions about his actions, and denies any political motivations. Y/N watched impressed from the other end while Clark just looked around with a grim and irritated look, his arms crossed as he listened to the interview and watched his boyfriend fanboy over his secret comrade.
“Well, you certainly seem like the charming and noble benefactor, Mr. Wayne. I can see why you're known as ‘Gotham’s Favorite Son.’ I have to ask though, even if you truly have no political ambitions, aren’t you worried that these donations and announcements along with the unwavering stance you’ve taken on these political topics will inevitably place a target on you?” Lois asked, notepad and pen sitting with poise and precision, ready to take down every little thing the billionaire said.
“Wow, I can see why she’s so respected. She’s nailing this interview.” Y/N commented.
Clark nodded to that. Even if he wasn’t feeling the most agreeable at the moment, he’d always give hats off to Lois’ skills. The woman was a powerhouse when it came to this stuff.
“Well, first off, thank you for your earlier comment. I don’t think of myself as anyone’s favorite, but even I can’t control what the public says or does,” Bruce responded with his ever-so-billion-dollar smile, earning a laugh from Lois and probably every other American tuning into this broadcast, including Y/N.
Clark, however, wasn’t impressed. He’d heard funnier.
“But, to answer your question,” Bruce continued, “...any move in the business or even the political world I imagine can be considered a risky one. I’m not going to pretend that my decisions have made some very happy, and others very unhappy. That’s life. You can’t please everyone. But, to sit and accept things as the way they are for fear of retaliation or backlash is misery in itself. I believe anyone who doesn’t speak up for what they truly believe or want for fear of ‘rocking the boat’ is just content with living in their own misery. And, let me be clear before I’m canceled—I know the meaning behind that now thanks to my kids, particularly my two youngest sons—I’m not saying someone who’s genuinely content and happy with where they are is included in this. I’m specifically talking to those who want change, and want to create a better world, but are waiting for others to do it for them.”
Despite its clichéness, many in the hall gave a small clap to the CEO’s words, Y/N looking thoroughly impressed himself.
“Wow, he really is an inspiring man,” Y/N commented.
“He’s alright,” Clark said in response.
Y/N gave the taller man a suspicious side look, “Alright, what’s going on with you? You’ve been standing there pouting
since this interview started. What, do you not like Bruce Wayne or something?"
Clark sighed before looking down at his boyfriend. It was true, he wasn't really liking the guy at the moment. But, it was just because he was so jealous. He didn’t like how Y/N was looking at him, or how he was talking about him.
It wasn't fair.
The reporter wanted Y/N to be looking at him and only him like that, and he wanted his attention and affection, and he wanted him to only talk about him like that. It was petty, and it was selfish, but Clark didn’t care.
He just wanted Y/N to only admire Clark Kent. not Bruce Wayne.
Only Superman, not Batman.
Despite Y/N's earlier words about it not being a competition, Clark knew the truth. It was a competition, one he was not planning on losing.
"No, I don't not like him. I'm just not that impressed, is all. He's not a superhero." Clark said.
"Neither is Lex Luthor. But, that doesn't stop the public from making him the villain in his story. I'm sure there's a lot more to Bruce Wayne than the media is letting on."
"Oh, trust me. There's more to him than what meets the eye," Clark mumbled to himself as the interview was getting ready to wrap up.
"Well, on behalf of the Daily Planet, I'd like to thank you for joining us today. Your words are certainly ones that will not go unheard by many. I look forward to—"
Before Lois could finish speaking, the lights in the building suddenly went out, leaving the office pitch black. A few people in the hall gasp, Y/N instinctively grabbing Clark's arm, who in turn places his hand over the smaller man's own.
"What's going on?" Someone asks.
"I don't know. It's almost like a blackout, but it can't be because we have backup generators. They should've turned it on by now." Another responded.
"Clark, what's going on?" Y/N asked toward his boyfriend, who was holding the smaller male closer to him out of instinct.
"I'm not exactly sure..."
Just as he said that, the lights came back on, and everyone was looking around confused as to what the source of the blackout was.
"Oh my god!" One of the people in the hall screamed suddenly as everyone turned back towards the interview room. Inside the room, some members of the crew suddenly had masks with insignias covering their faces on them. One of them was behind Lois holding a dagger to her neck while another stood to the side, pointing a gun directly at Bruce's head.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lane," The individual in the middle of the room said, "But, this interview isn't over just yet."
"Who the hell are you people?!" Lois asked, fear and anger in her eyes as the blade was held to her neck.
"Wouldn't you like to know? As for Mr. Wayne, we're going to have a little chat. I suggest you and your friends don't follow or intervene. Otherwise, this broadcast won't be the only thing getting cut" The masked individual threatened, nodding to Lois.
"Don't you dare touch her," Bruce warned, his expression serious, as he got ready to stand.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Wayne. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen, now would we? Especially with all of America watching right now."
Bruce sat back down, knowing that his opponent was right. He couldn't let them hurt Lois, and he certainly couldn't risk any lives in this room.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. We'll make this quick," The leader said as one of the other masked goons went to lock the door that led inside the interview room.
"Clark, we have to do something," Y/N said, his heart racing a mile a minute.
"I know. Stay here. I'll be back." Clark said before running off, leaving the smaller male alone.
"What? Clark, wait! Where are you going?" Y/N called after him, but the taller man didn't hear him, already too far away.
'What the hell is he doing?' Y/N thought to himself before turning his attention back towards the situation in front of him.
As Clark rounded the corner and made his way down the hallway, he made sure no one was watching him before he ran as fast as he could into the supply closet. Once inside, he quickly changed into his suit before taking off through the backdoor.
"So, how does it feel knowing that you're on the side of the wrong? How does it feel knowing that no matter what you do, you'll never be able to fix the mess you made? All the lives lost because of you," The masked man asked Bruce, who was sitting calmly in his chair, his eyes not showing an ounce of fear.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't. None of you wealthy elites do. You don't know the pain and suffering your companies and your products cause to others. You don't know the misery you cause. Well, allow us to show you." The man said before signaling his partners.
One of them immediately moved and grabbed a hold of the camera, pointing it directly at the masked man in the center.
"Hello, Metropolis. And hello, America. If you're watching this, that means you're just as much a part of this as we are. if you've been sitting here listening to the lies and promises of a better world by this man and his kind, you are as much a part of his schemes as he is. It is because of people like him that we have the world we live in. It's because of people like him that so many of us suffer. It's because of people like him that the world will only continue to rot and decay until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes. But, we will not be the ones who burn. We will not be the ones who lose. We will not be the ones who suffer, not anymore. Today, we fight back. Today, we will show the world that we will not be silenced, we will not be oppressed. We will not allow the likes of him and his kind to continue to control us anymore with false promises of a better tomorrow while lining their own pockets. Today, we say enough is enough. Today, we rise. Today, we will take back what is rightfully ours. Today, we take back our freedom and our lives from the rich and corrupt." The man spoke, his words filled with conviction and determination, but also hatred and poison as he stared deep into the camera.
"And if any of you try to stop us, then you will be considered just as guilty as the rest of them. We will not be silenced. We will not be ignored. And if you think that the likes of Batman and Superman will save you, I wouldn't be too sure of that..."
As soon as the leader was done with his speech, the sound of the glass shattering was heard as Superman broke through the windows, flying into the room before stopping directly in front of the man holding the camera.
"But, I am..." The Man of Steel said, shooting a laser beam at the dagger being held by the goon threatening Lois. He immediately dropped the blade as it became too hot, giving the Daily Planet reporter the opportunity she needed to escape his hold.
"Bastards," She cursed, turning around and delivering a kick to the masked man's groin.
He groaned out in pain, falling to the floor before Lois punched him in the face, knocking him out.
Superman turned his attention back toward the masked man standing in the center, "I believe it's time for you to take a hike."
"Not yet. We still have unfinished business," The man said before signaling his other henchman. The man immediately aimed his gun at the Kryptonian, firing shot after shot into him.
Superman stood his ground as the bullets hit him, before eventually, the gun ran out.
"You're right. This is definitely the end," Superman said as he flew toward the man, knocking him out before he could reload his gun.
As Superman finished off the last of the henchmen, the leader turned back towards the camera, "Sorry, Superman. But, the damage has already been done. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of what's to come."
Before the Kryptonian could stop him, the man took out a smoke bomb, throwing it onto the ground and covering the room in a cloud of smoke.
"Crap," Superman cursed, unable to see as the man escaped.
As the smoke began to clear, Bruce took out his phone, "Alfred, I need you to track this signal."
"Understood, sir. I've also informed the police and they're on their way," Alfred responded.
"Good," Bruce said before turning back towards the room.
The actual camera crew was not out in the hall, hugging their co-workers who were all relieved at their safety. The broadcast was cut from the air, but there was no doubt every TV station from here to San Francisco was talking about it. Y/N was standing nearby, his eyes filled with awe and admiration as he stared up at Superman.
There was something oddly familiar about him.
...
Nah.
"That was incredible, Mr. Wayne," Lois said.
"I could say the same thing about you. I'm glad you're ok."
Lois smiled at him, "You were worried about me?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Bruce asked, a small smile forming on his lips.
Lois blushed slightly before turning back to look at Superman, who was now standing right in front of the two.
"Thank you for the save, Superman," Lois said, extending her hand out to the Kryptonian.
"My pleasure," Superman said, shaking the woman's hand before his attention was drawn toward Bruce who just gave him an appreciative nod. Though the look in his eyes signaled they would definitely be communicating about things later.
As Bruce and Lois moved towards the hallway, Lois spotted Y/N who was standing close to the door peeking inside.
"Oh Y/N, there you are! Thank goodness, you're alright." Lois said, walking over to him and hugging him.
"Yeah, I'm ok. Are you?" He asked, looking up at the woman.
"I'm fine. I'm tougher than I look."
"That's good to hear. And, it's good to see you’re okay as well Mr. Wayne. That was scary." Y/N said, turning his attention to the billionaire.
"Yes, I'm glad I'm alright, too," Bruce said, his attention on Y/N.
"Oh, Bruce Wayne, this is Y/N L/N. He's one of our upcoming new reporters along with Clark Kent, who you've met before." Lois said, introducing the two.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne," Y/N said, extending his hand out.
Bruce took it, giving the younger man a firm handshake, "The pleasure is all mine."
As the two looked at each other, Clark was standing nearby, his gaze focused on the two, his fists clenched.
'I swear to Rao...' He thought to himself, jealousy coursing through his body as he watched the two interact.
"So, Mr. Wayne, what do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked.
Bruce turned to look at the woman, an amused eyebrow raised, "He must be getting trained by you," He said, sparking a laugh from Lois and another eye roll from the Kryptonian before flying off, "And please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne makes me feel old."
"Bruce, then. What do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked again.
"Well, I can't be certain, but based on their words and their actions, I'd say they were a group of anarchists."
"Anarchists?"
"Yes. They're not an uncommon group. Many people are growing tired of the way things are in this country. With the state of the economy and the government, it's only a matter of time before things begin to boil over."
"So, you think this is going to happen more often?"
"I'm not sure. But, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them."
Y/N nodded his thoughts on the events that had transpired earlier.
"Y/N!" Clark called, interrupting the conversation.
"Clark, there you are! You had me worried sick," The smaller male said while hugging his boyfriend, missing the sharp look the taller man was throwing at the billionaire.
"I just went to alert the building security and the police. Seems everything turned alright though since Superman showed up," Clark said, wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist while still giving a side eye to Bruce who was watching with amusement.
"Yes, thank goodness he did. I'm sure we all owe him a huge thanks for his services."
"Yes, indeed we do. But, unfortunately, I must be going now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." Bruce said, extending his hand once more to the younger man, who took it, shaking it gently.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, too."
Bruce smiled at him before turning back to Lois, "And it was a pleasure seeing you again, Lois."
"Likewise, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce smirked, "I do believe we're a bit past the formalities now, Lois. Please, call me Bruce."
"Of course. Bruce." The woman replied, her tone flirty and her expression coy.
Y/N noticed this and turned to look at Clark, whose expression was blank as he looked on.
"Will do, Lois. I look forward to our next meeting," Bruce said before stopping in front of Clark.
"Good seeing you as well Clark, as short-lived as it was," Bruce said, extending his hand out for a handshake.
Clark reluctantly took it, the handshake lasting longer than was necessary.
"Likewise," Clark replied.
Bruce nodded, his eyes giving the reporter a knowing look before he was escorted out by security.
Once the billionaire was out of sight, Clark and Y/N decided to leave as well, making their way towards the elevator.
"Well, that was a crazy day," Y/N said.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"Do you think Bruce Wayne knows Batman?"
Clark stopped mid-step, a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at his boyfriend.
"Are you serious right now? You can't be serious?" The taller man said with an indignant expression.
"What?"
"You're still thinking of Batman after Superman just came and saved everyone?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, he's a hero too. They both are. Besides, Superman is always getting most of the credit, don't you think? It would make sense if they were working together. You know, the world's greatest detective and the world's greatest hero, solving crime and catching the bad guys. Wouldn't that be so cool?" Y/N asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the thought.
"No, not really. I don't see why that would be a good idea," Clark said, rolling his eyes.
Y/N sighed, "Clark, remember what we talked about earlier about it not being a competition?"
Clark looked down at the smaller man, his eyes filled with frustration, "Yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to obsess over Batman. Superman is just as obsessed-worthy!"
"Clark, seriously, what is up with you? It's not like I want to marry him or something."
"You're acting like you want to," Clark mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Look, Clark. I'm not going to say I'm not a fan of Batman. I mean, I think he's cool. But, that doesn't mean that I'm not a fan of Superman either. I'm a fan of both of them. I think they're both great heroes, and I think they both do good work."
"But, you don't think that Batman is cooler, or that he's better than Superman?" Clark asked, his expression pleading.
"I mean, I guess. But, why does that matter? Why are you so hung up about this?"
"Because, I—" Clark started before stopping, knowing he was about to give away his identity.
"You what?"
"I just want you to think of me, is all," Clark said, looking down at the ground, feeling a bit embarrassed.
Y/N's heart softened at the confession, the older man looking like a little kid who just got his favorite toy taken away. He stepped forward, cupping the taller man's face in his hands, causing him to look up.
"Clark, I do think about you. I think about you all the time and I love how protective you are of me. Whether I like Batman or Superman more isn't going to change that" Y/N said, trying his best to ease his boyfriend's fears.
"Promise?" Clark asked.
Y/N chuckled, "I promise."
"Good," Clark smiled while leaning down to place a kiss against his boyfriend's lips, "You should still like Superman more."
Y/N rolled his eyes, "Sure thing, Clark. I'll work on that."
"Thank you."
"Whatever. Now come on, we now have a celebratory date to go on." Y/N said as he grabbed Clark's hand.
"What are we celebrating?" Clark asked with a laugh as he was pulled towards the elevator.
It was always adorable watching the smaller male pull Clark around like it was nothing.
"Surviving our first criminal encounter together," Y/N said while hitting the first-floor button.
"First?"
"Honey, we live in a city with sky-high insurance because a superhero lives here. You really think this will be the last?"
He definitely doesn't.
☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️
☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️
#solar-wing ☀️#☀️🪽.fanfic#☀️🪽.dcposts#☀️🪽.txt#gay#dc#dcu#dcau#dc universe#dc comics#dc imagine#dc x reader#dc x male reader#x reader#x male reader#clark kent#clark kent x reader#clark kent x male reader#clark kent x m!reader#superman#superman x reader#superman x male reader#superman x m!reader
331 notes
·
View notes
Text
What's your favorite color? - steddie blurb
It comes as a shock, frankly. No, more like an affront. Maybe both. Either way, Steve finds himself wondering for the first time since they started dating if Eddie is lying to him. The whole conversation started over something stupid. Really, the whole conversation is stupid. Steve is the only one of them with a wrinkle between his brow and a twist on his lips. Eddie is looking at him all soft eyes and easy smiles. They're in their tiny kitchen. Steve has his arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to the landline. Eddie is bracing himself on the little table they got to use as an island for some desperately needed extra counter space.
"You're not being serious," Steve decides out loud.
Eddie laughs, only a little in disbelief. Mostly it's amusement at Steve's current childlike behavior. Eddie thinks he's endlessly cute and endearing when he gets like this. Especially because it's never about anything serious so Eddie never have to worry about it devolving into a real fight. It's just another flavor of conversation.
"I'm being serious!" Eddie insists.
"There's no way, Eds. I mean, have you seen your wardrobe?"
"Yeah, I see it on a pretty regular basis, believe it or not."
Steve levels him with an overly serious, analytical stare.
"Are you seriously telling me that you- Eddie Munson, metalhead extraordinaire- your favorite color isn't black?"
Steve's head shakes a bit in what Eddie would consider a bitchy move. That's okay, Eddie likes when Steve gets bitchy too. Hell, Eddie just likes Steve.
"It's not!" He laughs defensively.
"It's all you wear!"
"So, your favorite color is yellow," Eddie states matter-of-factly.
Steve squints, shaking his head a little more. Steve's hands can't stay still for too long while he's talking, no matter how hard he may try. Eddie has insisted he loves how expressive Steve can get. Even if Steve's parents didn't. Especially because they didn't. One hand breaks free of the opposite arm and begins to fly around as he speaks.
"Since when is my favorite color yellow?" he asks.
Eddie rolls his eyes, but his smile never leaves his face.
"It's all you wear!" he throws Steve's words back at him.
Steve pouts. He knows it's true. There has been a lot of yellow spotted in his wardrobe lately. That's just because he thinks he looks good in it... because Eddie told him once he looks good in it.
"Alright, fine, point taken. What is it then?"
Eddie's face softens. His smile becomes something warm and sweet like chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. He walks around the makeshift island to invade Steve's space. Steve isn't phased in the slightest. Eddie places a quick kiss to the tip of Steve's nose. The act earns him a smile that Steve works hard to fight off.
"Funnily enough, my favorite color is yellow," he answers easily.
Steve's face goes from bitch mode to genuine surprise. Then some confusion trickles in via his eyebrows.
"You're not fucking with me right now? Dustin isn't going to jump out with a camera to catch the dumb look on my face?" Steve questions, playfully looking over Eddie's shoulder like he actually expects Dustin to be there.
Eddie breaths a chuckle across Steve's face. For a moment there's nothing but the scent of mint and cigarettes.
"First of all, your face never looks dumb. No, I'm not fucking with you. My favorite color is yellow," Eddie insists.
"But... why? I mean yellow is so- and you're so- why?" Steve struggles to understand a world where Eddie Munson's favorite color is yellow.
A light blush blooms across Eddie's face.
"Because you wear it a lot and you look really fuckin' good when you do. Now whenever I see it, it makes me think of you," he admits softly.
Steve absolutely melts. How can he not? His arms end up around Eddie's neck as he presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Their foreheads rest against each other when they part.
"You're so cheesy, y'know that?" Steve chuckles lightly.
"Yeah, but you love it," Eddie grins.
"Yeah, I do."
After that, Steve realized that his favorite color is black.
Masterlist
#idk what made me think of this but once i did i needed it OUT of me#steddie brainrot#steddie blurb#steddie fic#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie munson
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
What I'm actually furious about, isn't just the anti-Semitism I've dealt with here.
What I'm furious at is the Israeli government and military. I am furious that they have the nerve to perpetrate war crimes while appropriating the memory of the 6 million. It makes me sick. It feels me with rage. It fills me with feelings of betrayal (those are complex and require deconstruction, discussed briefly below). How dare they massacre children, civilians, and fucking hospital patients; and how dare they do so while using the 6 million as a rhetorical shield?
The edgelord who left me a snide remark comparing the situation in Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto wasn't the first person to make that comparison to me. It was actually the Palestinian woman who translated two major sources from Hebrew into English for me.
She was translating a biography of Tossia Altman when her three nephews and sister-in-law were murdered during the IDF action in Gaza. I asked her if she wanted to stop working on the project (with no impact on her fee for the project, of course; that's where about $4000 of the money y'all helped me raise went, fyi). The brand of Zionism practiced by Tossia and her comrades is very very different from the version embodied in Netanyahu, and it was those schools of Zionism which mostly died in the Holocaust (I said), but I would completely understand if the material was too triggering for her.
She said "I’m not sure about this triggering me, I think holocaust survivors and Gazans are on the same boat to tell you the truth. It could be an opportunity for me to actually fathom the full picture, in a way." And I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
I'm not going to post the rest of our conversation here, for what I hope are obvious reasons. And for concerned parties, this woman has been living away from Gaza for a very long time.
But this is why I'm so angry and emotional.
And I'm over here having these, frankly, very painful, personal feelings (if my posts over the last 4 months haven't made it clear, I spent my teen years in an extremely manipulative right wing Israel "education" program, and was raised surrounded by first and secondhand Holocaust trauma which inevitably impacted how my elders educated me about The Conflict none of which I was fully able to deconstruct until I became a Holocaust Historian in grad school). Especially with my knowledge of how SHITTILY Holocaust survivors were treated when they got to Palestine in the mid-1940s; of how fucking disgracefully Yad Vashem treated Rachel Auerbach and Yitzhak Zuckerman. Of the way the Jewish fighters actually died in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I became a Holocaust historian because I am the great/granddaughter of survivors and I do this work because it's a fucking calling, not something that brings me joy. And the goddamn Israeli government, the government of a nation which likes to say it exists for all Jews (when it barely even represents the Jews who live there but that's a different conversation); the way that government manipulates and misuses that history to excuse their actions in Gaza make me fucking sick. And, as demonstrated by some of you actual fucking pieces of shit, puts Diasporic Jews in danger. (side thought: Does Netanyahu WANT to put Diasporic Jews in danger?? He knows how this fucking shit works, and I wouldn't be surprised if he WANTED Jews to feel deeply unsafe and respond to that by fleeing to Israel).
And WHILE I'm experiencing all of this and trying to keep it all together while writing the what may be the most important thing I've ever written in my career, you fucking [word I don't use out loud or in writing] come in here and to throw your anti-Semitic bullshit at me when I ask you to please not spew it at me via my (year old) fucking Holocaust Remembrance Day posts, and when I ask you to be fucking mindful of it in your political speech.
So let me make it fucking clear, as far as I am concerned there are 4 separate conversations at play rn.
1) October 7 was horrific, genocidal, and traumatizing for Jews on a global basis.
2) Israel is committing heinous war crimes in Gaza right now which, if its own military's statements are anything to go by, are actively genocidal.
3) You shouldn’t harass random Jewish people because you’re disgusted with Israeli governmental and military decisions and actions.
4) The Israeli government’s appropriation of Holocaust memory within its larger state building project doesn’t give you [collective: non-Jews] the right to abuse Jews for discussing and generally having feelings about the Holocaust.
And FRANKLY I think all those conversations are accurate and valid. I also don't think I'm obligated to tear my heart open give you all my intimate feelings because a bunch of pieces of shit on this site can't grasp points 3 and 4.
So fuck that right wing program I belonged to as a teen, fuck you fucking left wing anti-Semites who can's grasp that you're touting the ideologies of people who would have wanted you dead, and fuck the Israeli government for committing war crimes. fuck them for their ongoing abuse of palestinian civil and human rights, and fuck them for invoking the memory of the 6million while doing it.
I've fucking had it with that fucking State, I've had it with you goddamn Jew-haters, and I've had it with the Jewish ppl who might want to destroy my career upon seeing this post.
I am mad as HELL.
I'm not even saying my mental health break is over. I've just had a moment of clarity, my period is over, and I'm pissed as hell. i'm tired of policing myself to make the gentiles who hate me comfortable; and I'm tired of policing myself to make my coreligionists who'd destroy me for having these thoughts comfortable. and there are 122,000 if you, so i don't care if you're so fucking fragile that this post makes you hit the unfollow button.
tl;dr:
youtube
302 notes
·
View notes
Text
I think often of the last chapter of crooked kingdom. not the one everyone considers the last chapter, the last last chapter, the pekka chapter. weeks (months?) after kaz scared him out of ketterdam, pekka starts making moves to salvage his businesses. not much, just reading papers and correspondence, maybe answering letters. and that very night, like he's summoned her, inej appears to warn him off. if he ever thinks of coming back to ketterdam, she says, they'll meet again so she can make the second cut. I love love love it. we know that kaz didn't send her ('I have my own message to deliver'), so her knowledge of pekka's attempt to return suggests she's been keeping tabs on him for her own means. or she has supernaturally good intuition, which is probably the sort of thing she'd want pekka to think-- he worries that maybe she isn't entirely human after all. but regardless, this scene serves a couple of purposes-- it hammers home exactly how scared the slavers should be of inej (very lol), it illustrates the contrast between the complacent old ketterdam (pekka & jan van eck) and the frankly feral new one (kaz & wylan), but I think it also draws a pointed line under the closeness of kaz and inej that we saw in the last chapter.
the only witnesses to the kaz-pekka showdown were pekka's men, and inej. we know that pekka's men will have taken pekka's weakness & kaz's monstrosity from it, but what did inej take from it? because put mildly, kaz lost his absolute shit in that chapel, and let slip more than he probably would have done if he'd just been talking to inej alone. inej, at that point, had been aware for a while how obsessed kaz was with rollins, but that probably put into a hard perspective exactly how badly his presence and involvement affects kaz. kaz describes it as a 'dark door' that's opened in him; if rollins was to come back, there's a good chance kaz would be dragged back into that (to use an inej phrase) undertow, of obsession and revenge and irrationality. they don't really discuss it, and we don't get much of inej's perspective on it, but I think it's not surprising that she wants pekka out of kaz's way permanently. he's a threat to any progress she has made or might make with him. he's the tangible reminder of the worst and least reasonable side of kaz that always teeters on the edge of going where inej can't follow.
so yes, we talk a lot about how inej influences kaz... but maybe less about how kaz has influenced inej. inej takes a page out of the kaz playbook, here, probably because she's doing this for him (even if I'm not entirely sure he even knows that she's gone there). she gets into pekka's head, plays on the potentially supernatural and the impossible, sets up a 'what if?' and plants a seed of paranoia. she uses the nickname kaz gave her, 'the wraith', and rollins thinks of her as kaz's 'wraith queen'. kaz says to her that 'sometimes fate needs a little assistance', and clearly she took that to heart. we know that when kaz needs extra morality, he often draws on inej; but when inej needs extra monstrosity, she often draws on kaz.
#mm idk I really like the scene. pekka's pov shuts us out from the truth of it which is nice#six of crows#not sure if this makes sense but anyway#crooked kingdom#inej ghafa#kaz brekker#kanej#pekka rollins#my post
323 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sevika's line of work is dangerous, and while she can easily take care of herself, it doesn't mean she isn't prepared. She has hideouts across Zaun that she may occupy if she needs to lie low for a while. Everything, of course, gets more complicated with a significant other involved.
[Based off the first safehouse headcanon post I made.]
Sevika breathed deeply as you sat flush against her on her sofa. She fumbled a set of gleaming keys in her hands, brand new from what you could tell. As funny as the surprise would have been, none of them read "keys to a new house." Whatever got your normally stoic girlfriend this pensive must have been serious.
You aimed to give her time but when that time prolonged dead silence, you grew worried. You placed a hand on her muscular thigh. Rubbed. Squeezed.
"What'd you want to talk to me about?" you asked.
Sevika exhaled like she'd been holding her breath the entire two minutes. Like she'd forgotten she called you here in the first place. On the fifth rotation of your hand, her thigh melted under your touch and she relaxed her shoulders. She called you by name.
"We've been... together for a while now. I... I don't trust people easily. You know that. But I do trust you. Which is why I wanted you to know this."
"Know what?"
She slumped forward only a few degrees before she continued. "I have hideouts scattered around Zaun. Found 'em and made 'em all myself. Just... places I can go in case anything goes tits up. No one has access to them except me. Not even Silco."
Your lips parted. That... certainly wasn't what you expected. Frankly, you didn't know what to expect with the keys she rolled in her palm.
"I know that's a lot to process. I just... hope you aren't too pissed at me for not telling you earlier."
Pissed? No. Disappointed? Possibly. Not so much that it was your business, but that she didn't feel she could trust you before. But you knew she had trust issues to begin with. Just like you knew what you signed up for when you started dating her. She was never dishonest about her involvement with Silco or her job. It was dangerous and she spared you any gruesome details save for the black eyes and split lips she couldn't hide. Plausible deniability for you, of course. With all that considered, no, you weren't pissed. How could you be?
You squeezed her thigh tighter, and she relaxed even more. "I understand, Sevika. I do."
"I do trust you. I need you to understand that." She looked over expectantly.
You nodded. "I know."
"That's why I... I want you to have access to all of them."
"Wait, what?" you said, leaning into her. "What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. I want you to have access to all my hideouts."
It hit you immediately. You gazed down.
Sevika stopped fiddling with the keys and opened her palm. "This is your set. Had 'em made a week ago. Just... didn't know when best to tell you."
Your set? Your keys?
"Escúchame, cariño. I trust you. I Iove you. And I want you to be safe. If... anything ever happens to me, or I'm not around and you don't feel safe, go to one. There's four in the Undercity, one in Piltover."
You didn't know what to say but the implication wasn't lost on you. You rested your chin on her shoulder and placed your hand over hers, trapping the keys between your palms.
She whispered that she'd show you their locations throughout the week since they were well-hidden but said nothing more afterwards. She turned your hands over, relinquishing her grasp to wrap your fingers around the keys.
Your keys.
taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner
#Arcane#Sevika#Sevika Arcane#Arcane Sevika#Sevika imagine#Sevika headcanon#Sevika x Reader#Sevika x You#sevika fanfic#headcanon#headcanon: sevika#writing#reader insert#also remember if you wanna be added to the sevika taglist let me know!
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
the set up — rafe cameron; part three
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): cussing, slight flirting, sad jj, not much to warn with this one
𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: y'all omg.. reading your guys' comments on this series so far has genuinely made my day. i'm so so grateful for the support i've been given despite just beginning this. writer's block had been kicking my ass for months and this plot has been circling in my brain for like ever. regardless, without further adieu, here is part 3!
Another week had gone by since your encounter with Rafe at the golf course, and it was safe to say you had left your mark on him afterwards. You had noticed that ever since that day, the blue eyed Kook made it known that he was watching you intently. On multiple occasions you caught him staring you down while you were attending to the other golfers around the course. It seemed as though while you were on duty, Rafe wanted your attention completely devoted to him only. His desperation became apparent to you when you realized that he was calling you over practically every twenty minutes, and half of the time, he was asking superfluous demands of you.
You pushed through his rapacity for you and beard through every shift were you had to endure his domineering behavior, constantly reminding yourself of the sole purpose of you being there in the first place. This wasn't just for you, it was for your friends, the Pogues. Quite frankly, the only real family you had on the island and the only ones worth dying for in your eyes. Even if it had costed you your sanity from having to deal with the Rafe Cameron, you were doing it for them, and that's what made it worth it.
"Well look who's here," the sound of a familiar, gruff voice uttered from behind you, the sense that you were being fawned over striking you almost instantly, "my favorite bev cart girl." You turned around just to be met with the gratuitous sight of the Kook prince himself with a lofty smirk draped across his face - typical.
"Don't act so surprised, Cameron. You know I'm always here." You rolled your eyes in return to Rafe's snide remark, which only earned you a deep chuckle that erupted from the back of the boy's throat rather dauntingly. You hated to admit it to yourself, but as much as he was a complete ass, something about his enigmatic demeanor and gravelly voice sent sparks flying in your core.
"Trust me, I'm aware." Rafe expressed, his strong gaze never withdrawing from the way it bored into your soul, an action that set off butterflies in your stomach, "You're quite a distraction."
Your eyebrows raised, cheeks turning a prominent rosy shade that didn't go unnoticted by Rafe, much to your misfortune. "I'm just doing my job." You stated assertively in an attempt to convey a sense of self-confidence to the smug boy in front of you, despite the unconcealable flush that painted your face.
"Yeah, in that damn short skirt." He snickered with a recognizable acerbity clear in his dialect. Out of pure instinct, your eyes grew wide at his comment which only fueled the complacent disposition that Rafe had already been exhibiting. There was no hiding the way that the blue eyed boy made your heart race and knees buckle when he was around, and part of you hated the interactions with him simply because it made you feel vulnerable in a way that no one has ever prompted you to do.
"Are you suggesting I cover up then?" You admonished in return to his demeaning utterance on your outfit choice. Truth be told, if he was anyone else, such as the predatory middle-aged men you usually came across at the course, you would have already slapped him across the face. However, you had a mission to uphold and while Rafe was an arrogant prick at times, he wasn't a bad sight to see.
"Of course not," his tone laced with a hint of sincerity, "just stating the truth." He shrugged as though he was simply stating the obvious, a gesture that caused your eyes to roll at him.
You scoffed, "Whatever, Rafe. You've made your point, now if you don't mind I need to get back to work-"
"Wait," Rafe interrupted, "I wanted to ask you something." This time his voice had altered from a snarky and crude tone into one that was seemingly unfeigned in a way that grabbed your full attention, making you turn your heel and face him once again.
"What is it?"
It seemed as though whatever Rafe had to ask you was illiciting his nerves to take over, given that he had become unusually quiet and reluctant. He scratched the back of his head and began to clear his throat, noticing that you were becoming somewhat impatient with his silence as you stood in front of him with your arms crossed.
"I, uh, wanted to ask if you were free this weekend.. They're playing this movie at the park and me n' the guys were talking about going, so I wanted to see if you wanted to go with us." Rafe hesitantly announced, suddenly acting as if he was unsure of himself which gave you a slight advantage over him in that moment, thus making you smile to yourself internally.
"Oh my gosh, is the Rafe Cameron asking to take me out on a date?" You teased him impudently, serving as a taste of his own medicine for being so egotistical prior.
Rafe sighed in reply as he rolled his eyes, "You Pogues are so difficult."
"Do you want me to go with you or not?" You threatened as you began to feel an urge of defensiveness as though he struck a nerve by mentioning your friends in such a negative connotation.
"You're stubborn, you know that?" Rafe implied with a heavy sigh escaping from his lips.
"So I've been told." You shrugged carelessly, turning back around to continue your previous task that you were managing before you had been interrupted by the presence of the dirty blond. Despite your back being turned to face him, his heavy gaze still lingered on you, so much so that you could still feel him burning holes into you.
"I'll pick you up Friday, doll face." Rafe whispered with the same pestering cockiness back in his expression, causing your body to go stiff as his cool breath fanned your neck pleasantly. A familiar rush went down your spine as you felt his hand graze your side while he slipped something unknown into the waistband of your skirt. Your breath hitched as a result of his action, unable to form a proper thought before he walked back over to his group of Kook friends that he came with. Your eyes shot down to the folded piece of paper that was placed into your tennis skirt, grabbing it quickly with the urgency to discover what was written inside it.
Once you unfolded the item, you uncovered the messy handwriting that was sketched over the small paper. You squinted a bit as you attempted to read the miniscule writing, only to realize it was a phone number. Your heart seemed to flutter for a second as you registered that Rafe had jotted down his number for you to have. You felt strange at your reactions to the small getures that the boy would make at you, causing you to wonder what the hell you were getting yourself into.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
"Pope and I are going." The obstinate blond asserted, protesting after you informed him about your upcoming date with Rafe Cameron. If there was one thing certain about JJ, it was that he was always ready for a fight. In theory, sure it was nice to have his protection in times of need, but when you're dealing with somebody like Rafe, the last thing you needed was JJ barging in and ruining what trust you've built so far. You were finally at a point with the infamous Kook to where he was willing to bring you around his friends, even willing to go out of his way to try and be around you. It was exactly where you needed to be with him, and you'd be damned if you let JJ try and get in between your progress.
"JJ, no." You objected resolutely, keeping your eyes locked on your best friend so that he was aware of your unwavering position on the matter. "I'm not letting you and Pope ruin this. I mean, this is what we've been planning for like, the last couple weeks? Do you realize how far it would set us back if you got into some brawl with the Kooks all because you don't trust me enough to be alone with him?"
"I do trust you, y/n. It's him that I don't trust, and I gotta make sure that you'd be safe." JJ huffed heavily, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair as a sign of tension.
"I'll be okay, J. There's going to be tons of people there, anyways. So it's not like we're going to be completely alone." You reassured him as you ran your fingers through his soft locks gently, attempting to relieve him of his exhibited state of stress. You stood before him as he sat at the edge of the bed with his eyes peering up at you with an evident look of concern. You were always the first one to be able to detect when something was up with JJ, seeing how you've been around him for most of your life. JJ was a basketcase to many, but with you, it was your speciality to read him like an open book. There was no hiding his emotions from you, which worked in his favor because you always seemed to calm his nerves and restlessness in times when he needed it most.
You found yourself inching closer to your dearest friend, closing in the space between you two as you stood in-between his lap. Without saying a word, you were startled when JJ suddenly placed his head against your stomach and wrapped his arms lightly around your torso with ease. You figured that this was what he needed since JJ wasn't the type to just randomly hug someone, so you embrace him with open arms as you continued to play with his hair.
"What's gonna happen to us if John B finds this gold and we get all that money, y/n? Are we still going to be friends?" JJ canvassed abruptly after a long moment of silence between you two.
"Of course we will, JJ. Why would we not be?" You asked with confusion, wondering what he was getting at.
"I guess I'm just afraid that something is going to change us, y/n. Our friendship, you know? This.. You- You're important to me. Really important to me, and I'm afraid that maybe one day you're gonna get to a point in life where you won't need me anymore." The blond mused with his hands placed on the sides of your thighs as lightly traced lines along them, staring off ahead of him as if he was in deep thought.
You shook your head, eyebrows furrowing at his thought. It sounded ridiculous to you to even think that there'd ever be a life of yours without JJ Maybank in it. You were sure that JJ was just overthinking the whole scenario, but it pained you that he'd ever have a doubt in his mind that you would ever leave him, out of all people in the world. It was as if he didn't grasp how much you truly loved him. As though he had forgotten about all your late night adventures together, and your secret sleepovers when he'd climb in through your window while your parents were asleep just to spend the night watching horror movies and eating ice cream together. Every moment with JJ, both big and small, were meaningful to you. It didn't matter what you were doing, there was never a dull moment with you two.
"J, I would never ever leave you like that. I mean, you're my best friend and I wouldn't trade you for the world. So don't think that any amount of money, or whatever other materialistic bullshit, could ever come in-between that. Alright? I'm always going to be here." You consoled, watching as his eyes slowly trailed up to look at you directly with hopefulness gleaming in them once again. You gave him a small smile to further assure him of what you said, knowing that if you didn't his uncertainty might've lingered.
"Yeah," JJ nodded as a smile began to form on his face finally, "you're right. I'm sorry, I just- I don't ever want to lose you."
"You won't. Nothing can make me change my mind about that." You promised will full conviction in your voice.
JJ smiled up at you, a small laugh escaping his lips as he recounted how silly the statement even sounded. You've been his best friend since you were kids. Why would that ever change after everything you've been through?
"I hope you know Pope and I are still coming this weeknd, though."
taglist (if i missed any of u i apologize, pls let me know if u need or want to be added!!): @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday
#drew starkey#outer banks#rafe cameron x pogue!reader#rafe cameron#obx#rafe#rafe cameron x reader#rafe outer banks#jj maybank#rafe angst#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe series#rafe cameron imagine#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe obx
514 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
annielle001
Annielle
cantusilluminatus
cantus illuminatus
hatchandscribe-blog
HatchandScratch
whalleylaw
Whalley Law