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If only...
Maybe I loved him because he was like me. Maybe that's the only reason we were able to understand each other.
It was possible that he really loved me, but maybe I couldn't or maybe neither of us felt love.
We were two people desperate to feel something, who longed for something to anchor them to this world and who when they found each other felt that they would not do any harm to this society if they chose to try.
The lies we told each other at night were so sweet that they promised a catastrophe. You with your secrets, me with mines.
#duskwood#duskwood jake#duskwood mc#duskwood game#everbyte game#jake duskwood#everbyte studios#duskwood everbyte#duskwood jake x mc#everbyte duskwood#jake donfort
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Si sólo...
Tal vez lo amaba porque él era como yo. Puede que sólo por eso éramos capaces de entendernos.
Era posible que él sí me amara realmente, pero tal vez yo no podía o puede que ninguno sintiera amor.
Fuimos dos personas desesperadas por sentir algo, que ansiaban que algo los anclara a este mundo y que cuando se encontraron sintieron que no harían ningún mal a esta sociedad si elegían intentarlo.
Las mentiras que nos contábamos en las noches eran tan dulces que prometían una catástrofe. Tú con tus secretos, yo con los míos.
#duskwood#duskwood jake#duskwood mc#duskwood game#everbyte game#jake duskwood#everbyte studios#duskwood jake x mc#duskwood everbyte#everbyte duskwood#jake donfort
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God, I don't know what's going on with me. I lack inspiration to write and not only about Duskwood but about absolutely everything I set my mind to. I miss writing about the Jake stories.
Send help🧍♀️🤠💀
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Why, hello! Okay, I needed a break from other things, so I decided to finish this thingy. Nobody stopped me, so there you have it, haha ;)
Insomniac neighbors AU (:D) Fluff of sort?
Jake/MC. And Richy (mentioned), alive and well,
little over 3k words.
Read below or on Ao3.
Quiet was the night.
The faint murmurs of the city seeped through the open window, blending seamlessly with the gentle hum of his computer. The soft glow emanating from the screen delicately illuminated the room without overpowering the senses.
Outside, the city was sleeping. He sat alone, relishing in the tranquility around him. With a soft exhale, he allowed his eyelids to drift shut, surrendering to the serene stillness. A perfect way to spend the sleepless night.
His bliss did not last long, though.
The tranquility he had just savored shattered like fragile glass as a series of loud thumps resounded from the apartment above, rudely intruding upon his peace. Rhythmic. Regular. Purposeful. It was as if someone—or something—was relentlessly pounding against the wall.
With a frustrated click of his tongue, he glanced upward, his thoughts already swirling with annoyance. This wasn't the first time, oh no. It was the third consecutive night of such disturbances. Three damn nights in a row, his sanctuary invaded by these unwelcomed noises. And, as the noise persisted, irritation simmered within him, threatening to boil over.
Because the nights, the nights were meant to be his and his alone.
He closed his eyes once more in a futile effort to block out the noise. Yet, the relentless thumping persisted, refusing to be ignored.
Fine. Enough was enough.
With a sudden jolt, he stood up, the chair he had been sitting on spinning and nearly tipping over as he strode purposefully toward the door. He paid little heed to the possibility of disturbing his neighbors' intimate moments. Ready to demand they screw their bed to the wall, or simply screw each other elsewhere, he stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. Without any hesitation, he began climbing the stairs two at a time. Before he could even start second-guessing his decision, he found himself knocking firmly on the door of the apartment directly above his own.
The thumping stopped immediately. For a brief moment, there was silence, then the sound of footsteps approaching.
Just as the door began to creak open, he wasted no time in venting his frustration. "Finally! I don't know if you even realize, but it's the fucking middle of the night and—oh, shit."
A step backward was his immediate reaction upon seeing the woman before him. It wasn't just the anger etched in her eyes, nor the furrowed brows and crossed arms that silenced him. No, it was the startling sight of her—all covered in red stains. From her shirt to her hands, even her face, she resembled a character straight out of a slasher movie. And when she casually wiped her sweaty forehead, leaving behind a conspicuous streak of crimson, his shock only deepened.
"Uh-huh. It's the middle of the night. And?" she sighed, seemingly unfazed by her unsettling appearance. "Do you need something? You're the one standing in my doorway, yelling."
“What the h–hell…” Stupefied, he could only manage a dumbfounded gesture, pointing incredulously at her with both of his hands, his eyes widening.
Her frown deepened at his reaction, but it was only after a moment that she glanced down at herself and her hands, noticing the streaks of red. With an amused scoff and a roll of her eyes, she dismissed his alarm.
"Oh. It's paint, genius. I'm painting," she casually fixed a lone strand of hair that had fallen onto her forehead with her fingers stained red. "If I were a murderer, I'd be more careful. Don’t you think?"
His breath caught in his throat as he registered her words, a wave of relief washing over him.
"Well, I suppose I'd rather confront a murderer, then!" he retorted, his voice regaining its composure. "At least I wouldn't have to deal with the constant banging on the walls at night, it seems. What the hell are you even doing?"
"I already told you, I'm painting," she shot back, her narrowed eyes fixing him with a glare. "And, excuse me, but aren't you that loud guy living in the apartment under me? The one who slams his doors no matter what, and always blocks my bike with his?"
"Am I? Well, maybe because your pretty urban bike with that ridiculously huge basket always takes up two spaces, mine included," he countered. "Learn to park, maniac. It’s not that hard! And keep it down! I’m trying to work!"
The young woman's laughter echoed through the hallway, genuine and hearty. "Unbelievable. And what are you doing at night that my painting bothers you so much, huh?"
"None of your fucking business what I do," he barked, jabbing an accusatory finger in her direction. "It's quiet hours, so either you stop banging on the walls or I'll report you. And then your bike!"
"Damn asshole," she hissed, her grip tightening on the door handle.
"At your service," he replied with a mocking bow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Have a good night, psycho. Red does not suit you, by the way."
Whether or not she heard his parting words remained uncertain, as she promptly slammed the door shut in his face. Fuming with anger, he turned on his heel, ready to storm back to his place. But as he reached the door and patted his pocket, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, you’ve got to be kidding…" he muttered aloud, his hand coming up empty. He grabbed the doorknob, even though he knew it was a futile gesture without his keys.
Could he be that stupid? Could he really leave his apartment with nothing, not even his damn phone?
Apparently, he could.
With a frustrated grunt, he considered banging his forehead against the door in a fit of vexation but quickly dismissed the idea as both stupid and potentially painful.
And definitely loud.
Left with no other option, he reluctantly decided to seek help from the landlord. He cursed his luck because, of course, the landlord lived right next door to that dreadful neighbor who could easily pass for a murderess in the right lighting. Nevertheless, he really didn't like the idea of spending the rest of the night stranded in the hallway.
This time he climbed the stairs with deliberate steps, determined to handle the situation with a little more finesse. Walking to door number 33, he knocked softly, hoping the guy, by some miracle, wasn’t sleeping yet. Or was already awake. Whatever was closer.
Yet, the silence that greeted him was quite deafening. Undeterred, he knocked once more, this time with slightly more force.
His heart skipped a beat as the door behind him creaked open, and a familiar voice broke the silence. "What happened? Is the landlord too noisy, too?"
He spun on his heels, fingers clenching into tight fists at his sides. "Mind your own business, huh?" he retorted, frustrated.
The young woman chuckled, pausing in her task of wiping away the stubborn red streak of paint from her face with a damp towel. "Richy's out for the night," she informed him, nodding toward the landlord’s apartment. "Whatever you need from him, it'll have to wait until morning."
"Well, isn't that just fucking perfect," he growled, more to himself than to her.
Her laughter bubbled louder at his exasperation, head tilting slightly in amusement. Quickly, she covered her mouth, though, mindful of the late hour and not wanting to disturb the neighbors further.
"Let me guess, genius," she remarked with a hint of amusement, her smile softening. "You locked yourself out. A smarty-pants like you? Aww, that’s so sad…" Her lips pursed in mock sympathy as she tried to wipe her hands of the remnants of red paint.
He snorted in response but remained silent. With determined strides, he made his way towards the stairs, fully prepared to spend the night wandering the city until morning. Passing her by without so much as a glance, he was about to descend when she called out to him.
"Okay, wait a minute," her voice caused him to pause mid-step. "I think I can help you out."
“No, thanks,” he snorted, turning to her, “You just want to gloat at my misfortune.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she shook her head. "Maybe a little," she admitted playfully. "But you're the asshole here. I'm just the good-natured maniac whose pretty bike you keep blocking."
Her bluntness caught him off guard, and he regarded her with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a resigned sigh, realizing that he was indeed in a bit of a bind with very limited options.
"Come in, will you?" she urged when he didn’t respond. "I'll go get some tools."
"Tools?" he echoed, but she had already vanished inside, leaving him with no choice but to follow.
After a moment or two, he sighed and cautiously crossed the threshold of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space to locate where she had gone. The layout of the place mirrored his own, a spacious studio with an open living area. However, the differences in décor were quite obvious—unfinished paintings leaned against the walls, an easel stood in one corner with a canvas in progress, and sheets of paper littered various surfaces, each with vibrant splashes of color. The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, and somehow it wasn't unpleasant at all.
On the floor in the further corner of the room, his gaze landed on a toolbox, its lid slightly ajar. Beside it lay a hammer and a small painting, only partially framed.
The culprit of the noise.
"Hey, what did you mean by tools–" he started, his voice trailing off as he took a few steps toward the bedroom, only to freeze in place.
She had already taken off her paint-stained flannel shirt and was in the process of pulling a red t-shirt over a snug tank top, the fabric clinging to her figure a little too perfectly. He felt a pang of unease, suddenly aware of his accidental intrusion into her personal space.
He barely had a moment to process his embarrassment before she turned around with a smile as she noticed him there, her laughter hitting his ears. Then, with a playful shake of her head and a casual run of her fingers through her messy dark hair, she made her way back into the living room.
"So you're not just an asshole, but a voyeur, too?" she teased, her tone surprisingly light given the circumstances. "What a combination!"
"S–sorry," he mumbled, feeling a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks as he looked away. "I didn't mean to. I was just–" He clicked his tongue in frustration, struggling to find the right words. "In my defense, you disappeared, and I just wanted to–"
“Relax, eh? Let's open your door,” she interjected, her laughter cutting through his stumbling explanation as she patted him on the shoulder and moved toward a large toolbox.
"What? H–how?" he stammered stupidly, his gaze following her movements as she crouched next to the box, her fingers deftly rummaging through its peculiar contents.
"Yeah, well… Have you ever taken a closer look at me or my apartment?" she quipped, a wry lift of her eyebrow accentuating her point. "I'm the absolute embodiment of forgetfulness and scatterbrained tendencies, in case you haven't noticed. How many times do you reckon I've accidentally slammed that darn door and found myself locked out? Those locks might seem sturdy, but truth be told, they're quite easy to pick…"
He snorted in disbelief. "Wait, wait, hold on... Are you seriously thinking about picking my lock?"
"Why not?" she shrugged casually, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.
He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, but found himself at a loss for words.
"Yup. You're crazy. I'm leaving," he declared, raising his hands in resignation as he turned towards the door.
“Well. Good luck, then!” she chuckled skeptically, waving to him with a small, thin screwdriver and what looked like a hairpin. “I hope your doormat is comfortable… You should know that Richy is on a date, and I guess it went very well, so I have no idea what time he'll be back. Might as well be late in the afternoon. Or in the evening.”
He paused, a mix of disbelief and fascination flickering across his face as he turned back to look at her. Despite the paint smudges and the aura of chaos surrounding her, there was a peculiar glint in her eyes that felt oddly genuine and dependable. Bold. Daring.
"This can’t be happening…” he muttered, his fingers instinctively finding their way to pinch the bridge of his nose.
She only chuckled further, “If it makes you feel any better, the first time it took me about 3 hours to get inside.”
“So you've… really done this before?" he inquired tentatively.
She burst into laughter, her amusement almost contagious. "Yup. I do this every two weeks or so. My own door, of course! But don't let Richy in on my little secret. I just don’t want to bother him too much..."
He hesitated, uncertain whether to trust someone whose toolbox contained an eclectic mix of brushes, paints, and all variety of tools. As he pondered, his gaze drifted to the paintings adorning the walls behind her.
"Hey… Did you paint those yourself?" he asked, pointing to the colorful canvases, most of which were saturated in shades of red.
"Of course. Why do you ask? Want some proof?" she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, the screwdriver still held loosely in her hand. “Or are you about to critique my masterpieces?”
"No, I just— I... I've seen similar ones. All over the city. In different places," he explained, his voice trailing off uncertainly.
Her brow furrowed in confusion, her gaze narrowing as she processed his words, rising from her spot on the floor. "You mean that street art?"
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes lingering on her still paint-splattered face. "Are they yours? They are, aren’t they?"
"Planning to report that too?" she shot back, a hint of sarcasm lacing her tone as she held his gaze. "Just like my bike and the alleged noise at night? You know you have no evidence for any of it!"
"No, it's not that," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm just curious. I really like those paintings. The ones in the city, I mean. I never would've guessed someone like you could be the artist behind them."
“I didn’t say I was.”
"Come on," he gestured towards the red figure on the canvas, "They're identical to the ones in the city. These simple, faceless cat-like characters doing all sorts of amazing little things. Cleverly hidden in various, unexpected places."
"No, they're most definitely not identical," she huffed, striding up to the painting. "Can't you see something's missing in mine?"
"Yes, those big eyes painted with thick black lines, right? Sometimes other details, too. Very distinctive."
"Distinctive my ass! They're just stupid doodles that someone painted on real things!" she retorted, her frustration evident as she gestured toward the artwork.
"Do you really think so? People seem to like them. Have you seen all those pictures all over the web? They got quite popular, at least in the city. They even got a name, what was it…" He rubbed his stubbled chin, trying to recall.
"Night Watchers," the woman sighed, resigned.
"Right," he grinned with an odd sense of satisfaction, "Night Watchers. I like it."
"Well, I don’t!" she snapped, pointing her sharp screwdriver at him once again. "Those doodles are crude and primitive. And so are those who paint them!"
"Fine, fine!,” he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “You're strangely defensive here, and we're just talking about graffiti, you know? Are you sure they're not yours?"
"Forget it," she sighed, taking her keys and waving them in front of his nose. "Come on. I’ll get you and your arrogant ass home."
He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing her determination, he realized there was no point. Without hesitation, she strode down the corridor, and he hastened to follow.
As they reached his apartment door, the young woman wasted no time in kneeling down, her movements fluid and assured as she began to work on the lock. He watched her with a mix of fascination and disbelief, the scene unfolding before him like something out of a movie. Here he was, in the dead of night, entrusting a stranger with the task of breaking into his own home. and not just a stranger. It was a surreal moment, one he never could have anticipated.
"My name’s Charlie, by the way," she muttered suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence. Despite her focus on the task at hand, there was a hint of warmth in her tone. "You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you an asshole. Whatever you prefer."
He snorted in slight disbelief, recalling the last name written on an intercom, “Okay, hold on. You want to tell me your name is Charlie Brown*?”
She turned to him, her expression serious and unfazed, “Charlie Brown. Got a problem with that?”
“No, it's…” he scratched his head, trying to contain his smile to a minimum, “It's just cut– curious. That's all. Fits an artist, I guess.”
“Uh-huh. So?” her gaze focused on the lock once more, “Do you want me to keep calling you an asshole?”
"Tempting," he conceded, leaning against the railing with a wry smile. "But my name is Jake."
“Well then, Jake…” Charlie's fingers danced over the lock, her touch deft and precise. With a soft click, the lock surrendered, and she pushed the door open. "Welcome home." Her grin was triumphant as she got up and gestured for him to enter.
“I'll consider this as compensation for disturbing my peace,” he sighed, stepping past her as he finally made his way back to his place. But then, as he glanced back at her, he nodded slowly. "Thank you, Charlie. You'd make a very good burglar."
“Yeah… No problem,” she rolled her eyes, “Suppose us insomniacs have to stick together. No matter how annoying you are.”
Jake’s shoulders shook with silent mirth, “Yes, well. It was… interesting to finally meet you, Charlie Brown. And you actually do look good in red… when it’s not all over you,” he casually pointed to her t-shirt.
“Screw you, Jake,” her eyes crinkled at the corners as she snorted at him, “See you around.”
He watched her vanish down the hallway, a smile lingering on his lips. Then, with a soft click, he closed the door behind him, careful not to make a sound.
. . ………………… . .
She came to an abrupt stop, her fingers tightening around her phone as she squinted at the grimy wall of the aging city building. Until quite recently, it had served as a canvas for her creativity. The playful red figure mid-jump over the rope – the cable swaying from the electrical box nearby.
Now, however, it was something entirely different.
Thick, bold lines appeared on her little masterpiece. A bike now dominated the scene, but not just any bike. It was a truly whimsical rendition, making the red figure no longer leaping but riding that damn bike with carefree abandon. A large basket adorned the front, and right in it—a brush, and a screwdriver.
And there were those eyes. Those unmistakable, big, doodle-like eyes.
A laugh had to leave her lips, disbelief and amusement fighting with each other, as she read the small writing underneath.
Coffee tonight?
J.
“That damn asshole…”
. . ………………….. . .
*You all probably know this well, but Charlie Brown is a character from the comic Peanuts :)
Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, share, let me know what you think ;) <3
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I can't wait for him to appear again 🥲💗
Imagine...
You're sleeping soundly after a movie night with Jake.
He wakes up earlier, and looks at you a little longingly. He has to go now.
Carefully, he caresses your face while smiling. This makes you feel a chill through your body feeling his fingers.
You open your eyes with a smile, but then you realize that he is gone.
Only a small piece of paper with a 'We will meet again soon :)' lies on your nightstand.
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It would even hurt me to lose all those computers🥲
Am I the only one who thinks that in Jake's video of his presentation, can you imagine him not having all those computers in the background? In other words, it doesn't have all of those, but I imagine it having a tower and maybe three or two screens and a laptop.
He carries the tower and the screens in a travel bag and it is what he had to leave behind in the rush after Lilly's video, while the laptop is the one that is carried and used to examine the photos
The thing is...
Just thinking about him losing so many computers hurts me and I'm sure it would hurt him too 🤣 they didn't look cheap at all
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NSFW — JAKE HEADCANONS
Jake bruises very easily, The fact that he doesn't have much contact with the sun, and probably has low immunity due to lack of time and lack of sleep makes him very pale and easy to bruise, Just a few light touches and bites on his neck would be enough to cause dark red bruises.
Jake is someone who is very reserved and silent, he doesn't make any noise other than a few sighs, but he holds you very tight.
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¿Cuántas veces se había quedado leyendo ese mensaje? ¿Cuántas veces había soñado el escuchar su voz pronunciando aquella palabra? Y ahora que lo había hecho, se había quedado mirándola.
La joven le miró preocupado ¿Había dicho algo malo? Tan solo había soltado un ‘Jake, me alegro conocerte por fin’. Era lo único que había dicho.
¿Quizás se había pasado de entusiasta? O puede que haya pensado que había sonado ridícula al hablar. Pero no. Cuando vio que sus mejillas se sonrojaron, ella parpadeo confusa.
—¿Puedes… ¿Puedes decirlo de nuevo? —preguntó él, con un poco de timidez.
—¿Decir el qué?
Jake se puso más rojo todavía, incapaz de decirlo. Para él, pensaba que era lo mejor que había escuchado desde hacía tantos años, que seguro que le resultaría ridículo para ella.
—Creo que ya lo sabes… —apartó la mirada, esperando no parecer ridículo.
Ella lo entendió, soltando una pequeña risa.
Colocó sus manos en la cara del joven, para que le mirase directamente a los ojos.
Él pudo apreciar una gran sonrisa en el rostro de ella, con un par de ojos llenos de vida.
—Jake… —susurró, incapaz de borrar la sonrisa.
Una oleada de calor recorrió su cuerpo al escuchar la dulce entonación de su nombre. Había escuchado cómo su boca se había movido de nuevo al pronunciar ‘Jake’. No pudo evitar en sonreír. Su nombre en boca de ella, era mejor de lo que había soñado.
Trató de que no saliera ninguna lágrima de sus ojos, no quería parecer que llevaba años deseando volver a escucharlo.
Se inclinó hacia delante, presionando con cuidado su frente en la de ella. Inspiró profundamente, mientras que su corazón latía deprisa. Más. Quería escuchar su nombre más veces de ella. No quería que su nombre volviera a quedar en el olvido. Quería que ella fuera la única que lo recordase.
—Amo cómo suena con tu voz —pronunció despacio—. Quiero poder escuchar mi nombre cuando despiertes a mi lado, cuando necesites llamarme porque necesitas ahogar tus penas, cuando me eches de menos —se separó un poco, acariciando su mejilla con cariño—. Si alguna vez te molesta algo que he hecho o dicho, si necesitas mi ayuda —vio cómo era ella al final la que parecía que iba a llorar, con esa sonrisa dulce—. También escucharla todas las noches. Por favor, hazlo.
La joven asintió, viendo que él también tenía los ojos brillando por cómo acumulaba las lágrimas.
Le dio un beso pequeño en sus labios, sin borrar la sonrisa.
—Tu nombre es una de mis palabras favoritas que existen —en la voz de la joven, se apreciaba la felicidad que ella estaba sintiendo en ese momento—. Así que me vas a tener pronunciándolo siempre. Mientras que tu, señor Jake —le puso el índice en el pecho, con una sonrisa pícara— me envías al menos un mensaje cada día de que estás bien ¿De acuerdo?
Jake se rio, cogiendo su mano y besando el dedo con delicadeza. Ella se sonrojó, viendo cómo después besaba su mano y le atraía con la otra por su cintura.
—¿Lo sellamos? —preguntó susurrando en sus labios.
—Lo sellamos… Jake…
Su trato se cerró con un beso mucho más largo. Un beso que no quería romper.
Esa noche, su nombre se pronunció de una manera que jamás olvidaría.
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How many times had he stayed reading that message? How many times had he dreamed of hearing her voice pronouncing that word? And now that he had done it, he had been staring at her.
The young woman looked at him worried. Had she said something wrong? She had just said, 'Jake, I'm glad to finally meet you.' It was the only thing she had said.
Maybe she had been overly enthusiastic? Or she may have thought she sounded ridiculous when she spoke. But not. When she saw his cheeks blush, she blinked in confusion.
“Can you… Can you say it again?” he asked, a little shyly.
“Say what?”
Jake turned even redder, unable to say it. For him, he thought it was the best thing he had heard in so many years, that it would surely be ridiculous to her.
“I think you already know…” He looked away, hoping not to look ridiculous.
She understood, letting out a small laugh.
She placed her hands on the young man's face, so that he looked directly into her eyes.
He could see a big smile on her face, with a pair of eyes full of life.
"Jake..." she whispered, unable to erase her smile.
A wave of heat ran through his body as he heard the sweet intonation of his name. He had heard how her mouth had moved again as she pronounced 'Jake'. He couldn't help but smile. His name in her mouth was better than he had dreamed of.
He tried not to let any tears come out of his eyes, he didn't want to seem like he had been wanting to hear it again for years.
He leaned forward, carefully pressing his forehead to hers. He took a deep breath, while his heart beat fast. More. He wanted to hear his name more times from her. He didn't want his name to be forgotten again. He wanted her to be the only one who remembered him.
"I love the way it sounds with your voice," he said slowly. “I want to be able to hear my name when you wake up next to me, when you need to call me because you need to drown your sorrows, when you miss me,” He pulled away a little, caressing her cheek lovingly. “If you are ever bothered by something I have done or said, if you need my help.” He saw how she was the one at the end who looked like she was going to cry, with that sweet smile. “Also listen to it every night. Please do it.”
The young woman nodded, seeing that his eyes were also shining with tears.
She gave him a small kiss on his lips, without erasing the smile.
“Your name is one of my favorite words that exist” in the young woman's voice, the happiness she was feeling at that moment could be appreciated. “So you're always going to have me say it. While you, Mr. Jake” she put her index finger on his chest, with a mischievous smile. “you send me at least one message every day that you are okay, okay?”
Jake laughed, taking her hand and kissing her finger gently. She blushed, watching how he then kissed her hand and pulled her waist with the other.
“Shall we seal it?” he asked whispering against her lips.
“We sealed it… Jake…”
Their deal was sealed with a much longer kiss. A kiss that he didn't want to break.
That night, his name was saying in a way he would never forget.
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send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 💕💕💕💕
😊✨✨✨
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Si everbyte lo dice entonces sabemos que Jake nos besaría de esa forma🤣💗
Headcanons Jake parte 2
♥︎ Debería ser absolutamente canon, pero él seguro que se siente embriagado cada vez que lo besas
♥︎ Suele darte besos lentos y suaves, la mayoría de las veces eso provoca que el ambiente se caliente, si entendes lo que quiero decir.
♥︎ Claro que hay momentos en los que él elije besarte de una forma más ruda y determinada, como cada vez que se vuelven a ver después de meses o que creyó que te había perdido.
♥︎ Cuando estás distraída con cosas de tu trabajo o con cualquier otra cosa, él suele tener el hábito de dejarte besos en el cuello o de acariciar tu pelo de una forma realmente tierna.
♥︎ Si por alguna razón tuvieras que irte a otro país por un tiempo y él no pudiera acompañarte, seguramente estaría tratando de pasar el mayor tiempo posible con vos. Se volvería muy cariñoso y a veces te retendría más tiempo en la cama solo para disfrutar lo más que pueda de tu compañía.
Pequeño escenario:
"No te preocupes, voy a volver pronto. Y cuando lo haga vamos a tener mucho tiempo para ponernos al día."
Jake te sonreiría, dejándote un beso en el dorso de la mano antes de inclinarse hacia tus labios y susurrarte: "Seguro que si, amor. Ya lo espero con ansias."
♥︎ Hace ruiditos de satisfacción cuando le acaricias el pelo mientras está dormido.
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god yes, it's something necessary for the fandom 😭😭 we just got a message saying that he would like to try to make it real. But Jake, please, I need you to tell us what you were imagining🥺😭
Headcanons Jake part 2
♥︎ It should be absolutely canon, but he sure feels intoxicated every time you kiss him.
♥︎ He usually gives you slow and soft kisses, most of the time that causes the atmosphere to heat up, if you understand what I mean.
♥︎ Of course there are times when he chooses to kiss you in a more rude and determined way, like every time you see each other again after months or when he thought he had lost you.
♥︎ When you are distracted by your work or anything else, he usually has the habit of leaving kisses on your neck or caressing your hair in a really tender way.
♥︎ If for some reason you had to go to another country for a while and he couldn't accompany you, Jake would surely be trying to spend as much time as possible with you. He would become very affectionate and would sometimes keep you in bed longer just to enjoy your company as much as he can.
Small scenario:
"Don't worry, I'll be back soon. And when I do we'll have plenty of time to catch up."
Jake would smile at you, placing a kiss on the back of your hand before leaning towards your lips and whispering, "I'm sure, love. I'm looking forward to it.
♥︎ He makes contented noises when you stroke his hair while he's asleep.
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Headcanons Jake part 2
♥︎ It should be absolutely canon, but he sure feels intoxicated every time you kiss him.
♥︎ He usually gives you slow and soft kisses, most of the time that causes the atmosphere to heat up, if you understand what I mean.
♥︎ Of course there are times when he chooses to kiss you in a more rude and determined way, like every time you see each other again after months or when he thought he had lost you.
♥︎ When you are distracted by your work or anything else, he usually has the habit of leaving kisses on your neck or caressing your hair in a really tender way.
♥︎ If for some reason you had to go to another country for a while and he couldn't accompany you, Jake would surely be trying to spend as much time as possible with you. He would become very affectionate and would sometimes keep you in bed longer just to enjoy your company as much as he can.
Small scenario:
"Don't worry, I'll be back soon. And when I do we'll have plenty of time to catch up."
Jake would smile at you, placing a kiss on the back of your hand before leaning towards your lips and whispering, "I'm sure of that, love. I'm looking forward to it."
♥︎ He makes contented noises when you stroke his hair while he's asleep.
Part 1
#duskwood#duskwood jake#duskwood mc#duskwood game#everbyte game#jake duskwood#everbyte studios#duskwood everbyte#duskwood jake x mc#everbyte duskwood#jake donfort
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Headcanons Jake parte 2
♥︎ Debería ser absolutamente canon, pero él seguro que se siente embriagado cada vez que lo besas
♥︎ Suele darte besos lentos y suaves, la mayoría de las veces eso provoca que el ambiente se caliente, si entendes lo que quiero decir.
♥︎ Claro que hay momentos en los que él elije besarte de una forma más ruda y determinada, como cada vez que se vuelven a ver después de meses o que creyó que te había perdido.
♥︎ Cuando estás distraída con cosas de tu trabajo o con cualquier otra cosa, él suele tener el hábito de dejarte besos en el cuello o de acariciar tu pelo de una forma realmente tierna.
♥︎ Si por alguna razón tuvieras que irte a otro país por un tiempo y él no pudiera acompañarte, seguramente estaría tratando de pasar el mayor tiempo posible con vos. Se volvería muy cariñoso y a veces te retendría más tiempo en la cama solo para disfrutar lo más que pueda de tu compañía.
Pequeño escenario:
"No te preocupes, voy a volver pronto. Y cuando lo haga vamos a tener mucho tiempo para ponernos al día."
Jake te sonreiría, dejándote un beso en el dorso de la mano antes de inclinarse hacia tus labios y susurrarte: "Seguro que si, amor. Ya lo espero con ansias."
♥︎ Hace ruiditos de satisfacción cuando le acaricias el pelo mientras está dormido.
Parte 1
#duskwood#duskwood jake#duskwood mc#duskwood game#everbyte game#jake duskwood#everbyte studios#duskwood everbyte#duskwood jake x mc#everbyte duskwood#jake donfort
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to everyone who’s ever said something kind about my work: you help me get through the day. thank you.
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